


Rosa Stands Tall

by Shilyn18



Series: Rosa and Tal Stories [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2020-10-12 22:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 78
Words: 610,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20572031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shilyn18/pseuds/Shilyn18
Summary: Sequel to Circle Mage. Slight-AU. When Solas realizes his former lover, Rosa, is the sole survivor of the Conclave, he joins the Inquisition to protect her. It's a risky move because Rosa knows far too much about him, due to their time together trapped in the Hasmal Circle. Rosa knows he's an ancient elf, and she knows about the orb. She could uncover everything about him. Worst of all, his identity as Fen'Harel isn't the only secret he must keep. Her family's blood is on his hands.





	1. Little Miss Tall

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: For those of you who read my prequel to Inquisition called Solas the Circle Mage, welcome! For those who have not read Solas the Circle Mage...STOP! THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THAT STORY! So, if you haven't read it and might want to, consider heading over there first. When I say spoilers, I really, really mean SPOILERS. I broke some canon in that story, and I aim to do it big time for Inquisition too. I think most people are OK with that, but if you're not, just head's up. Anyway, so yeah, because I break canon, there are legit spoilers in that chapter and going forward in this story, mainly relating to *who* this main character is. 
> 
> This chapter is relatively spoiler-free for that story, so if you like this and want to know what happened in the prequel explicitly, go read that story! It's done, so honestly, you have nothing to lose.
> 
> This story is also on FFnet, where I post under the pen name Shilyn. I will upload on this one until it is finished. I am about to finish this story on FFnet. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa endures guard duty with the Valo-Kas. Solas is horrified when he meets Tal in Haven and realizes the Dalish siblings he grew so close to during his time in the Hasmal Circle are right where he didn't want them to be.

Rosa eyed a group of mages standing around a brazier in the courtyard with envy. Her current partner, Kaaras, chuckled as he noticed her staring. "Cold, elf?"

She snorted and shot the Tal-Vashoth warrior a withering look. "No. Not at all, Horny."

Kaaras let out a deep, bellowing laugh, fogging the air around his mouth. When he'd finished he said, "You know what your problem is?"

She sighed, flashing a smirk. "What?"

"Not enough meat on your bones." Kaaras used his great-axe to motion at her. It was so huge it stretched halfway across the open doorway they had been stationed at.

"Counseling me to get fat, Horny?" Rosa quipped, arching an eyebrow at him. At least chatting with him was a decent distraction from the constant bite of the cold air around them.

"No," Kaaras said with a grunt. "I was thinking _muscle,_ elf."

Rosa grinned. "But then I'd put you out of a job. Muscle is _your_ thing. _Magic_ is mine."

This was only the first morning of the Conclave and already things were going incredibly poorly on multiple levels. Rosa's ears still rang from the cacophony of raised, angry voices shouting over one another in relatively confined spaces. The talks had barely even begun and the Divine had called for a recess to let tempers cool.

_And this blighted courtyard is certainly cold enough,_ Rosa thought, shoulders hunching as she fought the instinct to curl into herself to preserve warmth.

"Eh," Kaaras said with a shrug of his enormous shoulders. "You got a long ways to go before you put _me_ out of a job."

_I'll probably freeze first, _Rosa thought sourly. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was colder than a despair demon's breath. Even when Rosa was indoors she spent most of it trying not to shiver uncontrollably. Dressed in thick mercenary garb, she was disappointed in herself for being cold and chided herself for her weakness. Having been born in the Brecilian Forest, Rosa had been accustomed to bitterly cold winters whenever her clan moved outside the range of ancient Elvhen ruins blessed with magic that kept them mild year round. But for the past ten months she'd been living in the Free Marches with her new clan—Lavellan—and had acclimatized to the mildness of life by the sea.

The real problem, however, wasn't what climate she was accustomed to, it was that she couldn't draw magic to warm herself. That would be frowned on by the countless Templars present in the courtyard. Shokrakar, the leader of the mercenary group Rosa had joined, the Valo-Kas, had explained in detail to all of her recruits just what was acceptable at this Conclave and what wasn't. Idle use of magic was one of the things _not_ welcome here.

At least Shokrakar herself seemed to hold little fear or distrust of magic. She had been eager to recruit Rosa and numerous other Dalish elves to help round out her ranks with rogues and mages and proceeded to treat them fairly. On the long journey by boat across the Waking Sea, Shokrakar had ordered Rosa and the other mage with her to instruct her warriors in the best ways to defend against magic. Prior to the mage rebellion the Valo-Kas hadn't dealt much with magic-users, so Shokrakar wanted to address that weak spot. That was what had prompted her to take in Rosa and the smattering of other elves. Rosa had complied with the horned giantess' orders—whenever she wasn't vomiting from seasickness, of course.

"Did Herah tell you about the brawl she had to beak up on the path outside?" Kaaras asked.

"No." Rosa kept her eyes on the courtyard, bouncing from brazier to brazier as she shivered and swayed back and forth from one foot to another. There were about a hundred mages and Templars scattered in the courtyard. These were the most important members of each faction and Rosa's stomach clenched, worrying that one of them might be from the Hasmal Circle. So far, however, she'd seen no one familiar…not even the one mage she'd hoped would be here above all.

"Two mages were fighting over a staff or something," Kaaras said, continuing his story. "It started with fists at first but then they started using fire and ice. Herah was on it like flies on crap, though. So fast the Templars couldn't even get in on the action."

"Shokrakar will be pleased," Rosa murmured, eyes still roving over the men and women, mages and Templars. _He won't be here,_ the pessimistic voice in the back of her head taunted. _He doesn't care about the mage rebellion any more than you do._

This plan to spy on the Conclave had been Keeper Deshanna's scheme. Lavellan enjoyed a healthy relationship with the _shemlen_ in the Wycome area that Rosa still didn't trust. But, as First, Rosa was obligated to serve the older woman and Deshanna wanted eyes and ears in the Conclave, to witness it firsthand. So, here Rosa was and here she would stay until this blighted, hopeless sham ended.

"Sodding right she will be," Kaaras said, grinning. The woman he spoke of, Herah, was his sister. The Tal-Vashoth siblings were easygoing and friendly, as most of the Valo-Kas were. Rosa was grateful she'd come across them as her other means of gaining entry to the Conclave—arriving as an ex-member of the Hasmal Circle—was as distasteful as it was dangerous. The Templars mostly ignored her in her mercenary garb even with the stave on her back, because they read her vallaslin and assumed she had never been one of these rebellious mages.

They'd be wrong, of course.

Far across the courtyard Rosa saw two figures dressed in the same green mercenary armor approaching. She almost groaned with relief and gave in to the desire to wrap her arms about herself for warmth. Her teeth chattered when she said, "Looks like we're about to be relieved."

Kaaras grunted. "Yep. Looks like Edric and Sataa."

Rosa nodded, teeth still chattering, as she too recognized the other mercenaries. Sataa was a grizzled Tal-Vashoth man with horns that curled sideways like a ram. Kaaras, meanwhile, was younger and had horns that went backwards. Edric was one of the two dwarves within the Valo-Kas, both recruits from the Carta—and cousins apparently. Rosa was almost positive the dwarven cousins were only here to sell lyrium on the sly. The woman, Malika, had already surreptitiously asked Rosa if her clan wanted to do business and score some cheap lyrium. Rosa had let her irritable glare do all the talking until Malika got the hint and left.

The mages and Templars in the courtyard parted easily for the dwarf and the Tal-Vashoth as they made their way to where Rosa and Kaaras stood at the entrance to the grand hall where negotiations took place. Sataa appeared grumpy, as always, but Edric wore a knowing smirk as he moved to Rosa's side.

"Took your sweet time, Child of the Stone," Rosa said, crossing her arms over her chest and using the gesture to tuck her hands under her armpits for warmth. "What's that look for? Find someone in need of some _affordable_ lyrium?"

"Well," Edric said, grinning through his red-brown beard. "Yeah. Of course. But that's not why."

"Don't torment her," Sataa growled as he moved to take a spot beside Kaaras and barked out, "Anything to report?"

"Nothing of note," Kaaras replied with a shrug of his huge shoulders. "Just freezing my horns off out here with Little Miss Tall."

Rosa snorted but didn't dignify his comment with a retort. Kaaras had learned early on after she and the other Dalish had joined that her name in elven meant _to stand tall._ So, when he didn't simply call her _elf_, he dubbed her "Little Miss Tall." Because to him and most of the other Qunari, she was short. Her name was actually a reference to bravery, not her height, but the Tal-Vashoth didn't care about that.

"Head back to Haven then," Sataa ordered them. "And check in with Shokrakar."

"Wait," Edric said, stretching out his arm high to grasp Rosa's bicep. "Before you go, I thought you'd want to know your kinsman is about to wind up gutted on Herah's horns."

Both Rosa and Kaaras froze at the dwarf's words, but for different reasons. "Which kinsman?" Rosa asked before Kaaras could question the dwarf. Edric called all of the Dalish her kinsman, so Rosa didn't know who he meant…though she had a few guesses.

Edric let out a laugh. "Mahanon, of course. The one who's desperately in love with you."

Some of Rosa's tension eased. She wasn't as concerned about Mahanon as she was about her little brother, Tal. Both men were a challenge in their own way, but at least with Mahanon she knew she stood a chance of controlling him. Tal sometimes enjoyed disobeying her simply because he could.

Kaaras grunted. "What are they fighting about this time?"

Edric snorted. "What do _you_ think?"

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Don't say it," she growled, but the dwarf ignored her as he launched into a higher-pitched, mocking tone to imitate Mahanon.

"'Why did Shokrakar pair me with _you_? I should be with Rosa! Shokrakar does this on purpose and I won't stand for it!" Edric broke off, snickering.

"Enough," Sataa snapped. He waved a hand at Rosa and Kaaras. "Off with you both. Deal with your kinsman and then report to Shokrakar."

"Yes, sir," Kaaras said with a dip of his head. Rosa did the same and then quickly whipped about on her heel to keep pace with her Tal-Vashoth partner. They walked through the ankle-deep snow in the courtyard, crusted and pockmarked with countless footprints. The braziers they passed had patches of snow melted around them and Rosa eyed them longingly, still shaking.

"I could drape my arm over you," Kaaras suggested with a lascivious look. "That'll _really_ drive Lover Boy crazy."

Rosa huffed irritably, even as she was tempted to let Kaaras do as he suggested simply for the warmth. She was cold down into her bones without the comfort of magic. _Spoiled,_ she chided herself. _Spoiled and soft._

"Is that a no?" Kaaras asked, smirking. "I thought you were cold and you didn't like Lover Boy." They'd crossed the courtyard and entered the archways exiting it. The open air corridor had Valo-Kas mercenaries stationed at either end, monitoring the courtyard just as she and Kaaras had been.

"Another word out of you," Rosa grumbled, teeth chattering and voice quivering. "And I will roast you with a fireball so that you're my personal Qunari brazier."

Kaaras laughed before clucking his tongue. "You're no fun, Little Miss Tall."

They passed by Hissra and Meraad, the horned men looking simultaneously alert and bored. They nodded to Rosa and Kaaras as they passed inside the temple foyer, though it was a foyer only in name. The massive, cavernous space echoed underfoot. Stained glass windows depicted Andraste, her disciples, and her family. The tiles in the floor were a repeated motif of the Chantry sunburst. The symbol twisted something inside Rosa, making her remember the long weeks she'd spent in the Hasmal Circle, the beatings she'd endured when she refused to sing the Chant of Light, and…_him._

The massive double doors at the entrance to the temple stood open, allowing the bitter cold wind to sweep in—along with the continuing retinue of important visitors. Rosa's shoulders hunched and her eyes, having swiftly adjusted to the relative darkness of the foyer, blurred with moisture. Silhouetted in the brightness from outside, Rosa saw dark shapes approaching.

Something heavy lay at the edges of her consciousness, tugging at the Veil and drawing spirits to clamor with excitement. Rosa felt her skin prickle, gooseflesh spreading over her whole body. She shivered now from more than just the cold as memory stirred within her all over again.

And, suddenly, she froze. Her heart leapt into her throat and her stomach tried to follow it. Emotions warred within her: the ache of loss and loneliness, the sharp, bitter stab of betrayal from abandonment, and that _damned_ stubborn fluttering of affection inside her chest. _Elgar'nan's fiery farts!_ _He _is_ here! _

Kaaras stopped at her side, frowning with bafflement before he stepped aside, clearing the way for the approaching figures. Rosa, however, stayed where she was, glaring as the shapes came clear despite the brightness streaming in from the door. The press of emotion behind her eyes fizzled abruptly as she realized _he_ wasn't here. The figures resolved into Grey Wardens, both mages and warriors, fully armored. None of them were elven and, other than glancing at her blankly or with mild irritation, they paid her no mind as they walked around her.

And as one of them passed, Rosa felt the Veil warping, that heavy sensation inside her head _jerking _at her mana core. She bit her tongue to keep from gasping, her head spinning. Through the Veil, already thin here, she sensed Rogathe, her spirit friend, pressing close with interest. She could almost feel it asking her: _What will you do, _da'len?

"Hey," Kaaras said, snapping his fingers at her ear. The sharp sound made her flinch and glare at him. "Thedas to elfling. Anyone home?"

She rolled her eyes at him even as her cheeks flushed with heat. "Sorry," she muttered. "I thought I knew one of them."

"C'mon," Kaaras encouraged her. "We need to rescue Lover Boy before my sister guts him."

"Sure…" Rosa said and then quickly trotted for the entrance. Kaaras followed her, loping to keep up.

They exited the temple and, sure enough, found Herah and Mahanon glowering dangerously at one another. They were still on duty, maintaining their watch of the temple entrance, but responsibility was the only thing keeping them from dissolving into blows. "Hey, Sis," Kaaras greeted his sister with a lighthearted smile. "You look as mad as the time I broke your favorite shield with my axe."

Herah transferred her glare to her brother, letting out a grunt of disgust. "You _still_ owe me coin to replace it."

"No I don't," Kaaras said, hands raised in a defensive gesture. "That was a fair fight and that shield was older than the hills. No way I owe you."

As Herah and Kaaras began bickering in their easygoing way about past fights, Rosa stalked close to Mahanon, who wore a dour expression as he stared straight ahead at the path leading up to the temple. She sighed, gazing down at her booted feet. They still seemed to pinch her and she thought she'd never get used to them, but at least her feet were warm. They were the only part of her body that was.

"Edric said you were about to become a horn ornament for Herah," she murmured, keeping her voice low to make sure the Tal-Vashoth siblings didn't overhear. "What's going on?"

Mahanon frowned, still refusing to look at her. "We shouldn't be here."

"You mean _I_ shouldn't be here," she corrected him, sighing unhappily. Mahanon had resisted Keeper Deshanna's plan to spy on the Conclave, but the clan overruled him. Yet, when Deshanna had insisted Rosa would be best suited to go—for a variety of reasons—Mahanon had insisted on coming with her. He was supposed to be a friend and ally on this mission, but they both knew he considered himself more of a chaperone and bodyguard.

"No," Mahanon said, shaking his head. "I mean all of us. You, me, Tal, and Arvin. We should be with our clans, not wasting our time spying on the _shemlen_." He finally turned to meet her gaze, lips pinched tightly in his blocky face. "But it's more than that, Creators help me. I can't shake the feeling something awful is going to happen."

"I'm the pessimist," Rosa reminded him, smiling dryly. "Remember?"

His expression softened. He had a squarish face, handsome and rugged in an almost _shemlen_ way. His eyes were green-brown, hazel. He had pale blond hair the color of dried out summer grasses or hay that he wore tied back in a neat ponytail. He wore Andruil's vallaslin, which was fitting as he was a rogue and specialized in archery.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, a tad sheepish now. "I…I just feel…"

"The Veil is really thin here," Rosa told him, reaching out to grasp his shoulder and squeeze. "That's got to be some of it." She frowned. "It has me on edge too." Ever since arriving in Haven and in the temple now, Rosa had felt tense and faintly queasy. She _hated_ that feeling, that low-grade fear and tension. It had to be a reaction from the Fade and the spirits there to the anxious energy in the mages and Templars.

Mahanon nodded, jaw clenching. "Yes," he agreed. He'd leaned closer to her, enough that Rosa could feel the soft, warm flutter of his breath over her cheeks. She tried to appreciate Mahanon's presence, tried to prod her inner self to feel out her emotions, as if she could stoke the fires of her own passion. Sadly, she felt nothing. No spark of interest, no racing pulse or dry mouth, or flush of warmth. Mahanon was attractive, but he wasn't a quick wit. He was a hunter and rogue of decent talent and he was Fade-sensitive enough that he could cast sparks if he concentrated, but he wasn't a mage. He just wasn't the man she'd given her heart to, though they both knew Deshanna intended to see them bonded for the purpose of making more magic-gifted children. That knowledge made Mahanon overprotective and possessive of her while Rosa in turn bristled at his perceived ownership when she had agreed to nothing.

Well, nothing except a few exploratory kisses when she'd been drunk off Antivan wine celebrating with the rest of the clan a few months back. Then Mahanon had been clumsy, slobbering on her and pinching at her breasts in a way that reminded her of a Templar who'd abused her in the Hasmal Circle. Since then she'd kept him at a distance and couldn't stop fantasizing about her _far_ better lover of just less than a year ago. And yet…_he_ had abandoned her and Mahanon never would.

Pulling back from him and releasing his shoulder, Rosa tucked her hand back under her armpit to keep it warm. "Don't fight with Herah," she told him firmly, adopting her leader voice. The one that never seemed to work on Tal, other than it always made him roll his eyes.

It worked perfectly on Mahanon, though. He squared his shoulders and nodded somberly. "Of course."

The sound of boots clapping over the tiled floor of the foyer made all four mercenaries stiffen as Malika, the female dwarf in the Valo-Kas appeared, breathing hard. "Yo," Kaaras said to her. "What's the rush, short-stuff?"

"Need to…" she broke off, panting a moment and bending over double. "…go to the Chantry. In Haven. Lyrium."

"For the Templars?" Herah asked, frowning.

Malika nodded when she finally straightened up once more. "Yeah."

Kaaras eyed Rosa and Mahanon, lips quirking. "Why don't you two go? Just don't get _lost_ on the way." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Kaaras," Rosa snarled, shaking her head. "Han is on duty."

"I'll take his place," Kaaras said, indicating Mahanon with a jerk of his chin.

"I'd be glad to go," Mahanon said, offering the Tal-Vashoth a cold smile. He turned to look at Rosa and extended his hand. "Come along, _falon."_

The word Mahanon really wanted to use was _vhenan_, but Rosa had repeatedly asked him not to—the term of endearment still left her raw with memories of her last lover and his abandonment. It was bad enough that Mahanon's sloppy kisses and aggressive groping had made her remember painfully how great _he_ had been in comparison.

And his assumption now that she would walk with him, as if they were already betrothed and bonded, made her bristle with irritation. Recalling the Grey Wardens and that perturbing, familiar sensation on one of them, Rosa shook her head. "No, I'll make my way back shortly. There's something I need to check on."

Mahanon frowned. "Like what?"

"Yeah," Kaaras said, arching an eyebrow. "I thought you were freezing your tits off out here and couldn't wait to leave."

"I saw Grey Wardens," she said. "I want to ask them about the Fifth Blight," she lied and then grinned, breath fogging around her mouth as she spoke. "You know, the Hero of Ferelden stopped by my homeland when I was a little girl, looking for Dalish support."

"You're Dalish," Herah retorted, unimpressed. "You don't have a homeland by your very definition."

"_Fenedhis,"_ Mahanon snarled, rising at once to Rosa's defense. "Dread Wolf take your foul tongue."

"Han," Rosa admonished. "Just go. The Templars need their precious lyrium."

"Yeah," Herah sneered at him, enjoying Mahanon's discomfort. "That lyrium won't fetch itself, elf."

Red faced with rage, Mahanon spun about and jogged away, his gear rustling and clinking. Rosa scrubbed at her face with irritation as he vanished down the path. "Thank you all _so_ much," she muttered sarcastically.

"He's an ass," Malika said. "You're welcome."

"Sarcasm," Rosa snapped at the dwarf and then, letting her hands slap against her thighs in defeat, she stormed off past Malika and into the foyer.

"See you later, Little Miss Tall," Kaaras called to her playfully. "

"Stay warm," Herah added, chuckling. "And if you need help, I'm sure my brother's willing to chase Lover Boy off."

Rosa blocked them out, trying to calm herself as she rushed through the foyer and toward the courtyard once more, searching for the Grey Wardens. She could feel that heaviness in her mind, prickling her skin from afar and tugging on the Veil and the Fade through it. Her first suspicion _must _have been correct, but how in the great Beyond could Solas' orb be here? And where was _he? _Her heart raced, a drumbeat in her ears as a new concern leapt into her mind, as piercing and painful as an arrow.

What if Solas hadn't abandoned her after they'd escaped the Hasmal Circle after all? What if he truly was dead?

_If he's dead I will find out who killed him and I will _end_ them_, she promised herself and felt Rogathe through the Veil, pressing close to be at her beck and call.

_Soon, _falon, she thought. _If I must. If there is no other way…_

* * *

Haven was a small town—_too_ small to host the hundreds of mages and Templars that'd poured into it like an avalanche or a tidal wave. Posing as one of those visitors, Solas arrived in the wee hours of the morning on the first day of negotiations. He ate at the tavern immediately after arriving, enjoying a sparse meal for a few coins to fill his belly for what _might_ be the very last time.

At any moment he knew Corypheus would make his move and unlock his orb. Solas had only to wait and then, in the chaos following the explosion, he would volunteer to help and find his unlocked orb in the ruins of the temple. Before these people could understand what was happening, it would be all over for them. Solas would probably die shortly afterward as well, while killing the Evanuris, but as the Fade realigned with the waking world again the People would awaken in a way they hadn't been able to since the fall of Elvhenan. Despite the carnage, the People would be immortal and they would have magic again.

It would be a fresh start, a new beginning. He had dozens of Elvhen survivors, poised and ready to lead the modern elves as they tasted their true potential once again. And he had sent his arcane warriors, Lyris and Mathrel, to secure two clans in the Free Marches, ensuring a particular pair of Dalish siblings—Rosa and her brother Tal—survived the coming chaos. It was the least he could do to honor one of his oldest friends.

He kept to himself as he sipped on a bit of wine from the barkeeper and allowed himself to enjoy a sweet, sticky bun. It made him think of Rosa, but he embraced that pain. He'd been numb for weeks, anticipating this moment and yet also just wanting it to be over. The pain was a pleasant reminder that he wasn't dead yet and that, as Rosa had told him, he was stubborn. There was a chance, however tiny, that he might survive what was coming. But he tried not to think about it. Hope wasn't something he could afford, and he certainly didn't deserve it.

After indulging himself with food and a bit of wine, Solas left the tavern and settled into a sheltered place between buildings where the snow had been swept clear by the wind. He used his pack as a pillow and drew thick bear pelts over himself to stay warm. Before dawn touched Haven with its golden light, Solas was deep asleep.

He woke with a gasp when someone nudged his head with a cold boot. Blinking blearily, he saw a Qunari woman staring down at him, a small scowl on her face. She wore green mercenary armor and had black hair, graying at the temples. One horn had been broken off while the other twisted straight backward in a graceful spiral. "Get up," she ordered him tersely.

Solas did as she asked, restraining a shiver as he flung aside the pelts keeping him warm. His rough spun clothing was humble and nondescript. He left his simple wooden stave sitting with his pack as he dipped his head in greeting to the Qunari. "What do you need?" he asked, voice clipped but polite.

The Qunari grunted as if surprised. "You're not drunk. My mistake." She motioned at the alley. "What are you doing out here? No money for a cabin or a room?"

"As if there would be one available," Solas quipped. At her sour look Solas decided to stay polite. "In answer to your question, no. I do not have enough coin to rent a space indoors, but I came equipped to remain outdoors." He gestured to his pack.

"You're a mage," the Qunari said. It wasn't a question. She could see his staff.

"I am, yes," Solas told her, bringing his hands up to fidget slightly as he wondered if he should tell her he'd once been a fully fledged member of the Hasmal Circle. He suspected there would be people here who knew him by the alias he'd used with the Templars there and so he used that name to introduce himself now. "I am Revas."

"Yeah?" the woman replied, shooting him a dry look. "I'm Shokrakar, head of the Valo-Kas. We look after the Conclave and Haven, keep it safe from riffraff. You looked like a drunk to me, but can't say I haven't seen more than a few mage hobos hanging round here with no money for a room." She huffed, frowning. "I'd rather you not freeze, so I _might_ be able to let you stay in the cells beneath the Chantry, but I need to check with the Seeker first."

_The Seeker…_He opened his mouth to ask if she meant Seeker Pentaghast and then snapped it shut again, reconsidering. Instead he plastered a smile over his face as he said, "I thank you for your offer, madam, but—"

And then, suddenly, Solas' entire world collapsed with horror as he saw a familiar young elf running toward them. The young elf was tall and lean, with a long face that was distinctly Elvhen, reminding Solas immediately of Mythal's sons and grandsons. He had shaggy black hair, slightly curly, and brown eyes. It was Tal. _Talassan. _

_No,_ Solas thought, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. _No, no, no…_

"Ma'am!" Tal called as he approached. "Ma'am!"

Shokrakar turned to look at the elf running toward them, dressed just as she was in green mercenary gear. "What is it, Tal?"

"Mahanon came down from the temple saying—" Tal broke off as his eyes swept over Solas and recognized him. He skidded to a stop, sliding slightly in the snow. "Revas!" He grinned, beaming with real affection. "_Fenedhis!_ I thought I'd never see you again!"

Solas was sweating despite the biting cold. His throat felt full, as though he might vomit. "You're not supposed to be here…"

"What?" Tal asked, cocking his head and still grinning. "Of course I'm supposed to be here! I work for her." He pointed at the Qunari woman, jerking his thumb.

"Speaking of that," Shokrakar growled, "I'd like to hear what you were saying _before_ you went off on a tangent with this one." She used her chin to indicate Solas. "Report," she ordered.

"Oh," Tal said, his smile turning sheepish. "Sorry, ma'am. Yeah. Mahanon was just here and said the Templars need a few boxes of lyrium sent up. You know." He shrugged. "Ease the tempers and whatnot."

"Is Rosa here?" Solas blurted, hands fisting at his sides as horror gnawed on his stomach. His blood had turned to ice even as his throat felt hot and achy.

"Of course," Tal said, still smiling with pleasure at the unexpected meeting. "She's up at the Temple with…"

Whatever else Tal said, Solas didn't hear it as the world spun and he swallowed forcefully to keep the bile down. _No, no, no…_

"Revas?" Tal asked, the note of concern drawing Solas' gaze to the youth. "Are you okay?"

"I…" He could not stop what was coming. He could not reveal himself. If luck was with him, he might be able to get her and Tal to stay here in the village so that they'd miss the explosion, but if not… "I must see her," he said, his voice breathless and tiny, strained as if with physical pain. "When will she return?"

"She's off duty now," Tal said and then shook his head, wrinkling his nose in a smirk. "She's going to be angrier than Elgar'nan was at the sun though." He glanced to Shokrakar and explained, "He and my sister were an _item_, but he—"

"Tal," Shokrakar interrupted, her expression irritable. "Now is not the time for your gossip. And I _really_ don't care."

_She is off duty,_ Solas thought, heart racing. There was a chance. There was hope she would miss the explosion. He checked the sun's position, squinting at the sky, guessing it was midmorning. "She is on her way back to Haven now?" Solas asked, breathless. His throat threatened to close against the words.

"Probably," Tal replied with a shrug and then narrowed his eyes with the first sign of censure since they'd started talking. "If you're still hot for her, why in the great Beyond didn't you come find her?"

Solas' mouth was dry, his heart pounding. "I was—"

And then, from the direction of the temple, a loud _crack_ rent the air. All three of them gasped with shock at it. Shokrakar and Tal ran for the end of the alley to get a better look at the mountains and the path leading to the temple. Solas swayed on his feet, fighting the twist of agony inside him as the awful certainty rose in him that Rosa wouldn't have made it in time. His luck was too poor for there to be any other outcome. As the chill of numbness settled over him, Solas hurried to join the Qunari and Tal.

An explosion of fire and magic tore apart the temple and much of the hillside. The shockwave rolled down the mountain and toward Haven, rippling the air like a heat mirage. The two elves and the Qunari woman braced for it as it hit but it still knocked them flat. Tal yelped while Shokrakar simply grunted. Solas was silent, his throat closed and burning with emotion that locked away any hope of words. He was the last to recover, his body heavy and slow as he lifted his eyes back to the temple and saw only smoke and ash—and the green-yellow beam of twisting spirit magic pointed at the sky. It flickered, cracking and roaring, piercing the Veil and splitting it wide. A mixture of Fade-ether and clouds swirled about the fissure and the magic still pointed into it like a sword.

Haven was full of shouting and horror as the faithful panicked and beseeched the heavens, falling to their knees to beg forgiveness of the Maker. Countless others reacted by racing toward the still burning ruins, fearless in the face of the carnage. Tal was one of these, already charging out of Haven.

"Shit," Shokrakar cursed and shouted after him, "Tal! Tal! Stop, wait!" But the elf showed no sign of obeying and she swore again and ran after him.

Stunned and witless with this awful turn of events, Solas was slow to act himself even as the cold, practical voice of Fen'Harel ordered him to continue his plan as though nothing was wrong. Hundreds, perhaps thousands had died just now and still more would have to die for Solas to correct his past mistakes. After so much sacrifice and suffering by the People at his hands…Solas and Fen'Harel owed them this, no matter the personal cost.

He rushed back into the alley and snatched up his pack and staff, leaving the bear pelts. He would have no need of them now. Only moments later he was among dozens of others charging out of Haven for the ruins.

By the time he reached the path to the temple, shoulders heaving and throat raw from the biting cold of the mountain air, spirits torn and twisted by the breach were falling like meteors from the sky. Mages and Templars who'd been in Haven at the time of the explosion now launched their combined efforts on the demons falling from the sky, but Solas knew they'd never get ahead of the problem and pressed on, determined to reach the ruins and find his orb.

_May death take you quickly, _harellan_,_ he cursed himself.

Soldiers working for the Divine had been some of the first to respond to the explosion, and many of them had been stationed along the path to the temple itself. So it was no surprise that when Solas reached the smoking, charred ruins, grimacing at the stink of burned hair and the ragged, sharp rasp of the shattered Veil, he saw these same men and women already hard at work. They had knelt among the ashes, their faces streaked with tears and dirt as they dug, seeking survivors and clues. Corpses lay strewn just outside the temple: mage, Templar, and the Divine's people alike.

Solas ignored this initial chaos and pressed deeper, knowing that what he sought lay at the center of the blast. Ahead, through the twisted, blackened rubble, he saw the twining green beam of energy leftover by his orb where it had torn the Veil asunder. Green spirit energy pulsed through the blackened stone and Solas halted, gasping with shock as he saw Blight-tainted lyrium—something he hadn't seen since before the fall of Elvhenan.

"_Fenedhis,"_ he cursed. Others hurried by him, but a few stopped to stare at the jagged red crystals, horror and awe in their faces. Solas considered warning them against touching it but decided not to. None of these men and women would live long enough to be infected.

And then, with a shrieking roar, a green blur smashed down into the rubble just behind them. The men and women nearby cried out with alarm as a shade materialized out of the Fade stone and ether. A few wraiths appeared as well and began flinging damaging spirit energy in their confusion and pain. A woman caught in the spirit energy screamed and flailed as it afflicted her with agony.

Without thinking about it, Solas snatched up his staff and began fighting alongside the demons. The woman's piteous screams continued until she collapsed, unconscious or dead. The sound of it echoed in Solas' mind, reminding him that all of this was his fault. He wondered what in the Void he was doing as he flung fireballs and cast winter's grasp at the wraiths and the shade demon. He intended to kill all of these men and women as soon as he found his orb. Why bother saving them now?

Yet he didn't stop until the shade had collapsed and the wraiths had dematerialized. A man wielding a sword slapped Solas on the back, thanking him and then asking, "Do you know any healing spells?"

"I do," Solas replied, fighting the desire to frown. He racked his brain, trying to find a way to resist what he knew the man would suggest next—but then shouting made him and the man who'd addressed him both turn to look deeper into the ruins. There were about six figures walking through the charred rubble, carrying the limp body of another between them.

Solas' heart seemed to seize up in his chest as his eyes slowly made sense of what he saw. Four of the figures were the Divine's personal soldiers, rumored to be part of an as-yet undeclared _Inquisition_. The two other men flanking them, their body language anxious and angry, were elven. One of them was Tal and the other was unfamiliar and walked with a limp, but both clamored to reach the figure that the Divine's men held aloft.

The figure's left arm flopped, the palm glowing green and crackling with the Anchor and Solas' felt as though there was suddenly no air around him. The woman in their arms was elven and, as they drew nearer, Solas saw her lifeless, pale face, and choked on the emotions crawling up his throat like bile.

It was Rosa.

"Andraste save us," the man beside Solas whispered. "A survivor? What is that on her hand?"

"Please," Tal was shouting alongside the humans carrying Rosa. "Please—let her go! She's my sister! She didn't _do_ this…!"

How could Rosa bear the Anchor? His mind raced, his blood pulsating inside him with every heartbeat. He needed the Anchor to open the Fade properly. Only with the Anchor and the foci together could he accomplish his task. Corypheus should've been the one to try and take it, but Solas had bet on the fact that the magister would wind up dead in the explosion and the power of the Anchor wouldn't bestow itself on him. It was meant for Fen'Harel to wield and _should_ simply kill anyone else quite quickly.

Priorities changing, Solas turned and moved after the Divine's soldiers in a daze as he tried to think and simultaneously to remain numb so that he wouldn't feel the horror of what he'd done. To reclaim the Anchor would likely require Rosa to die and if Solas wasn't on hand to take it from her it would be lost.

The orb would have to wait until he'd secured the Anchor.

* * *

Seeker Pentaghast took control of Haven and Solas soon found himself volunteering his expertise to her people, desperate to ensure they didn't kill Rosa. He endured an interrogation with Sister Nightingale, or Lady Leliana, Left Hand of the now deceased Divine almost immediately after he came forward. He explained to her that he had spent most of his life as an apostate and was an expert on the Fade, even knowing that such forbidden knowledge would draw any good Andrastian's suspicions. He also explained, briefly, that he had been a member of the Hasmal Circle before it fell in violent rebellion.

"The prisoner was also a member of that Circle," Leliana said, one red eyebrow arched. "Was she not?" Her eyes were red-rimmed and her skin pale, sure signs of just how hard she had taken the cataclysm, though she revealed no sign of grief as she spoke with him.

She was well-informed already. Solas had come to them swiftly after realizing Rosa bore the Anchor, but apparently Leliana had been busy. How much did she know, exactly? Solas felt sweat prickle his skin, knowing that it was all-too likely that this dangerous woman would see a conspiracy in what was happening as she connected the three mages—Rosa, Tal, and Solas' alias "Revas"—from Hasmal with the destruction of the Conclave. She'd be right, after a fashion, but Solas' sins would inadvertently damn innocents like Rosa and Tal.

Lying was inadvisable, however, so Solas merely nodded. "Yes," he answered. "She and I were friends but I have not seen her since the Circle fell." He paused a moment before adding, "Almost a year ago now."

"And is there anyone who can substantiate that claim?" Leliana asked.

Solas smiled tightly as he considered her question. Finally, he said, "I don't suppose you have already spoken to a young elven man by the name of Tal, have you?"

He could tell by the slight quirk in Leliana's lip that the answer to that question was likely _yes._ But she neglected to answer as she shifted her weight from one foot to another, apparently coming to a decision. "Come with me."

Solas rose to follow her orders, ignoring the fact that several guards flanked him to ensure he did as she commanded as well. Leliana led him from the small enclosed room at the head of the Haven Chantry and through the dark, gloomy sanctuary toward a side door. Guards stood in place, dressed in the heraldry of the Divine's fledgling Inquisition. They glared at Solas as he passed, bare feet brushing over the hard stone.

Down a dingy flight of stairs and into the Chantry's sublevel where small cells with iron-wrought bars lined the walls. A brazier hung from the ceiling, the flame crackling. In its dim light Solas saw that the cells were full of people dressed in the green mercenary garb Tal had been wearing. Most of the men and women in these cells were Qunari and Solas saw Shokrakar staring at him, her expression creased with tension. He saw no sign of Tal or any other elves.

At the far end of the dark, dreary hall, Leliana paused before a sturdy looking wooden door with a barred window set high in it. A solitary confinement cell, Solas suspected. He could feel the familiar sense of the Anchor on the other side when he concentrated.

A guard admitted them and Leliana stepped aside to allow Solas inside first. He strode in a tad slow, almost gingerly, his eyes falling on the coarsely woven matting in the center of the small room where the unconscious elven woman lay. She'd been positioned so that her left arm stretched out perpendicular to her body, a sure sign that Leliana had likely toured others through for them to inspect Rosa's marked hand. The Anchor crackled and hissed, flickering with a pulse that Solas knew would match the much larger breach outside.

A human man sat on a small chair off in one corner at what was obviously a table that'd been dragged here hurriedly. Medical supplies and herbs lay scattered over it. The man shot to his feet as he registered Leliana and Solas. "My lady," he greeted her and then, uncertainly, added, "Ser."

"Is there anything new to report?" Leliana asked.

"No," the man answered, shaking his head. "Unconscious and her vitals are all over the map." He motioned with a shaking hand at the glowing mark. "Can we station a Templar in here? Maker's breath, that _thing_…"

Solas' fingers twitched at his side, though he restrained the motion. Humbly, he looked to Leliana and asked, "May I examine the mark? I may have better luck as it appears to have some connection with the Fade and the Veil."

Leliana flashed him a small, dry smile. "That _is_ why I brought you here."

Solas nodded and moved to kneel at Rosa's side, reaching gently for her marked left hand. He frowned with concentration, pressing two fingers to the glow that ran along the seam in her palm. The magic prickled his skin, teasing him with how tantalizingly close it was, but as he cautiously drew on it he found it stuck fast to her. The crackling increased, however, flushing warm against his skin. It knew its master and grew in strength at his command.

"Bloody thing," the man grumbled unhappily, spooked with the increase in the Anchor's brightness and strength.

Clenching his jaw with frustration, Solas brushed his fingers over the seam and willed it to calm now. It obeyed. The crackling quieted until it went silent, though the glow continued, pulsating.

"What do you make of it?" Leliana asked.

_It is bound to her,_ Solas thought, scowling. _That should not have happened. _It was _incredibly_ bad news for his goals. Without possessing the Anchor himself he could not fulfill his plans. Reclaiming it would mean killing her and, despite the weight of all he owed the People and all his past crimes, Solas could not imagine killing Rosa. She may yet die from this catastrophe—that was _entirely_ his fault, as usual—but Solas refused to play any part in it beyond what he already had.

"Revas?" Leliana prodded him.

Solas let out a small sigh as the present swam back to him with all of its challenges. He must strike a balance between usefulness and innocence to gain the Nightingale's trust so that she would allow him to remain close to Rosa and the Anchor.

"It is unknown to me," he lied, making a show of feeling over the seam in her palm once more though this time the mark didn't respond because he willed it to be silent. "I have never seen its like before, but it is similar enough to some Fade-based magic that I believe I can keep it quiet and bring it under control."

"Will she survive?" Leliana asked.

"It is too soon to predict," Solas murmured, keeping his voice cold and aloof to avoid revealing the roiling of his own emotions at Leliana's question.

"Hmmm," Leliana murmured, frowning.

"However," Solas said, licking his lips nervously as the Nightingale's eyes drilled into him. "I believe it is no coincidence that this mark and the breach appeared at the same time, as best we can tell. They must be connected. Perhaps it is because she is at fault for what has happened," Solas said, fighting hard not to cringe at those words, but knowing if he didn't utter them Leliana would find it suspicious. "But it was no simple explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes. There is strange magic at work in creating the breach. My hope is that her mark may be used to close the breach as well as to open it."

His words had the desired effect on Leliana as she nodded, a flash of appreciation brightening her face. "I rather hope you are correct, Revas."

_If I am wrong then I will have destroyed this world and accomplished nothing,_ Solas realized as he forced himself to smile back at her. Without the Anchor and his orb, Solas could not tear down the Veil or reshape reality. He could not kill the Evanuris before they woke. Without action in the near future the breach would begin expanding. The Veil would destabilize and fail eventually, releasing the Evanuris upon this world.

If Rosa died and the Anchor was lost…all of Thedas would die with her.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Well," Varric said, huffing. "How about you, Chuckles? What have _you_ been up to since getting out of the Circle?"

_Plotting to destroy this world by bringing down the Veil, _Solas thought and sighed. "I have been traveling," he said. "I visited Orlais for a time." _Seeking the passphrase to the eluvians._ _Piecing together how Felassan spent the last twenty-five years._

"Oh," Rosa said in a singsong voice, glowering at him as she spun about on her heel in her ongoing pacing circuit. "Did you pick Orlais for the food? The culture? Or was it just that that is quite _literally_ the furthest spot away from my new clan in the Free Marches?"

* * *

Endnote: If it bothers anyone that Solas has an alias name here, don't worry. At a later date he will be exposed...in that way, at least. For those who have read Solas the Circle Mage, particularly its epilogue...no, I haven't forgotten about the bombshell I dropped there. I'll deliberately be holding that back from anyone who's new to this until later, but because you're in the know you'll see hints. Frequently.


	2. The Wrath of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Again, people, if you haven't read Solas the Circle Mage, you're missing out! I start dropping spoilers for that story just casually here. You've been warned! Tried to keep this moving right along and break canon wherever I could.
> 
> Elven used comes from fenXshiral. All props to him/her!
> 
> Lenalin: means "male parent." Father. But there's no note of this being a formal or respectful word, so Rosa uses it more often out of sarcasm or mockery, as in "sperm donor."
> 
> Rosa wakens a captive of Seeker Cassandra's fledgling Inquisition and reunites with Solas.

Rosa woke to a haze of pain emanating from her left hand. Her blurry eyes adjusted gradually to the dark around her, but from the small sounds of breathing and rustling, she knew she was far from being alone. When her hand throbbed with that awful, cutting pain again, Rosa gasped and struggled to sit upright, only to find her hands were manacled and chains secured her to the floor. She could rise from her prone position but could not stand up.

Her left palm flickered and crackled with green magic and in the light of it Rosa realized there were soldiers around her in a circle, each with their sword drawn and pointed at her. She glared from soldier to soldier, searching their faces and trying to understand what was happening. Memory was of no help, offering nothing but fragments and foggy impressions.

"Who are you people?" she blustered, lips curling. She blinked with surprise at how hoarse her voice sounded. "Where am I?"

As if summoned by her questions, Rosa heard the loud tread of boots over the stone floor and a moment later the heavy wooden door in front of her opened. Two women strolled through, one walking right and the other left, circling her like wolves around their prey. In the abysmal lighting of the cell neither woman appeared familiar.

The soldiers around Rosa sheathed their blades but remained tense, revealing that these two women were in charge. Rosa stiffened and prepared herself for torture and death even as her mind and thoughts turned inward, brushing against her mana core and finding it bubbling with more than enough strength to bust her way out of this room.

Yet she could not run. Not yet. Fleeing would be cowardly. She must let them make the first move. That was the true path of bravery.

She felt a bit dizzy, confused by her own emotions and that inner voice that wasn't _quite_ her own…

"Tell me my why we shouldn't kill you now," a familiar, accented voice spoke in her ear from the woman who'd walked around to her right. Rosa resisted the instinct to wince backward from the woman and instead shot her a look that was half bemusement and half defiance. She _knew_ this woman after all. What _was_ her name…?

"The Conclave is destroyed," the woman went on, still circling. "Everyone who attended is dead. Except for _you."_

_What?_ It was as if the woman had spoken gibberish. _Conclave. Destroyed. Everyone. Dead._ Rosa tried to draw up her memory, to understand, but the dark-haired woman went on before she'd reached any conclusions.

The woman snatched her manacled left hand and shook it. "Explain _this." _Rosa's palm lit up with that sharp, stabbing pain, magic flickering green.

Jerking back from the woman, Rosa bared her teeth at her. "You tell me! I haven't a clue."

The dark-haired woman lunged for her, closing her leather-gloved hand around Rosa's neck and squeezing just enough for it to constrict her airflow and hurt. Rosa glared into the human woman's eyes, heart pounding and head spinning. The woman's dark eyes were narrowed dangerously as she hissed, "You're lying! No more games. I _know_ you, mage. Answer my questions or—"

The other women intervened, stepping close and snatching the dark-haired woman's hand. "We need her, Cassandra," she said under her breath, but still easily audible. Rosa observed this other woman curiously, catching glimpses of pallid skin and red hair beneath her hood as the woman pivoted around to address her. "Do you remember what happened? How this all began?"

"How _what_ all began?" Rosa countered, shaking her head and jostling the manacles.

The hooded woman's eyes narrowed critically. "Do you even know where you are?"

Rosa snorted. "A dungeon, obviously." The green light in her hand lit up with a crackle and she hissed through her teeth, clutching at it and rocking in distress.

"This is Haven," the dark-haired woman told her, snarling. "I want to know what you—a former mage of the Hasmal Circle—were doing disguised as a common mercenary at these peace talks."

Rosa was silent for several long seconds, squinting at the woman called Cassandra in deep concentration as memories slowly clicked together. "Ah," she said. "I know you now. Seeker Pentaghast."

"Yes," the Seeker snarled. "And _I_ know _you._ You were accused of killing a Templar through blood magic in the Hasmal Circle. I ordered the Knight-Commander to dismiss those charges. I _vouched_ for you." The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable. "And now?" The Seeker made a noise that was halfway scoff and halfway something else, almost a sob. "Now you are _here_, the lone survivor, and everyone else, including Most Holy, is dead."

"Do you remember anything?" the hooded woman asked, her voice a little more desperate this time.

Rosa clenched her jaw, brow furrowing as she tried to dredge _something_ up for these two women. Hazy memories swam through her: the biting cold and boredom, the tension as something she saw or sensed reminded her of…what? And then, suddenly, she recalled her companions and the other members of the Valo-Kas. Lifting her head, she looked between the women, licking her lips as she blurted, "You said everyone is dead? I have a brother and two friends from our clans, and I work for the—"

"Do you remember anything about the explosion?" the hooded woman repeated yet again, her voice growing hard and cold. Rosa interpreted it clearly: _tell us something_ _and we _may_ tell you what's become of your loved ones._

"I don't remember an explosion," Rosa said hurriedly. "I just remember being in the courtyard. After that…" She shook her head, scowling with difficulty. "There was…fog? And grey. I remember running, being chased. There was…a light. I remember being afraid, and then…not." She broke off, feeling her chest constrict with the power of that fear. She had not dreamed unconsciously since childhood, being a Dreamer capable of reshaping the Fade, but these hazy impressions were like those left after a nightmare: vague and insubstantial. And the more she tried to cling to them, the harder they were to hold.

But there was one more thing. "I remember a woman. She reached for me, but…" The faint images fell through her grasp like individual grains of sand. She sighed with frustration and sagged, trying to quash the cold dread gnawing at her belly.

The Seeker and the hooded woman spoke to one another briefly before the Seeker sent her companion away. A few moments later she knelt in front of Rosa and unlocked her chains, grabbing the manacles and hauling her upright. Rosa didn't fight her, but she did pin the Seeker with a glare as she asked, "Do you know where the Valo-Kas are?"

"Cooperate," the Seeker told her icily. "And you will be allowed to see them."

She led Rosa out through a long, dark hall, gloomy and dank, smelling faintly of mildew. The cells lining either side of the wall were empty but Rosa smelled the foul stink of stale sweat, feces, and urine that told her these cells had been occupied until fairly recently. Stepping out into the relative brightness of the daylight, somewhat overcast as it was, Rosa winced and shielded her eyes as best she could with her manacles. Dimly, she heard a rumbling noise and saw greenish light.

When her eyes had adjusted, Rosa gawked. The sky had been torn asunder. A ribbon of twining green light streaked up from where the temple had been—or was it downward from the heavens? In the sky itself ominous clouds circled, coiling about the slash in the Veil. Green streaks rained down from it, hissing.

"Dirthamen protect me," Rosa breathed, eyes round and unblinking.

* * *

After the Seeker had explained the chaos in the sky and unlocked Rosa's shackles, she found herself jogging along the path to the ruins of the temple, still dazed. A dark instinctive place inside her eyed the hillsides and gullies they passed and considered summoning the stealth spell she'd learned as a child to turn invisible and slip away into the wilds. She could double back to seek out her brother, Mahanon, and Arvin after that. But even as the idea sprang into her mind she felt queasy and hot with shame.

_That is the coward's path. You are not a coward. _

The odd inner voice tugged at her mind, hard and unyielding and familiar as she realized she could do nothing except face whatever horrors had been unleashed at the temple. It was the honorable thing to do. The brave thing. To do anything less could put Tal, Mahanon, and Arvin in danger.

Assuming they still lived.

The Seeker had been right about the unfathomable levels of destruction that'd taken place on this mountainside. Bodies lay strewn about, rubble flung out from the temple was scattered over the path and on the hillside. She saw mages and Templars, united in death as they had been in life, half-buried in the snow. Green meteors streaked in from the breach, falling like the Fade stones Rosa often hurled from her staff or even just her fists. Where they landed Rosa saw Fade ether bubble up until demons materialized, twisted and crazed, lashing out to attack anyone nearby.

The Seeker evaded combat, driving Rosa along the path, higher onto the mountainside. But, as they crossed a bridge of stone, the high-pitched shrieking of one of the green meteors came and Rosa yelped as it crashed into the bridge they'd been halfway across. Stone flew, dust and snow flung up by the impact.

Thinking fast, Rosa leapt over the rocks, tumbling to the frozen river below. She scrambled to reach the snow, narrowly avoiding being smashed by the falling stone rubble. The Seeker fell as well with a little strangled cry, but was on her feet almost immediately as the Fade ether from the meteor that'd landed nearby bubbled to reveal two shades.

"Stay behind me!" the Seeker ordered her. The woman drew her sword, the metallic ringing setting Rosa's teeth on edge. She'd heard that sound far too often in the Hasmal Circle from the Templars. But, aside from that irritating reminder, Rosa bristled with irrational rage and pressed forward, refusing to let the Seeker defend her.

As the shade lurched for the Seeker and she blocked it with a bash of her shield, Rosa conjured a Veilstrike, flattening the demon to the ice. Slashing at the downed demon with her sword, the Seeker yelled to Rosa, "I _told_ you to stay behind me!"

"Not a chance!" Rosa countered, grinning fiercely as she called fire into her palms and flung it at the shade. It had been some time—though she wasn't sure how long exactly—since she'd had a fight like this. Simple enemies and no question of what must be done. Calling the mana, shaping it with her will, and watching the results left her body singing with joy and drowned out the constant deep aching of the blighting green mark in her hand.

When Rosa saw a staff lying amidst the rubble beneath the fallen bridge, she Fade-stepped for it, blasting straight through a second shade that'd arrived to harass them. Snatching up the stave, she felt winter magic chill her hands and tutted under her breath. Winter magic was one of her least favorite schools, but any staff was better than none. Whipping back around, she flung ice at the shade assaulting the Seeker, spinning as she cast winter's grasp and letting out a whoop when the demon dissolved into green essence.

"Oh yeah," she shouted, breath fogging around her mouth as she hefted the staff up in a motion of triumph. "This is a _shitty_ staff but I don't even care."

And then the Seeker advanced on her, sword out and leveled at her. "Drop your weapon!"

Rosa glared at the other woman, instincts and emotions warring inside. The snarl on the Seeker's face promised death if she didn't do as ordered and it was possible that if she refused the Seeker could later punish her by harming Tal. Yet, to relinquish her weapon was _foolish._ The sky was clearly spitting out demons like a snowstorm produces snowflakes. There would be more demons to fight—and she wanted to fight them. _So. Very. Badly. _

And yet, was it not braver to fight the demons without a weapon? Priorities clashed inside her and Rosa grimaced, feeling faintly nauseous again as the world blurred. She drew in several deep breaths, struggling to find peace and logic. She shook her head, desperate to clear it and the Seeker's snarl relaxed into a frown of confusion. "Drop your weapon, mage," the Seeker repeated, but less insistently now.

She was frozen with indecision; muscles seized and body sweating. Defy the Seeker and fight her? Acquiesce to the Seeker and face the demons unarmed? Pushing past her mental impasse, Rosa blurted, "Which would you prefer, Seeker?"

"What?" the other woman barked, completely baffled.

"Do you want to fight me for this staff or should I face the demons unarmed?" Still holding the staff in one hand, she shrugged. "You know I don't need a staff to be deadly."

The Seeker stared at her a long moment and then, slowly, dropped her confrontational body language. She sheathed her sword and huffed out a long breath. "You're right. Keep it—but one false move and—"

"We fight," Rosa finished for her, deadpan. "Except _you_ might be holding my brother and my kinsman against me like hostages." She curled her lips, rage scalding her blood. "That's the _coward's_ path. I will not attack you while your back is turned. I will never betray you as long as we fight a common enemy."

Rosa paused a moment, wrinkling her nose as she tried and failed to get a hold of herself. More words spilled out. "And if I _do_ ever try to kill you, I'll make sure you're awake and armed. I am not a coward."

Rosa clamped her lips together, struggling to hold back still more as she shook with restrained fury and passion, even as another part of her cringed with horror at what she'd said. _This isn't me._ Realization dawned and stirred her guts with cold dread.

_Fuck._

It was Rogathe.

The Seeker stared at her, brown eyes narrowed with suspicion before she scoffed and turned her back on Rosa, striding along the frozen streambed. Breathing deeply and closing her eyes, Rosa tried to purge the emotion running rampant through her by concentrating on a calming memory. She visualized her mother as she'd been the day Rosa had sat stock-still to receive her vallaslin. She heard her mother's words of praise and saw her beaming with pride. She felt again the pain of the needle pricking her skin as it applied the sacred ink. Each pinprick was tinged and tempered with honor and awe.

Grounded once more, Rosa jogged after the Seeker, fumbling as she tried to strap the staff to her back. She wondered where her stave had gone after the explosion. A mystery for the ages, she supposed, as she and the Seeker fought a few more wraiths and shades atop a snowy hill.

Rosa drew magic to keep herself warm and was soon flushed and sweating from her footwork. Her blood sang with an almost carnal enjoyment as she cast spell after spell. She couldn't stop the sigh of disappointment that escaped her lips when the last shade died on the Seeker's sword. And yet, she also felt the warmth of admiration stir within her for the Seeker's excellent form and steadfastness on the battlefield.

"Good job," she praised the other woman, trotting to stand with her on the ice of the streambed. "Couldn't have done it better myself." The Seeker shot her a withering look, as if she expected sarcasm and Rosa quickly tried to reassure her. "I'm being serious. I would have used magic, but I couldn't have done it faster…well, not without a firestorm or a better staff, or…"

The Seeker groaned irritably and headed for the path across the frozen river, marked by stones that formed steps. "Hurry," she called to Rosa over her shoulder. "We must hurry. I can hear them fighting."

Rosa charged ahead, loping through the snow drifts as fast as she could. The exercise made her almost giddy and she had to restrain herself from all-out sprinting. She focused on regulating her movement and her breathing, forcing herself to stay slow and simply keep pace with the Seeker. She could hear the fighting the Seeker had mentioned now: the shouts of soldiers, the hissing and slithering of shades and wraiths, the clank of steel.

"Who's fighting?" she asked, puffing.

"You'll see," the Seeker said and something in her tone made Rosa's chest tighten with dark anticipation. Would she know these combatants? Was Tal up here fighting alongside the other Valo-Kas?

She pushed ahead, breathing harder, sprinting past the Seeker to see a group of men and women fighting demons on a narrow plateau scattered with shattered stone ruins. Near the edge of the cliff she saw a green slash in the air, glowing and glimmering and dripping Fade ether. It was…like a miniature breach. And, like the breach, it apparently spewed a constant supply of demons. These fighters needed help and Rosa was happy to provide it. Her heart thundered in her ears as she surged forward to aid them, eager to feel that song of magic in her blood once more.

She streaked into the center of the fight, stabbing at one shade with her staff and then chucking Fade stone at it. Twisting and spinning about, she repositioned to hurl fire at a wraith, dodging its long distance spirit energy barrage. She sent chain lightning arcing between three shades and flung up barriers over two soldiers nearby. As one of the shades dissolved, its essence streaking back to the green rift, Rosa shouted with triumph: "Die!"

A few of the soldiers, weary from fighting, looked to her with startled expressions. Rosa ignored them as she spotted a mage near the stone rock face using winter magic and surrounded by three shades. A dwarf was at his side, working a crossbow and firing bolts at the demons. Rosa aimed her next round of chain lightning at those shades, grinning as one of them fell. She flung a fireball at the middle one and then Fade-stepped through the last shade, freezing it solid.

"Void take you," she yelled, exultant as the mage at her side struck the shade she'd frozen with a killing blow, shattering it.

And then, suddenly, the mage at her side snatched her left hand, taking Rosa completely by surprise. She felt the mark flare up, scorching her from within and stabbing at her all the way up to her wrist. She gnashed her teeth, eyes watering, and only dimly heard his voice as he shouted, "Quickly, before more come through!"

Her arm and hand seemed to no longer obey her, for Rosa tried to tug free, but found herself helpless. Then, a heartbeat later, she felt pressure tugging on the fine bones of her hand, straining them with agony. She saw a bolt of green light extending out from her palm to the glowing green hole in the sky, interacting with it. Instinct and pain made her hand close into a fist and, as the mage released her, Rosa yanked hard down on those green tethers and the rift shrank on itself and imploded.

Cradling her hand to her chest, she turned to glare at the mage—only to gawk as she finally recognized him. _Solas. _Her heart leapt into her throat, aching as badly as her hand even as it sang with joy. She wanted to react with affection. She wanted to shout and rail against him for abandoning her all this time. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to slap him. Punch him. For the second time this morning she found herself unable to speak through the internal war raging inside her.

His blue eyes crinkled at the edges and his lips held something sad and melancholic—but also tender as he reacted first. "Greetings, Rosa. I don't know if you recall, but I am Revas."

_Of course _she remembered, except his _true_ name was Solas, but…suddenly, like a slap to the face, Rosa recalled the soldiers around her on the hillside, the Seeker standing nearby and observing them, and the dwarf…

The dwarf!

She turned and blinked with shock as she recognized Varric Tethras, smirking knowingly at her, crossbow in hand.

Collecting herself, she nodded once, cold and curt. Whatever she had to say to Solas would have to wait until after the disaster was dealt with and, for both their sakes, it was best not to reveal exactly how _close _she'd been with him. She quashed the small part of herself that writhed with self-loathing at that plan, calling it cowardice. _That_ was Rogathe and listening to it would only get her in trouble. Or killed.

Flexing her hand, she asked, "What just happened?"

"I tested a theory," Solas—_Revas,_ she reminded herself—said, smiling slightly. "Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the breach's wake. And it seems I was correct." His blue eyes flicked to the Seeker standing nearby at this comment and Rosa sensed unspoken understanding flowing between the two. A sort of zinging hope that charged the air like storm magic.

"Meaning it could also close the breach itself," the Seeker said, a note of something akin to awe in her voice.

"Possibly," Revas said, his posture one of humbleness. Ironic, considering his true name. Smiling slightly, he spoke to her again, "It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

"Hurt like Elgar'nan's fire," Rosa muttered, shaking her hand out as if it'd cramped. If _only_ that was what was wrong with it. She could feel the foreign magic of the mark, crawling in her bones and tendons, burning and stinging and full of pressure. It felt like an infection. And it was growing whenever the breach pulsated in the sky.

She thought she saw Solas wince a little, as if with sympathy, and that made her want to both kiss and slap him again. Pushing that thought away, she turned to Varric as he strode close, wisecracking, "Really? I thought we were going to be ass-deep in demons forever. Bianca will be devastated." He grinned at her. "Hello again, Violet. Nice little Hasmal reunion we've got going on here. Chuckles told me Stoic is here, too."

Rosa perked up, eyes widening. "You've seen Tal? Since the explosion?"

Varric cut a glance at the Seeker, who shifted and shot him a glare in return, crossing her arms over her chest. Fearless and smirking, the dwarf said, "Sure have. Didn't speak to him much, though, because we were in different cells and weren't interrogated together." He shrugged. "You know how it is. No matter what I try, can't ditch the Seeker. She _loves_ interrogating me."

The aforementioned Seeker sneered at him. "I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer an option."

"I only wrote a whole _book_ about it, Seeker," he said, chuckling as he spread his arms out in a helpless shrug. "I hardly think it's necessary for me to be here. But, in a way, I kinda saved your life, don't you think? If we hadn't been delayed a day or two on the way here, we'd be dead now."

The Seeker made a disgusted noise, shaking her head with derision.

Rosa's mind was still spinning at this unexpected reunion, as well as the relief that Tal was alive. Beside her, Solas added softly, "Your brother is alive and well, lethallan."

_Lethallan._ She despised herself for how much that term stung. The last time they'd seen one another, he'd called her _vhenan._ Swallowing hard and refusing to turn to look at him, she flexed her hand again instead, as if he wasn't there entirely. Unfortunately for her, Solas kept speaking, though mercifully it wasn't to her.

"Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Rosa is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage having such power."

Rosa bit her tongue to keep herself from giving away her disgust at that comment. _Disingenuous, smug…_

"Understood," the Seeker replied curtly, sounding reassured. "Come," she said and motioned to the path ahead. "We must get to the forward camp. Quickly."

* * *

In the three days since the explosion, Solas had kept an ear out for any sign of his orb and swiftly learned the only thing of note discovered in the ruins had been Rosa herself. Cassandra had sent him away early in the third day to aid the soldiers and Varric and anyone else who could fight in combating demons. But Solas suspected her true reason for sending him away was that she didn't want him present when Rosa woke.

Although he'd been one of her primary healers as she lay unconscious, Solas had never been left alone with Rosa for more than a few moments. He guessed that they feared he might be in league with her, or an accomplice. If she were to waken while they weren't watching he might have time to work out a matching cover story with her. Or, worst of all, he could kill her on the sly.

Of course none of that had come to pass. Instead, as Solas concentrated on killing demons and saving soldiers, he'd been startled to see Rosa spring into the fray, all motion and grace and magic. He'd seen her fight at Hasmal, one-on-one with him and against Templars and demons within the Fade, but witnessing it again left his mouth dry and his body flushed warm despite the chilly mountain air. Unconscious in a dark cell she'd been pallid and pitiful, but here she was vibrant and beautiful. She was the woman who'd captured his heart and still tormented his thoughts when he gave in to weakness.

And she'd been entirely chilly in her reception. Solas had half-expected she would strike him, not that he could blame her if she had. He found himself fidgeting with his hands as they walked for the forward camp, making their way along the mountainside path. Explanations and apologies kept scrolling through his mind and he continually rejected them. He'd tried to escape her advances in the Circle a year ago, but due to his weakness at the time, both physically and magically, Solas had had to rely on her talents heavily.

He had no such limitations now and, unlike in the tower, he also knew of her parentage. The sight of her reminded him again, powerfully, that her father's blood was on his hands. He could see his old friend in the shade of Rosa's violet eyes and in the way she moved because many of her attacks recalled his own lessons. She had, undoubtedly, learned much from her father, and Felassan had learned those tricks from Solas.

It was better this way. Better that she should let him go. Even if it made him feel as though Varric had shot him through the chest with one of Bianca's bolts.

Outside the forward camp Rosa closed another small rift and fought with a vengeance, grinning and yelling with her enjoyment. The sound of her voice, raised in celebration, stirred rather inappropriate memories within Solas and he had to force himself not to watch her; admire her. He lingered at the edge of the group, keeping pace with Varric as Cassandra and Rosa took the front for their meeting with Leliana and a Chantry chancellor named Roderick.

When the humans could not agree on how to proceed, Cassandra surprised Solas by asking Rosa's opinion. After a little bit of snark from their prisoner—"Is this some kind of joke? Asking your prisoner to make your decisions for you?"—Rosa chose to charge ahead rather than risk the mountain path. It was…interesting and more than a little hopeful that Cassandra and Leliana had looked to Rosa to end their deadlock. That level of authority and respect to a woman they'd regarded as a prisoner boded extremely well.

Solas couldn't help but smirk to himself at her decision, however. Though he would have liked to have rescued the squad Cassandra mentioned was missing on the mountain path, he knew Rosa was less than patient at times and chances were high the people trapped there were long since dead. It was the only feasible outcome for a group he suspected had been pinned down beside a rift that spit out unending demons. Even the best warriors would eventually fall.

While Cassandra and Leliana mustered their forces, Varric, Solas, and Rosa were left with a ragtag bunch of soldiers, waiting for the charge to the temple to begin. Solas sat on a stone that'd been swept clear of snow and used a rag to polish his stave, checking it over for damage, particularly the top where mana was channeled. Varric cleaned Bianca and applied lubricant to her moveable parts.

Rosa, meanwhile, paced over the dirt and snow and rocks of the path, her feet crunching the gravel underfoot. Her hands opened and closed repeatedly at her sides. The staff she wore on her back thumped against her rump, poorly adjusted to her height. Solas recognized it as a staff that primarily channeled winter magic and, unable to constrain his curiosity, asked, "Winter magic? That is hardly your specialty."

She didn't look at him as she scoffed. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice," she said and then, a little snidely, added, "_Flat-ear."_

Varric chuckled, looking between Rosa's pacing and Solas' frowning. "Whoa. Is it cold here or is it just me?"

"It is you," Solas told the dwarf, sourly.

Varric sighed and rolled his eyes. Setting Bianca aside, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, though the position appeared somewhat awkward for one as short as he. "Here," the dwarf said in a light, teasing tone. "Since the two of you can't seem to wrap your heads around the whole reuniting with an old flame concept, let me help you out."

"Please don't," Rosa grumbled, still wearing a little canyon into the path with her pacing.

"I must concur with Rosa," Solas added dryly.

Varric waved a hand dismissively at him. "Here's how conversation is _supposed_ to go." He motioned at Rosa. "So, Violet. How have you been since getting out of the Circle?"

Rosa altered her pacing slightly to walk closer to Varric and shoved her left hand, palm out, into his face. "This is how I've been," she snapped. "Nothing else matters." Tucking her hand back in from Varric's frowning face, Rosa resumed her pacing. Solas stared down at his toes in the dirt, trying not to feel a stab of shame at her words. She was smart and knew too much about him. She might know already who exactly was responsible for that painful burden on her hand and she'd probably guess that it was slowly killing her, too.

He swallowed, feeling a nervous twist inside him. He _really_ needed to speak with her privately. As soon as possible.

"Well," Varric said, huffing. "How about you, Chuckles? What have _you_ been up to since getting out of the Circle?"

_Plotting to destroy this world by bringing down the Veil, _Solas thought and sighed. "I have been traveling," he said. "I visited Orlais for a time." _Seeking the passphrase to the eluvians._ _Piecing together how Felassan spent the last twenty-five years._

"Oh," Rosa said in a singsong voice, glowering at him as she spun about on her heel in her ongoing pacing circuit. "Did you pick Orlais for the food? The culture? Or was it just that that is quite _literally_ the furthest spot away from my new clan in the Free Marches?"

"Easy, Violet," Varric cautioned her, patting the air with both meaty hands. "I'm sure it wasn't—"

"I _know_ what it was," Rosa snarled, advancing on the dwarf with both hands clenched. She was shaking, but clearly not from the cold. Her cheeks were rosy, but mottled with rage to again reveal that the chill in the mountain air wasn't affecting her so much as internal strife.

Varric cringed, motioning with his hands defensively, desperate to defuse her. "Whoa, easy, _easy…"_

As if she suddenly remembered that her rage wasn't at Varric, Rosa turned her snarl on Solas. Although Solas cringed inwardly, he steeled his shoulders and his spine, refusing to show her weakness. "I was _not_ in Orlais idly," he told her in a low voice. "And I fully intended to seek you out as soon as my work there was complete." A lie, of course, but it sounded genuine and he let his real regret show through so she would—

"_Liar,"_ Rosa growled, switching to elven. She advanced another few steps, her boots crushing dirt and gravel beneath her. Her violet eyes had lightened into a shade of pink, brightest near the narrowed pupils. _"You took the coward's path. You feared what lay between us and you fled from it."_

Suddenly the lump of emotion in his throat became a strangling, cold hand from fear as suspicion lit up within him. "Rosa," he said, gently. "Calm." He narrowed his eyes critically, pleading with her silently. "Seek control." He purposefully breathed inward and outward with exaggerated slowness, trying to guide her.

She stared at him, the rage still making her shake, but he could see the change in her eyes: a distant terror, pupils narrowed to pinpricks. Her nostrils flared as she followed his example, slowing her breaths. Her gaze flew forward along the path and then behind again, seeing the soldiers nearby gawking at this exchange. Their silent censure had the desired effect even more than Solas' coaching as she let out a long breath, shoulders sinking.

"_Rogathe?"_ Solas asked quietly, arching an eyebrow.

Her scathing look was all the answer he needed as she whipped around and stalked over to Varric's side of the path, sitting with a thump. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and covering her face in her hands. Her left palm gleamed faintly with the Anchor, mocking Solas from a distance.

_This is not good,_ Solas thought with a frown. His estimation of her odds of survival _socially_ had been rising steadily until this moment. He had little doubt that if Cassandra discovered the truth about her marked prisoner she'd kill her without question. And, worse, it might soon prove warranted. The breach was anything but healthy for the spirits torn through it. Rogathe had been pure when Solas had last encountered it, despite the two years it had been inside Rosa. But now, in the face of the breach and its host's less than stable emotional wellbeing…

He hoped Rogathe had slipped inside of her altruistically and with her permission, but he couldn't know without speaking to the spirit, which was presently impossible.

"Whatever you just did there, Chuckles," Varric said with a tight laugh. "I really need you to teach me it."

"I did nothing," Solas said quickly. "I simply know Rosa has a volatile temper that can overcome her at times. _She_ is the one who regained control. I did nothing." Rosa showed no sign of reacting to or even hearing his words. Solas suspected she'd withdrawn to try and calm the angry spirit inside her.

It was only a few minutes later when Cassandra returned to rally them for the push ahead to the temple ruins. Another small rift in the Veil stood in their way, releasing demons in bits of bubbling Fade-ether before crystalline green stone rendered the tear dormant periodically. Cassandra's soldiers were already fighting demons there and, based on the bodies outside what had once been the temple's gates, Solas guessed they'd taken more than a few casualties before learning they could not win or exhaust the supply of crazed spirits-turned-demons.

Rosa leapt into the fray, shouting in elven and common, twirling her staff as she cast lightning, ice, and fire. Solas tossed a barrier over her and the various soldiers fighting with them. He dispelled the barriers protecting several wraiths, allowing soldiers with daggers and swords to hack and slash through them. Rosa cast immolate around a cluster of shades that'd centered their attacks on Cassandra and Commander Cullen. The two warriors were protecting a wounded man who lay slumped and bleeding on the ground behind them.

Working in tandem with Rosa—though he guessed she wasn't actually working with _him_ so much as he was complementing her attacks—Solas used defensive spells to protect the warriors and to pin the demons in place. Rosa, meanwhile, hurled endless fire, lightning, and ice. When the shades and the wraiths had been scattered, their essence streaking back to the Fade, Rosa jogged to the rift and thrust her left palm to it without his prodding. Solas didn't miss the way her expression warped with pain, or that she shook out her hand afterward, grimacing.

"Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this," he complimented her with a nod, hoping to reestablish a workable, professional relationship for at least the next few minutes.

She snorted at him and didn't reply as Varric added, "I just hope it works on the big one."

Cullen approached then, drawing their attention even though he spoke to Cassandra and not to them. "You managed to close the rift? Well done." Yet, despite addressing Cassandra, Solas saw his eyes were already darting toward Rosa, who eyed him the way she might look at a wasp.

"Do not congratulate me, Commander," Cassandra corrected him with a huff. "This is the prisoner's doing." She indicated Rosa with a slight motion of one hand and then proceeded to slap at the grime left on her by one of the shades, her lip curled in disgust.

"Is it? I hope they're right about you. We've lost a lot of people getting you here." Cullen seemed just shy of disapproval, but his tone was mild. Solas braced himself for what was certain to be a nasty exchange, positioning himself close enough that he could grab Rosa and hold her back. Rogathe had been especially hateful and repulsed by Templars, determining them to be bullies and cowards.

Rosa scoffed irritably. "You _just saw_ me close that damnable rift. How long have you been fighting demons around it without success before I came along with _this_ fucking thing and sealed it?" She lifted her hand, waving it. The Anchor glowed faintly along its seam.

Although Cullen's eyes were hard with annoyance, his shoulders slumped. "Too long," he answered. "But these smaller rifts are not as pressing a concern as the breach itself. Do _you_ believe you can close the breach as well?"

Rosa's body language eased as she shrugged. "I won't know until I try."

Cullen nodded. "Good." Turning his head, he saw Cassandra had finished flicking muck off her armor and told her, "The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there."

"Then we best move quickly," Cassandra said, straight to business. "Give us time, Commander."

"Maker watch over you—for all our sakes," Cullen said by way of goodbye, then moved to help the wounded soldier he and Cassandra had been protecting earlier.

They pressed on, deeper into the charred, twisted ruins. This close to the breach, bits of debris hung suspended in the air as the Fade disrupted the natural laws. Smoldering remains lay about or stuck up from the hardened, blackened earth. It was a macabre scene that Rosa was taking in for the first time and Solas saw her gaze swiveling about, lips parted and brow furrowed.

"I survived _this?"_ she asked, glancing to Cassandra.

The Seeker nodded solemnly. "This is where our soldiers found you. They say you stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. There was a woman behind you in the rift. No one knows who she was."

Rosa grunted. "Probably Mythal." When Cassandra frowned with disapproval, Rosa grinned mischievously.

Solas remained silent, keeping his counsel as they entered the depths of what had once been the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Seeing the enormity of the rift at the bottom of the breach, Rosa cursed. "Anyone have a _really _tall ladde_r_ and about a thousand Qunari I can stand on?"

"You can reach it from below," Solas said, pointing as he walked to the railing at her side. "Sealing this rift may seal the breach itself."

She shot him a knowing look, dark and angry, that seemed to clinch it for him: she knew or suspected he had been involved with this. "Whatever you say, flat-ear."

Solas gnashed his teeth together as she turned and strode away, circling around the ruins to find another way down.

* * *

As they drew nearer to the rift at the base of the enormous Andraste statue, Rosa heard the deep, gravelly voice echoing from it. The sound seemed to perturb the Seeker to no end, just as the red crystalline structures—red lyrium, the dwarf called it—around the periphery bothered Varric. Solas answered both and Rosa wondered just how much he truly knew about all of this. The magic aching in her left hand wasn't _familiar_ exactly, but it felt _ancient. _It reminded her of Solas' orb, even if she had no evidence that was it.

But when they dropped into the lowest level the rift seemed to react to her hand, flickering and flashing until it spewed forth a vision and more echoing voices. A shadowy, maleficent man ordered someone to _slay the elf_ and the Divine called out for help. Rosa frowned at it, torn between amusement and surprise, as she wondered whether this was a show constructed by spirits or actual memories of what happened here.

When the Seeker called out to her, voice desperate for answers, Rosa only shrugged. "I don't know. Can't remember."

Solas spoke up then, suggesting they try to close it and encouraging the Seeker to ready the remainder of the troops present. The Seeker took action, shouting orders and directing the hooded woman—Leliana's—archers in the shattered upper level. Varric took a spot near Leliana, who was also an archer as evidenced by the bow on her back.

Solas lingered near Rosa, posture stiff as he, too, prepared for whatever she would inadvertently summon. For her part, Rosa toyed with her hand while the humans prepped and studiously ignored Solas. She _hated_ how easily he had seen Rogathe within her, both for the fact that it revealed how poorly she'd controlled herself and the spirit, and because it reminded her just how _well_ he knew her. Worse, she already felt the tug of her old attraction to him and knowing he was there eased her worries regarding Rogathe and even this breach and the Creators-damned mark in her hand. If _anyone_ knew about these things and how to deal with them, it was Solas.

Or _him, lenalin._ But it'd been nearly a year since she'd heard from him and she'd come to believe he must have died, though where and how she didn't know. Yet, even if he had been alive and responsive, he'd failed her before, unforgivably. Solas might have abandoned her, just as _lenalin_ had, but at least Solas had been around to help her with Rogathe before. Solas had saved her life in the Circle. Why wouldn't he do the same again now?

The Seeker's voice drew her attention then and Rosa braced herself as she stepped closer to the massive rift hovering near the broken statue of Andraste. _Mythal preserve me,_ she prayed, though she knew the woman had never answered her and wasn't the least bit trustworthy. _Dirthamen protect me. Elgar'nan, lend me your fire…_

She thrust her left palm up and felt the mark scald her, sending hot, streaking pain through her. The rift pulsated and rippled, the crystalline stone that temporarily sealed it crackled and burst, sending a shockwave outward that made everyone nearby stumble, including Rosa. With a flash of light, a massive pride demon materialized, growling and brandishing a lightning whip.

The archers fired upon it at once and the fight began. Rosa flung ice at it and then Fade rock, but she snarled to herself as she saw they had little effect. The demon had an unusually thick hide.

She felt the pleasant tingle of magic wash over her skin as Solas tossed a barrier over her and then Fade stepped to her side. He grabbed her bicep, pulling her close even as she jerked her arm out of his grasp and twisted on instinct to slap him across the cheek. He blinked at her, startled, his pale skin already turning red where she'd struck him.

"Don't _grab_ me," Rosa snapped, glaring.

The demon let out a dry grunt and its whip lashed the air, making both of them flinch, but the demon's attacks were still focused on the Seeker, Varric, Leliana, and a handful of other warriors, well away from the two mages. Solas shook his head as he refocused on her and shouted, "Disrupt the rift, Rosa! It will render the demon vulnerable."

Realizing what he meant, Rosa pivoted and thrust her hand upward again, wincing with pain as it activated. The rift shimmered and the pride demon fell to its knees, shoulders heaving. Varric shouted encouragement as he flipped away, firing a handful of fiery crossbow bolts. "Whatever you just did, keep doing it, Violet!"

But the rift wouldn't respond to her yet and several shades had materialized. Solas thwacked one with his staff and froze another, but two more came straight for Rosa. Gritting her teeth with dark enjoyment, Rosa turned and twisted, hurling ice chunks and fireballs as the gleeful song of combat sang yet again in her blood. She could forget about Solas, forget about the pain in her hand, and even her dubious position as a prisoner, as long as there were demons to slay. She even let one draw close enough to pound its strange, warped fists on her. The pain was a welcome reminder that she was alive and strong, brave and virtuous.

"I will _destroy_ you!" she roared at the demon, grinning savagely as she wheeled around it, casting winter's grasp with a clenched fist. The shade died too quickly and she pivoted round to send raw winter magic from her shitty staff to the pride demon, _willing_ it with all her might to take damage, to yield before her greater courage and valor. Frustratingly, however, the pride demon paid her no mind—until the backward flick of its whip caught her.

The blow knocked the air from her lungs and she fell, sprawling. Her body twitched, stinging from the storm magic. The world spun and her stomach clenched. _Ow._ She realized dimly she hadn't bothered with a barrier this whole battle and that seemed…foolish. _Stupid,_ actually.

"Rosa!" Solas' voice shouted and she heard the whine-pop of his Fade-step as he knelt at her side, placing his hands on her. She knew he was healing her and shivered with pleasure at the soothing touch of the spell, recognizing that it was a _potent_ spell. But as soon as the pain faded she slapped at his hands.

"I don't need your help," she muttered, heaving herself upright. She swayed on her feet but caught herself, keeping her legs from buckling by sheer force of will alone.

"If you die we will all die," Solas yelled at her and when she looked at him she saw his face was red and mottled with anger. He snatched her left hand, lifting it. "You must _disrupt_ the rift…"

She swallowed her cry of pain as the magic from the mark lashed out at the rift, clearing it of the crystalline blockage once more. Woozy, she slumped and would have fallen if Solas hadn't reached out and caught her. She groaned as she heard the shouting from the battlefield drawing further away, the crack of the pride demon's whip still lashing the air. Again, she felt Solas toss a barrier over them both and frowned, wishing she had thought to do that too.

But she knew why she hadn't. _Rogathe._ It was a loyal spirit, honorable and brave—but not very smart. And it didn't understand the waking world. She'd learned to partially dampen its power over her instincts after two years sharing her body with the spirit, but now she was vulnerable again, out of practice. She'd spent the last year free of its influence as Rogathe had returned to the Fade with Solas' help in the Hasmal Circle.

But right now Rogathe did _not_ view Solas as a friend.

She bristled at Solas' touch, even though she knew she had needed it and might still need it. Struggling, she shook him off and shot him a scathing glare. "I will do this without you," she growled and stumbled a few steps away from him. Seeing the rift was ready to be disrupted again and the demon was far enough away it wasn't a threat, she thrust her hand up to the green light—only to realize that this time felt different. The fine bones in her hand screamed with white-hot pain and she felt pressure tugging against her, resisting her.

_It's going to close,_ she thought and pushed through the agony. Somewhere behind her, she heard the pride demon making a noise that was half gurgle, half growl as it finally succumbed to the assault by the archers and warriors. And then the resistance to the strange power of the mark failed, giving way, and a shockwave shot out.

Rosa had a heartbeat to see it rush for her, like a tidal wave coming in from the Waking Sea, and then it hit her. She collapsed into darkness.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Tal scoffed lightly. "Let me rephrase then and put it as bluntly as Elgar'nan's fire. _Do_ you still love Rosa?"

_I never stopped, _he thought, but this was a question he simply could not answer. Keeping his expression neutral, he said, "My feelings are immaterial. There are far more pressing matters currently." He motioned at the breach, so prominent in the darkening sky as dusk gathered.

"That's not an answer," Tal snapped with irritation. "But I won't press you. It's not like I'm some bastion of faithfulness and eternal love." He huffed. "At least tell me why you didn't come find her like you said you would?"

Now Solas winced slightly and let his eyes drop to the snow underfoot. "I had…other responsibilities."

* * *

Endnote: next chapter we will see Tal again! If you don't know him from Solas the Circle Mage, prepare for a treat!


	3. Elgar'nan's Flaming Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Tal catch up with each other. Solas also has the dubious pleasure of meeting Mahanon. Rosa wakens in Haven, no longer a prisoner, but still under Rogathe's volatile influence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You guys ready for some raging Rosa? Oh, and of course, some terrific Tal!
> 
> Elven Used (All praise and thanks to FenxShiral):
> 
> Aneth ara: The familiar, friendly greeting Dalish use on each other.
> 
> Asamalin/Isamalin: Sister/Brother
> 
> Lenalin: Male parent. Rosa and Tal use it like "sperm donor" when they're feeling a bit resentful to their father, Felassan.
> 
> Falon: friend. Not used for acquaintances, but true friends.
> 
> Din'anshiral: a journey of death

"Revas!" a familiar, youthful male voice called from off to Solas' left. He raised his head, turning to look at the short stairs leading up to the cluster of cabins and saw Tal approaching, holding a bottle of wine.

Solas smiled with real warmth. "I see they let you out of your cell, _falon,"_ he commented. "These _shemlen_ are more foolish than I thought."

Tal snorted and then laughed outright as he trotted up the last stairs and moved to stand beside Solas's cabin. Fumbling with the cork in the bottle, Tal cursed under his breath until it popped out with a satisfying noise. Staring at the cork with a wrinkle in his nose, Tal shrugged and tossed it aside into the snow. "Not going to need _that_ again."

"You drink almost as much as Master Tethras," Solas admonished.

Tal was already taking his first generous swig. He lowered it with a satisfied _ahhhh_ and grinned. "I'm just as entitled to my alcohol as Varric is at this point." He laid a hand over his chest. "Did you hear? My _sister_ is the _fucking_ Herald of _fucking_ Andraste." He broke off, laughing again. "_My sister. _Rosa. The woman who'd rather be beaten than sing the Chant."

Solas' smile had shrunken significantly. "I am aware." Scanning the cabins around him and relaxing as he saw they were empty, Solas frowned. "You should be a little more discreet in your criticism of the humans."

"But it's _so_ funny," Tal protested after another long swallow. He cocked his head then, staring down at where Solas sat in the dirt and snow, his back to the cabin Cassandra had provided him. "Why are you sitting down there?"

"I was meditating," Solas replied coolly. "Before a certain alcohol-loving Dalish man interrupted me, of course."

"Just tell me where that Dalish bastard, whoever he is, ran off to and I will end him," Tal said, snickering. He took another drink and then, as the clapping noise of boots on the stairs came again, he turned to look back the way he had come, brow furrowing.

Solas followed his gaze and saw another young elven man, though this one was several years older than Tal. The man moved a bit stiffly, as if tense or angry. He was lean even in the green mercenary gear he still wore that added artificial bulk to his shoulders. He had pale blond hair and eyes that were brown-green.

Tal faced Solas again where the approaching elf couldn't see and rolled his eyes before taking another quick drink and pivoting to include the other man, stretching one hand out to begin introductions. "Mahanon," he addressed the newcomer, who wore a less-than-friendly expression. "Good to see you."

The blond elf stared at Solas with open hostility. "Is this him?" he asked, clearly speaking to Tal.

Solas arched one brow, both amused and irritated.

Tal heaved a longsuffering sigh and, using the wine bottle, he indicated Solas. "I know you wanted to meet Revas and here he is. So…" He shrugged and moved the bottle back and forth between them as he said, "Revas, this is Mahanon. Mahanon, Revas."

"A pleasure," Solas said, plastering a feigned but polite smile over his lips.

"Stay away from Rosa," Mahanon shot back, glaring as though Solas' cordiality had insulted him.

Silence reigned after Mahanon's comment. Solas stared at Mahanon, taken aback, then switched to examining Tal for clues. Meeting Solas' gaze, Tal rolled his eyes again and brought his wine bottle to his lips for still another drink. The wine sloshed and tinkled inside musically.

Returning his gaze to the other elf, Solas watched Mahanon's breath fog out around his lips, coming just a touch too fast, as if he expected a confrontation. Slowly, Solas shook his head. "Pardon me," he said with a dip of his chin. "I'm not sure I—"

"You heard me," Mahanon spat. "Stay away from Rosa. I know you two were involved before she joined my clan."

"Stop being an ass," Tal scolded the other man. "Or Rosa will kick your ass when she wakes up."

Mahanon's glowering look transferred to Tal. "If you really cared for your sister, you'd be warning this _flat-ear_ away too."

Tal laughed, a note of mockery in the sound. "I _do_ care for Rosa. That's why I don't go around trying to make her decisions for her."

Losing his patience, Solas said, "I do not know what you _believe_ happened between Rosa and I in the past, but I can assure you that—"

Mahanon interrupted him with a harsh hissing sound. "Unless that sentence ends with you saying you're going to stay away from her, I don't care."

Solas' jaw clenched as his blood boiled, though he repressed it and merely glared when what he wanted to do was run Mahanon through with his staff. Keeping his voice even and calm, though several notes too deep from his usual friendly tone, he said, "I can assure you that Rosa and I had a strictly professional and platonic relationship while we both inhabited the Circle." He didn't dare make eye contact with Tal, who he knew could easily call him on that lie.

"Nugshit," Mahanon snarled, shaking his head and slashing his hand sideways through the air. "I know the truth _and_ I know you hurt her. Broke her heart."

_How much of the truth?_ Solas wondered before he could stop himself, feeling the jaws of fear, icy and harsh, clutch at his throat. But he knew that Rosa hadn't betrayed him even to her brother. Why would she do it with this man?

…How _was_ she involved with this man?

Solas tabled the annoying, weak part of himself that had asked that question and _cared_ about the answer. Deeply. He had never been given to jealousy, but the strong emotions he'd developed for Rosa while they lived in the Circle were somewhat new to him and letting go had been difficult. In fact, he knew he hadn't entirely _let _go. That was why he'd wondered about Mahanon and found himself despising the other man on multiple levels. Letting go properly would likely be harder still with her in the same small town as he now. But if she had chosen a new partner for her new life and new clan, Solas resolved not to interfere and to be happy for her…even if he agreed with Tal that Mahanon was an ass.

"Whatever you believe you know," Solas said, quiet and cold. "I do not believe it polite or appropriate to discuss." Unable to keep himself from digging at the other man, Solas added, "I wonder if your time might be better spent attending Rosa instead of attempting to intimidate me?"

"You watch yourself, flat-ear," Mahanon snarled, eyes narrowed and scathing. Turning on his heel, he strode toward the stairs, heading down them with a heavy tread that made his mercenary armor clank and rustle.

Tal scoffed, still nursing his wine bottle, now nearly three-fourths empty. "Can you _believe_ him? What an insufferable prick." Tal curled his lip with disgust, as if the wine had insulted him. "What he did to you just now he was doing the _entire_ trip from the Free Marches and from the moment we joined the Valo-Kas. Warning away everyone with a cock, like Rosa is some bit of venison or wine and can't speak for herself."

"It is unsettling behavior," Solas agreed, though his voice was reluctant and he frowned. Deciding to probe covertly for information, he added, "But it is not my place to pass judgment on Rosa's husband."

Tal snorted. "He's not her husband. He just _wants_ to be. Their Keeper wants them to make little mage babies for the clan because the little girl they think will be Second isn't very talented and it's been a long time since a gifted child was born. Mahanon is strong enough to light a fire, but not much else." He groaned, sloshing the wine about inside the bottle as he said, "The Free Marches seem to be really short on mages."

Sensing distress underlying Tal's words, Solas heaved himself to his feet with a smothered grunt and moved to lay a hand on the younger elf's shoulder. "What troubles you, _falon?"_

Tal's eyes had the slight watery glaze of intoxication and Solas wondered if he'd already consumed a bottle in the tavern before coming to see him. Yet, unlike in the Circle where Tal had become loose-lipped with even minor amounts of alcohol, the youth now pinched his lips together and sighed. "Oh," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Nothing."

Pausing a moment, Tal grimaced and used his free hand to gesture at the cabin behind Solas and then at the rest of Haven. "I mean, nothing except all this, Mythal save us. And _that_, too," he added, using the wine to indicate the green tear of the breach still in the sky despite all Rosa had done to close it.

Solas glanced quickly at the breach and then away again, feeling his guts tighten with anxiety of the reminder of his disastrous miscalculation. The orb vanished. Rosa marked with his Anchor. Hundreds, even thousands dead because of what he'd done and with no immediate result, effectively rendering all that life lost in vain. Somehow, he forced himself to chuckle at Tal's comment. "Yes, that _is_ certainly something that troubles me as well."

Now Tal's brown eyes glittered with mischief. He reached up and grabbed Solas' hand, turning to tug him toward the stairs. "What d'you say we go have some drinks and play a few rounds of cards in the tavern? Varric's there and I bet him that you could outsmart him."

Solas locked his legs, resisting Tal's pull. "I'm afraid I have duties here to attend to," he said to excuse himself.

The younger elf shot him a disbelieving look. "Like what, Revas?"

"Cassandra has tasked me with finding a way to close the breach properly. I have reading and research to conduct." He motioned at the cabin where he did indeed have a pile of dusty tomes to pretend to consult on the issue of the breach.

Tal snorted, waving a hand dismissively at the cabin. "That'll be there when you get back. We have to celebrate Rosa being touched by the _shemlen_'s prophet and all that." He grinned, leaning close with a twinkle in his eye. "And, when we've had enough booze and cards to get us riled up, we can go visit Rosa just to cheese Mahanon off."

The word around Haven was that Rosa—the "Herald" as the humans had started calling her—was merely sleeping. Everyone was confident she would waken again. Solas had been the one to carry her off the battlefield and had watched over her for a few hours the first evening, and during that time he'd concluded she would recover, though it would take some time. A few days or a week, perhaps. Solas had no desire to disrupt her sleep with boisterous, drunken interruptions.

"That would not be appropriate," he protested, shaking his head.

"Screw Han," Tal said with a shrug. "He'll hate you no matter how polite you are. There's no sense in trying to make him happy."

"I am _not_ attempting to please him," Solas said, frowning.

"Are you trying to tell me you _aren't_ going to win her back?" Tal asked, a bemused look crossing his face. "Was she some casual dalliance to you after all?" Solas might have missed the slight flare in Tal's nostrils or the tiny narrowing of his eyes if he had not known the other man from his time in the Hasmal Circle. That past experience let him interpret those tiny details as masked anger. Tal was _angry_ with him—as Solas would have expected from a loyal and loving brother confronting his sister's ex-lover.

Because that was what this was, though Tal had hidden it well. He was as socially savvy as his father, Felassan, had been.

"No," Solas growled, feeling his cheeks heat up with real insult at the idea. "But she is not some prize to be won in a ridiculous competition between myself and Mahanon."

Tal scoffed lightly. "Not much of a competition, but you're right." Turning his head slightly, his brown eyes narrowed critically. "Let me rephrase then and put it as bluntly as Elgar'nan's fire. _Do_ you still love Rosa?"

_I never stopped, _he thought, but this was a question he simply could not answer. Keeping his expression neutral, he said, "My feelings are immaterial. There are far more pressing matters currently." He motioned at the breach, so prominent in the darkening sky as dusk gathered.

"That's not an answer," Tal snapped with irritation. "But I won't press you. It's not like I'm some bastion of faithfulness and eternal love." He huffed. "At least tell me why you didn't come find her like you said you would?"

Now Solas winced slightly and let his eyes drop to the snow underfoot. "I had…other responsibilities."

Now Tal's features warped with bitterness. His lips puckered as though he'd tasted something sour and he wrinkled his nose with disgust. "You sound like my father. _Lenalin._"

The mention of Tal's father—Felassan—made Solas' spine stiffen and his heart pick up with both alarm and grief. Those were not the emotions he should feel in this conversation. He struggled to hide them.

Tal scowled and his voice was sharp with anger as he asked, "Your other _responsibilities _don't include another lover and a daughter halfway across Thedas, do they?"

Solas swallowed hard, struggling to remain impassive, yet he couldn't stop the icy ache in his throat as well as the heat of shame that stole over his cheeks. "No," he answered, though his voice was strained. "I have remained alone since leaving the Hasmal Circle."

"Small comfort to my sister while she waited for you to contact her," Tal growled.

Solas winced. He panned through his mind, eager to change the subject but the only topic that leapt to mind was to ask Tal about his father, to learn more about the life Felassan had hidden from him—and what he had ultimately died for. But neither Rosa nor Tal had ever opened up much about their father to him. His interest, therefore, would be odd. Best not to take the risk. Tal glowered at him, appearing more irritated than angry, though Solas suspected the youth merely masked the depth of his emotion. He expected a response and Solas hurried to supply one and make it as honest as he could.

"I cannot change the past," he said, slow and somber. "But it was my intent to contact her after this Conclave." That was both lie and truth. _He_ wouldn't contact her, but would have his agents do it for him.

"Well," Tal said with a shrug, the anger leeching from his features gradually. "She's here now. Maybe drop in and see her?" He shrugged again and smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just a thought."

With that, Tal left him and headed for the stairs. He swayed a bit more than he would have had he been entirely sober, but otherwise seemed to handle himself well. Solas smiled to himself as he watched the young man leave, though the expression was as much grief as joy.

Felassan had been his student from a very young age and their relationship had fluctuated and changed over time from student and teacher to almost father and son or brothers. Tal held a strong resemblance to his father now that Solas knew what to look for, though they had markedly different pigmentation. That resemblance now left Solas' chest aching with loss anew.

In a way, Rosa and Tal were like his grandchildren and it pained him to realize that Felassan had deliberately hidden them from him. Felassan had not trusted Solas enough, apparently fearing Solas would kill them or hold them hostage against him. To protect his children, he had faced Solas after defying him, knowing he would be killed rather than set free—but with his death, he left Solas no reason to take an interest in Rosa and Tal. Or so he thought. He hadn't known Solas had fallen in love with Rosa and come to admire Tal as a friend and didn't know who their father was. But now Felassan's death at Solas' own hands was another major reason he could not allow himself to rekindle his ill-advised relationship with Rosa. With their father's blood on his conscience, Solas deserved nothing but scorn from them for being too foolish to see the truth about the Dalish siblings' heritage sooner.

And yet…seeing Tal's long face with his refined features, echoing Felassan, brought joy to Solas. And recognizing that Rosa's violet eyes were the same shade as Felassan's warmed the cold heaviness of grief. Even though Felassan was gone and had defied him, it was comforting to know he lived on in Rosa and Tal. And Solas would act as their steward in honor of their father's memory, though he would have to do it invisibly and it would be a thankless job.

One day, when he tore down the Veil, Rosa and Tal would learn just who and what he really was, and Solas would spare them from the fire and chaos as modern Thedas burned. And when he had finally died in the struggle, completing this din'anshiral, Solas would make sure one of his agents was left to tell the siblings the truth about their father.

* * *

Rosa woke to the sound of Mahanon's irritable voice berating someone. "The elfroot in this is too strong, you fool! And the water isn't hot enough. If you _really_ want to help her, you'll add in a pinch of dried spindleweed."

"Spindleweed," a quaking, female voice repeated. The accent sounded Ferelden.

"And on the double, flat-ear," Mahanon scolded with a snap of his fingers.

"At once, ser!" the warbling voice said.

_Well,_ Rosa thought, sighing. _I'm not dead at least. _She sat up, wincing as she felt pain from bruises scattered over her body. Dim memories of the fight returned to her and she blinked, baffled to realize she was lying in a nice, plush bed inside a warm cottage. Her hands and feet were unbound and she wasn't wearing her armor any longer. _Creators dammit, _she thought as she felt over the thin button-up tunic and breeches they'd given her. _Someone undressed me. _

"Oh!" the quaking voice spoke again and Rosa saw a servant gawking at her from the darkened foyer to the little cabin. She held a tray with porcelain cups and a teakettle atop it, steaming. "You're awake!"

"Rosa!" Mahanon said, pivoting to face her from where he'd been standing beside the fire. His face lit up in a broad smile as he rushed forward to kneel beside her bed, reaching to encircle her in his arms. Rosa let herself be embraced, relief making her sigh as she realized he had survived the explosion at the Conclave.

Pulling back from her, Mahanon held onto her shoulders, grinning. "Mythal be praised! You're finally awake!"

A clattering from the door drew both of their gazes to the foyer where the servant had dropped the tray of teacups and the kettle. "Oh!" she squeaked. "Oh, no! I'm so sorry, my lady! I didn't mean—"

"Get out of here, fool flat-ear," Mahanon snarled at her, waving a hand dismissively.

"Lady Cassandra wanted to know when you'd woken. At once, she said," the servant rambled, backpedaling toward the door and wringing her hands.

Rosa shook her head. "Why are you so frightened? Has Han been berating you?" She already knew the answer to that was _yes_ based on what she'd woken up hearing. Glaring at Mahanon, she said, "Do you really have to be a boor to everyone new you meet?"

Mahanon shook his head, trying to defend himself. "I was only—"

The servant whipped around and sprang out the door as if Rosa and Mahanon were about to unleash demons on her if she lingered a moment longer. Rosa sighed and reached out to grip Mahanon's shoulder. "Just help me up, will you? And tell me what in the great Beyond has happened. How long have I been asleep?"

"Three days," Mahanon replied, somber and grim. His hazel eyes crinkled with concern. "I worried you would never waken and would die of thirst. I have been at your bedside from the moment they let me out of my cell."

"You were in a cell?" she asked, surprised though she knew she shouldn't have been.

"Yes," he answered, huffing. "The _shemlen_ interrogated me and Tal. We told them everything we could and—"

"What of Arvin?" she asked, though already her stomach tightened with the expectation that he must be dead.

Mahanon's eyes darted away. "Presumed dead. He was stationed with one of the Tal-Vashoth. They never found either of their bodies." His lips twisted with sadness, even though he and Arvin hadn't gotten along well.

Rosa closed her eyes against the pressure of tears. An ache started in her throat and her chest tightened. Arvin had been a hunter and rogue from Tal's clan, sent to bodyguard—and chaperone, Rosa suspected—their precious First. While Rosa and Tal had been in the Hasmal Circle she remembered Tal had called her something like that once: _Precious First._ He'd always been a bit jealous of her for that, but ironically when he bore the same responsibility he found it less than appealing. He'd leapt at the chance to accompany her on this spying mission to the Conclave and his clan had reluctantly agreed, but only on condition that Arvin would go with him. The steadfast hunter had been the strong silent type, but Rosa had grown to respect him. And now he was gone, just like many of the Valo-Kas—though she wasn't sure who. Her memory of the time she'd spent in Haven and at the Conclave was just…blank.

"Most of the Valo-Kas are dead too," Mahanon said, and his voice did sound distressed. His brows furrowed over his nose and his eyes were a touch too moist. "Shokrakar was here in Haven when the explosion happened, but the Adaar siblings, the dwarves, Hissra, Sataa, Meraad…" He shook his head, chin wrinkling. "So many dead." He lifted one calloused hand and touched her cheek tenderly. "How did you survive, _vhenan?"_

Though the term of endearment almost made her frown, Rosa decided to let him use it now. This wasn't a time to be picky. "I don't know," she answered and shrugged, wincing at the slight pain it caused. "I wish I did."

"Well," Mahanon said, nodding somberly. "It hardly matters. All that I care about is that you're alive." He leaned in close to her and pressed his lips to hers. Rosa didn't pull away, letting herself enjoy the warmth and softness of them and trying to feel that flutter of excitement and attraction in her belly—but it didn't come.

After a heartbeat, as Mahanon tried to deepen the kiss, Rosa laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back. He withdrew, a melancholy smile over his lips. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I know it's hardly the time, I just couldn't help myself."

"It's fine," she reassured him, patting his hand still on her cheek, but a moment later she gripped it and pulled it away from her. "But help me up, please. I have to find whoever undressed me while I was out and kick their ass."

Mahanon chuckled. "That would be some Chantry sisters who kicked me and Tal out the first night." He helped pull her onto her feet from the bed and held her as she swayed, finding her balance. "Whatever you did to the breach made it stop growing and calm, but it's not sealed. Still, that hasn't stopped the humans from calling you a _Herald_ now. They think their prophet sent you. The one who was burned alive as a witch on the stake."

"Andraste," Rosa said, snorting. "Clearly these people have no idea who I am. A teacher in the Circle used to beat me for refusing to sing the Chant. I even told her Andraste could kiss my ass once."

"It doesn't matter," Mahanon said, chuckling at her story though he'd heard it before—as most of Lavellan clan had now. "Soon we'll be headed for home and they'll forget all about this Herald nonsense."

Rosa wasn't as confident of that, though she didn't disagree. Mahanon moved to a chair along the window where her mercenary armor had been neatly folded and arranged. Rosa concentrated on taking a few steps on her own, grimacing with lingering pain from the battle. "Is Tal out drinking?" she asked as Mahanon returned with her armor.

He nodded, lips pinched together tightly. "He was here earlier, but we fought and he left to mingle with the _shemlen_ and that novelist dwarf."

"Varric," Rosa said, smiling fondly as she clutched the armor he held out to her. "They were friends in the Circle."

Now Mahanon's face twisted unpleasantly. "I talked with the flat-ear mage called Revas. The one who abandoned you. He had the gall to tell me you and he were merely friends too."

Rosa shot him a glare. "Let me guess. You told him to stay away from me."

"I'm only trying to protect you," Mahanon said, not even bothering to deny it. He laid a hand on her back, soft and gentle. "I don't want him to—"

"Whatever," Rosa interrupted, shrugging off his hand. "I don't want to hear it right now, Han." She knew from past experience that she shouldn't let herself get worked up while Rogathe was within her. The spirit tended to influence her unduly when she became emotional with fear, anger, outrage, or hopelessness.

"All right," he said, though his voice held a grumble of disapproval. "How can I help you then?"

"By getting out so I can change," she said and stabbed a finger toward the foyer and the door beyond.

"Is that truly necessary?" Mahanon asked, shaking his head. "You're weak. I could help you."

"Are you going to do as I ask or not?" Rosa demanded.

Mahanon sighed and nodded. He looked like a beaten puppy; shoulders slumped and head drooping, as he walked for the door. Rosa waited until she'd heard it open and shut before she returned to her bed and let her armor flop onto it. Scrubbing at her face, she cursed under her breath with frustration and renewed grief as she remembered all those dead in the explosion. Humorous Kaaras, cantankerous Herah, sly Edric, wry Malika, and wise, stoic Arvin.

She sat on the bed and bent over, wrapping her arms around herself as she let the burning pressure behind her eyes spill out as tears. Though she didn't know how or why, she felt this was all somehow _her_ fault. The _shemlen_ might believe her blessed by Andraste and heaven, but Rosa imagined she had actually been more like Dirthamen's ravens, Fear and Deceit, accidentally falling into catastrophe of her own making. And, perhaps, if she'd been just a little bit smarter, she could have stopped it.

Brushing her fingers over where the mysterious green mark lay in her left hand, Rosa thought of Solas. Whether it was in the Fade or in a quietly whispered conversation inside this very cabin, Rosa needed to find him and force him to talk. She owed the countless people who'd died in the Conclave _that_ much at least.

* * *

Despite Rosa's best efforts, she didn't make it to Solas with any speed. Instead she was half-coaxed, half-strong armed into joining the Seeker's fledgling Inquisition. After agreeing to become their "Herald," Rosa found herself at the Seeker's mercy as the human woman dragged her all over Haven for specialized armor and weapons.

Then Sister Leliana debriefed and further interrogated her about herself and everything at the Conclave. She also laid out dossiers for important people who'd already joined the Inquisition: Cullen Rutherford, Josephine Montilyet, Cassandra Pentaghast, a scout named Lace Harding, Varric Tethras, and Solas, known under his alias name Revas. Lastly, Leliana also told her that the Seeker intended to find Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands in about a week and Rosa would be _expected_ to attend.

Josephine and Cullen both had things they wished to speak with her about as well, but by then Rosa was exhausted. She excused herself, refusing to be waylaid, and tried to hurry back to the cabin that was, apparently, hers. Unfortunately everyone in Haven recognized her and their gawking, praying, and general kowtowing made Rosa burn with humiliation. That in turn roused Rogathe within her until she was struggling not to glare back at the humans around her, hoping to find a fight that would distract her.

Inside her cabin finally, sheltered from the locals' stares, Rosa paced like a caged animal, wringing her hands. How was she supposed to _do_ this? The flutter of panic only incensed Rogathe further inside her. There was no chance of sleeping while she fumed over her own fears. When Mahanon appeared with a somewhat intoxicated Tal in his wake, Rosa sent him out to fetch her some wine and a dose of sleeping draught.

"What?" Mahanon asked, baffled. "Why sleeping draught?" He knew, like all of Lavellan clan, that she had never had difficulty sleeping. The clan knew she was a Dreamer and could enter the Fade consciously, at will. Keeper Deshanna had considered it an honor to accept such a First, despite Rosa's rather…unconventional initial meeting with the older woman.

"Just _do _it," she growled and then, through gritted teeth, added, "Please."

Mahanon clenched his jaw and left.

Now Rosa was mercifully alone with her little brother. She stared at him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides and her body shaking with restrained fury. Tal cocked his head, his glassy eyes narrowing. "_Asamalin?"_

"It's Rogathe," Rosa told him quickly, her voice strained as though she were in pain. "It possessed me in the Conclave, I think."

"You don't know?" Tal asked, both brows lifting with shock.

"Elgar'nan's flaming asshole," she growled as she started pacing between the bed and the window. "How many times do I have to tell people I don't _fucking_ remember _anything."_

Tal chuckled. "I thought you were just saying that to the humans to trick them. You're so sneaky like that I'd almost believe it. Just like I _almost_ believed it when you told me you didn't still love that so-called flat-ear Revas, or Prideful One, or whatever his name is."

She halted her pacing, looking to Tal as some of the tension inside her eased with affection for her brother. He wasn't as tightlipped as she wished in so many things, but he was as clever as the Dread Wolf himself sometimes. Turning toward the window again, she moved to clasp the edges of the sill with both fists as she grumbled, "I hope you're not telling _him_ that." She grimaced as Rogathe reacted to that, decrying it as cowardice. If she still desired Solas she should go to him, confess her emotion, and face whatever he had to say about it. The spirit had that same advice for confronting Solas about his abandonment. Pushing that disastrous thought aside, Rosa kept the spirit reined in.

"Nope," Tal said. "But I _did_ tell him Han isn't your husband and that, generally speaking, you don't abandon someone you say you love."

Her head spun, mixed emotions swirling in an eddy inside her. Huffing out a breath, she gave her head a shake, trying to clear it. "I have to talk to that bald bastard," she complained, hands tightening their grip on the sill. "About Rogathe," she added, specifying.

"And sooner rather than later, I expect," Tal agreed with a grunt. "You want my help with that? Like keeping Han away or something?"

"Yes," she admitted, pushing off the sill to resume her fevered pacing. "But I'm a bit afraid Rogathe will get…" She gritted her teeth. "Out of control. It doesn't like him."

Her brother snorted. "I wonder why," he murmured sarcastically.

Ignoring his comment, Rosa crossed her arms over the thin tunic the humans had given her, frowning as she resumed her tight circuit between window and bed. "I slapped him in the middle of the fight with the pride demon beneath the breach."

Tal laughed, short and loud. "I wish I'd been able to see that, actually."

"And then my recklessness nearly got me killed," Rosa snarled. "And it _did_ get me scorched."

"_You_ couldn't handle a simple pride demon?" Tal asked, incredulous.

"It was Rogathe," Rosa grumbled as she flopped down on her bed, feet hanging off it onto the bare floor but arms thrown out wide. "You know how I was with it in a fight."

"Yeah," Tal agreed, amusement coloring his voice. "Like that time in the Heartlands when that dragonling ambushed me and you charged in like an angry bronto with no barrier and tried to strangle it with your bare hands?"

"Yeah," she replied with a grunt, wincing as she remembered the burns she'd received on her nose and chin and hands from using her arms to block its fiery breath. The storm magic charring she'd woken with this time was minor comparatively, but the force of the demon's whip had definitely bruised a few ribs. She rubbed at them now, breathing deeply to see if that hurt.

"You know," Tal started, clearing his throat. "Maybe it's just me, but…"

The hesitancy and caution in his voice made Rosa sit up, looking to him with brows raised in expectation. "Yes?"

Tal's brow furrowed as he met her eye. "I ran into Revas here in Haven just before the explosion. "

Rosa's heart was suddenly thundering in her ears. "And?"

Tal shuffled from one foot to the other as a muscle flared in his temple. "He was…really disturbed when he saw me. He asked about you right away, wanted to see you. He looked a little green when I told him you were at the temple." His lips pinched into a hard line. "If I was a suspicious person I'd think he _knew_ something terrible was about to happen and was trying to save you from it."

Tal's brown eyes held the question, dark and grim. She knew he had long suspected Solas wasn't a city elf but actually a survivor of uthenera like their father. Rosa had never confirmed his suspicion and she knew Tal didn't hold it against her, but it made a lot of sense for him to be suspicious. Rosa had been as well, but Tal's comments only solidified the terrible notion that Solas had been responsible, somehow, for the explosion.

"Well," she said, frowning. "I _am_ a suspicious person and I _will_ be asking that flat-ear just what brought him to Haven." She snorted. "We know it wasn't because he hoped to find me and the rest of the Hasmal tower there."

"I'll keep my little suspicious thoughts to myself," Tal told her with a dry smile. "For now, anyway. I just thought you should know."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "I'd rather not get him killed." Pausing a moment, she muttered, "Not before I hear an explanation and kick his ass for what he did to me—maybe not in that order."

Tal smirked. "Say the word, _asamalin, _and I'll—" A knock on the door interrupted Tal then and he blinked, turning to regard the foyer. "That'll be Han, I'd bet. Come to tuck you in with that sleeping draught."

"Good," Rosa said, groaning as she scrubbed at her face with frustration. "But if you could try to keep him from _tucking me in_, I'd be eternally grateful."

"You got it," Tal said and spun about on his heel, jogging to the door and opening it. But as soon as he did Rosa heard him inhale sharply and then, in a needlessly loud but pleasant voice, he said, "Why, Revas! _Aneth ara_, _falon._ What brings you by the Herald's cabin?"

"_Fenedhis,"_ Rosa cursed under her breath, shooting up to her feet and taking a step toward the foyer and the door only to turnabout and hurry back for the bed. She'd been about to race out there, shove Tal aside, and punch Solas in the face. That was Rogathe's influence as it squirmed inside her, winding up that coil of anxious energy inside her guts again. Bristling and breathing fast, shoulders hunched and hands sweaty, Rosa paced between the window and the bed again, trying to hear over the pulse of her hot blood in her ears.

Solas' voice, still enchanting despite her anger and bitterness, came through the air, as crisp and beautiful as snowflakes. "Greetings, Tal. I had hoped to speak with Rosa." A slight pause and then he added, "In private. If that would be possible."

Rosa risked a glance out into the foyer and saw Tal leaning against the frame in a slouched posture that she knew to be playful—yet her brother also used it to disguise uneasiness. Tal said, "Do you _always_ do the exact opposite of what you say you're going to do, Revas?"

"Excuse me?" Solas asked, his voice a tad thin with what Rosa read as tension.

"You wouldn't visit my sister when she was unconscious for fear of pissing off Han. You said it'd be _inappropriate. _Now you show up as soon as Han steps away and ask to talk to her alone?" He snorted with a little dry laugh.

"I have not come for a social visit," Solas said, obviously annoyed now. "I believe Rosa will want to speak with me regarding a certain friend of hers by the name of Rogathe."

"Oh," Tal said, drawing out the word. Then he must have twisted to direct his voice back inside the cabin to shout to her. "_Asamalin?_ Revas is out here and he wants to talk to you _alone._ You down with that?"

"Bring him in," she said, still pacing rapidly between bed and window, arms crossed over her chest and hunched with the tautness of her muscles as she struggled to maintain control over Rogathe. "But stay, Tal. Please."

"You're the boss_,_" Tal said and a moment later Rosa heard his footsteps with Solas' echoing behind him as they closed the door and crossed the foyer to enter the little bedroom. Tal strode into the room and flopped down on a chair in the corner with an exaggerated sigh. He slouched into the seat and raised his arms up behind his head, stretching in a show of relaxation.

Rosa kept watching her brother, certain she'd lose control if she looked at Solas, but she knew they had little time to waste before Mahanon would return and cause even more drama. So, in a grating voice, she said, "Start talking, flat-ear."

After a beat of silence, Solas finally spoke. "Rogathe had possessed you earlier. Has it returned to the Fade yet?"

"No," she snarled, her gaze locked on the wooden planks in the floor as she marched. "If you have any suggestions for how to release it, I'm all ears." She felt a momentary burst of pride at how calm the last part had emerged. The positive emotion helped rein Rogathe back into submission, giving her the courage to lift her head and look at her former lover.

Solas stood on the threshold between the foyer and the bedroom area. His shoulders were squared and his jaw clenched. His hands were clasped behind his back. He wore a tunic in a cream-tan color that made her think of balsa wood. Dark green breeches and brown leg wraps completed the ensemble. A black-lacquered partial jawbone from some type of animal—probably a wolf she guessed by the size and shape—hung about his neck on a black, double stranded cord. It was an attractive ensemble, better than the Circle robes she'd last seen him in.

_Fenedhis,_ she thought and bristled, looking swiftly back to the wood underfoot. Two minutes in the same room with him and she'd already started complimenting him. _Dread Wolf take him!_ Why did he have to be so attractive? Why couldn't he show up with mustard stains on his tunic and spinach in his teeth and snot hanging from his nose? But no, instead she could already smell the piney fragrance he carried about him that reminded her _painfully_ of his expert touch on her skin, of his magic caressing her, and his mouth on her lips…on her sex…

Gnashing her teeth, she redoubled her speed, almost jogging now in her short pacing circuit. Rogathe, agitated inside her, twisted and churned, growing hot and pressing against the restrains of her control. She had to calm down or she would lose that thin veil that separated her consciousness from the spirit. Then Rogathe would be speaking as much as she and she would lose her inhibitions. Lose her _self._

"The breach may interfere with Rogathe's departure," Solas said, businesslike and calm. "I would suggest traveling as soon as you are able to escape its influence as much as possible. Then Rogathe may leave of its own volition as it has done before. But you must not wait, Rosa. I fear the breach could twist Rogathe the longer it remains near it and within you."

"You don't say," Rosa grumbled sardonically, shaking her head. "And here I thought I'd spend another two years with it because I just _love _being as volatile as a volcano."

Solas let out a little breath and Rosa resisted the desire to check his expression. "I understand you are unhappy with me, but I hope we may establish a peaceful working relationship as we are both members now of the Inquisition."

Rosa sneered at the floor with anger and bitterness. "You're lucky the Seeker is in charge, flat-ear, because I'd have kicked you out."

He made a small noise of surprise that drew Rosa's gaze before she could stop herself. She caught the flash of his expression, warped and strained with pain. His neat, white teeth looked about as pale as his skin. His blue eyes were locked on her, dark with emotion and flicked immediately to her eyes when she stared at him. It wasn't anger she saw in his face, but something raw and vulnerable and achingly sad that seemed to echo in her own heart with memories of that spring when—

Rogathe surged in her, rising like a tidal wave, and she gasped, clenching her jaw and squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Her pacing stopped as she laid her palms on either side of her head. "Fuck," she cursed like a _shemlen._ "Shit, shit…dammit."

Tal all but leapt from his chair in the corner, reaching for her. "Shhhhh," he said. "Calm, calm, calm. Remember the time we saw those two bogfishers humping each other? That was hilarious, right?"

The memory sparked at his mentioning of it and suddenly Rosa was able to think again, to breathe without wanting to scream and see without the red screen over her vision. She clung to Tal with a death grip, focusing on her breathing as Tal continued to chatter animatedly.

"Remember how bored the female looked and I said she reminded me of my last partner? The _shem_ who thought she was half-Dalish?" Tal chuckled, and the sound was both genuine and tight at the same time. "And then the male fell off and I said _he_ reminded me of my last _male_ partner. The city elf with—"

She burst out laughing, the spell of rage shattered. Clinging onto Tal's shoulder, she gave him a squeeze as she regained control, pushing Rogathe deep where it could go dormant. "_Ma serannas, isamalin,"_ she said, smiling at him. He'd spent their year of traveling together before their capture by Templars perfecting ways to defuse Rogathe and they'd found humor worked best.

Feeling confident of her control now, Rosa looked to Solas again and saw his expression had gone ashen, downright grave. His blue eyes crinkled with sympathy and his brows lowered with concern. In a quiet voice he said, "You must not let the humans see you this way, Rosa. Feign illness, make some excuse—anything. Please."

"_Now_ you care about my welfare?" she snapped, feeling the rush of rage return, boiling her blood. He winced at her comment, as if she'd slapped him again. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned away from him, the pressure in her chest making her feel as though her heart would tear its way from her chest. Rogathe was already rattling its metaphorical chains and finding them insufficient. To control the spirit, she needed to escape…

As if he could read her mind, Tal said, "Maybe you should leave, Revas."

"She possessed a pendant to control the spirit before the Templars took it," Solas said, ignoring Tal's suggestion. There was an unmistakable note of urgency in his voice. "Can you recreate it?"

"I don't know," Tal said and Rosa felt his shoulder shrug under her right hand. Keeping her breathing controlled, she turned her head to glare at Solas and saw he still wore the same wounded, worried expression as before. Swallowing hard, she tried to keep her mind blank and feel nothing. "I don't know what spell was used, just that it was a blood magic binding of—"

The door to the cabin opened and Mahanon stepped through it, stamping his feet to kick off the snow and gravel clinging to his boots. He carried a small brown paper bag and the chilly wind from outside wafted the scent of herbs still lingering on his mercenary garb. As he looked up and realized Solas was present, he scowled and glowered, clearly fuming. "What are _you_ doing here, flat-ear?"

"Merely discussing matters of magic," Solas replied coolly. "And I should be on my way." Turning back to Rosa and Tal he dipped his head respectfully, though his jaw was clenched with tension. His eyes were as good as glued to Rosa as he said, "I hope you will feel better soon, Herald."

Rosa bit her tongue to keep herself from protesting that ridiculous title and a heartbeat later Solas had turned and strode stiffly past Mahanon, leaving the cabin. Mahanon sneered at the other elf as he passed and then slammed the door shut with more force than necessary—and inches from Solas' ass.

"Flat-eared son of a bitch," he snarled, his hazel eyes narrowed at Rosa with a mixture of concern and disapproval. He held the paper bag aloft. "Was my trip to fetch this just a diversion?" he asked, a touch snide.

Rosa rolled her eyes. "No," she snapped. Leaving Tal, she stalked forward and grabbed the bag from him, a bit harsher than she needed to. It smelled sharply of medicinal herbs and she sighed with relief as she saw the blue vial of sleeping draught. Alongside it was a small dark bottle of wine. Her eyes fluttered shut with relief. _"Ma serannas,_ Han. Truly."

"The apothecary warned against drinking too much wine with the draught," Mahanon cautioned her, his voice softer now as he realized his trip hadn't been a trick. "He said drink the first half of the draught and if that doesn't knock you out in five minutes to drink the next half."

"How much is too much wine?" Tal asked as Rosa left Mahanon in the foyer and strode to the bed, sitting down heavily on it and prying at the cap on the sleeping draught. She set the wine aside on the bed and it rolled in the paper bag, thumping against her thigh with a musical noise of liquid sloshing.

"Half the bottle?" Mahanon asked, shrugging. "I'm not sure. Maybe less for an elven woman." He spread his hands in another gesture of confusion. "I wasn't first to the healer so I don't know enough to be sure."

Rosa pried off the cap. It fell to the floor and clinked metallically on the wooden planks. Tipping the vial to her lips, she drank the full draught in a quick two swallows while her brother and pseudo-betrothed started bickering. As usual.

Tal snorted. "Really? Your mother is Lavellan's healer, isn't she? You weren't paying much attention then."

"I was busy learning to be a hunter," Mahanon snapped.

"See, I did that _and_ I picked up a lot of tricks from my mother, the hearthkeeper. I can cook most of the meals she did, wash clothes with the best of them, and repeat all the greatest tales. " Tal was boasting a bit, picking a fight as he so often did with Mahanon, but Rosa could hardly bring herself to care as she began to feel a heavy weight spreading out through her limbs.

Groaning, she motioned at Mahanon. "Thanks again for the…thing." Her eyelids had become lead. "…'s working."

Mahanon moved for her bedside. "Here, _vhenan,_ let me tuck you in."

She waved him away with one hand. "I got it." Drunkenly, swaying as she shifted on the bed and tugged at the covers, Rosa crawled into the bed and flopped down limp as if she'd cast a Veilstrike on herself. "Sleep…wherever," she told them, gesturing weakly at the rest of the room. "Night-night."

As she slipped into the darkness, she heard Tal say to Mahanon, "I'll arm wrestle you for the corner chair. Whaddaya say?"

Mahanon snorted. "You're on, pipsqueak."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Be careful, _vhenan,_" Mahanon told her, his brow furrowed with the same concern Solas heard so clearly in his voice.

The term of endearment on the other man's lips made Solas' stomach churn with revulsion. That bitter, acidic emotion inside…jealousy…was something he had felt so rarely in his long life that he actually had to wonder for a moment if he might actually be ill instead. Perhaps he had eaten a bit of bad meat or tainted herbs? But with a few swallows and short breaths it passed.

* * *

Endnote: Hopefully Rosa isn't too caustic here, but man, I'm sure you guys can all agree she (and Rogathe) have some huge pent up emotions. This is some of the angriest she'll be, but obviously this will be a slow burn. If you read StCM you might have noticed a few little hints of...something. But I'm still playing it close.

I am dealing with a lot of weird loss today. I got laid off suddenly from a job I love. So that's...unfortunate. Unplanned. But I also have some personal stuff happening, too. So I have a lot on my mind and a lot of distraction. Sorry for not posting regularly on this.


	4. Herald of Raven Talismans and Equinophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With some guidance from Solas, Rosa gets a binding talisman for Rogathe. Just in time, too, as she's struggling hardcore to hide the spirit's influence on her, particularly around Cassandra. The fledgling group heads to the Hinterlands and, along the way, the Seeker takes it upon herself to try and broker peace between the Herald and the Fade expert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven used
> 
> Mamae: Mother. Isamalin/Asamalin: Brother/sister (da'isamalin is little brother)
> 
> If you're in the know from reading Solas the Circle Mage, you'll see a LOT more hints relating to the epilogue there.

The armor Cassandra requisitioned for Rosa was pathetic. "This is a vest," she complained, brushing her hands over it. "This isn't armor."

The Seeker shot her a withering glare. "It is _light_ armor, and the finest the blacksmith could manage currently."

"I've had paper bags thicker than this vest," Rosa grumbled, still picking over the bluish leather. "Is this what you put your mages in, hoping they get killed so you won't have to worry about them?"

Cassandra huffed, rolling her eyes. "Stop complaining." She crossed her arms over her chest, the metal on her gloved hands clinking against the breastplate in a way that tickled Rosa's ears and made Rogathe twitter with excitement. "If you have something else in mind, I'd suggest you visit the blacksmith yourself and provide him with schematics—though I doubt we will have the material required."

Rosa nodded, irritation fading as she eyed the Seeker, reconsidering her. "You're right. I apologize. I _do_ have an idea for better armor, actually."

The Seeker shook her head, eyes narrowed. She often seemed to be at the point of exasperation with Rosa—and for good reason. It'd been nearly a week since Rosa had woken and joined the Inquisition and in that time she had alternatively raged at the Seeker and then switched to using the utmost respect. Rosa had struggled to control Rogathe around this intimidating woman in particular, but her attempts came across as moodiness as she swung volatilely from her natural snarky reaction to formal warrior deferring to an elder's judgment.

The problem was Rogathe, poking its head into conversations with Cassandra because it _liked_ her. Rogathe saw a disciplined and experienced warrior in the Seeker, devoted to her purpose and unflinching even in the face of unfathomable disaster. Rogathe wasn't inclined toward wrath around the other woman, and while that was a good thing on one hand, it was very bad in another. When Rogathe reacted with respect Rosa rarely managed to restrain it. The onsets of violent rage were easy to feel while its warrior nature was close enough to her own that she couldn't detect it. Rogathe…_snuck up _on her, essentially.

"As long as you are prepared for the journey to the Hinterlands before noon, I do not care what armor you wear," Cassandra told her curtly with a dismissive jerk of one hand.

"I'm Dalish," Rosa told her flatly. "We're _always_ ready to journey."

Cassandra didn't seem to find the dry joke humorous. Instead she simply nodded. "Then I will see you at the stables at midday, Herald."

Rosa ground her teeth at the title but returned Cassandra's nod and spun about, jogging away from the canvas tents where the Seeker had been honing her sword skills on the dummies. She didn't let herself consider the idea of stables and whether that meant they'd be taking horses. She couldn't let herself think about that. It was sure to trigger Rogathe if she did.

Gravel and snow crunched under her boots, which still seemed too tight despite her insistence that Harrit make them wide and a size too large. She glanced at the stables and the blacksmith as she made her way toward the open gates of Haven, considering heading over there to get them Keeper armor schematics. But she didn't have time to do that _and_ eat brunch with Mahanon, Tal, and Varric.

Humans stared at her as she passed, with awe or suspicion or reverence, but after a week of this behavior Rosa had begun to grow numb to it, which was a blessing as Rogathe no longer reacted either. Still, she had been careful to retreat often, claiming she wasn't feeling well. That was _kind of _a lie and Rogathe despised that, but had managed it so far. She tried not to think about the trip to the Hinterlands and how dangerous it'd be as she had no cabin to retreat to…

And Solas was going.

She sat on that thought fast, before it could awaken Rogathe's rage and had a smile plastered on her face as she strode into the tavern—only to see Solas stooped at the table where her brother, Mahanon, and Varric sat. Elegant and lean, his rump faced her and her eyes dipped to admire it before she grimaced and clenched her hands at her sides. _Fenedhis,_ she thought. _Just leave. Get out. Go. Now. _

Whipping round, she started to take a step and stopped cold as she heard Varric called out to her. "Violet! What took you so long?"

Huffing, Rosa made another about-face and brought a feigned smile to her lips, though she knew it'd look more like a grimace. "Varric. How nice to be out of the cold."

Solas rose to his full height, glancing briefly at her over his shoulder. The eye contact left her rigid and tense, prickling as if shocked with storm magic. She'd been avoiding him in both reality and the Fade—though he was far too powerful of a Dreamer for her to resist when he did summon her. Her only recourse had been to will herself awake and begin taking dream-suppressing herbs. Now it seemed Solas had started seeking her out deliberately in places he normally never frequented.

The dwarf chuckled, ending the tense moment between her and her ex-lover. "You can say that again." He scooted over slightly and patted the bench next to him. "Have a seat!"

"I must be on my way," Solas said, speaking to Tal.

"_Ma serannas,"_ Tal told him, smiling bright and friendly. "Truly."

Seeing Solas was about to leave, Rosa squared her shoulders and moved forward to take the seat Varric indicated as her ex-lover headed for the exit with all his usual grace. But, before she could sit, Tal shot upright and called for her, "Rosa, can I talk to you for a minute outside?"

Mahanon frowned. "Tal, what are you—"

"Just sit back down a minute, Han. We'll be right back." Tal made a halting motion with one hand, palm out. He scrambled to grab Rosa's bicep, tugging her from the table. Rosa let him direct her, noting with a mild frown that Tal held something clutched in his other fist so tightly his knuckles had gone white from the pressure.

"I'm coming too," Mahanon protested, now rising from his seat and shuffling sideways along the bench.

"Rosa," Tal told her under his breath. "Can you stop him, maybe? Please?"

Trusting her brother, Rosa motioned at Mahanon to remain where he was. "We'll be right back. There's no need for you to get up." She managed to put on a smile to make what she said more convincing.

The elven man sighed unhappily, frowning even more as he plopped back onto the bench. "Fine." He stabbed a finger at Varric over the plate of chicken wings at the center of the table. "You—deal the cards."

Varric let out a dry, grunting laugh. "Whatever you say, Gloomy." Grabbing up the deck of cards lying beside the platter of food, Varric began to shuffle expertly as Tal and Rosa made their way back out into the chilly winter air of Haven.

Outside, Tal kept walking even after they were clear of the building, withdrawing to a spot beside the wall bordering the village. He kept a tight grip on her hand while his other palm clutched something she couldn't see. "Tal," she said, a note of wariness in her voice. "What's going on?"

Beside the wall, away from the humans scattered about, chatting or working, Tal at last turned to face her and opened the hand he'd had clenched up until that moment, revealing a small carving of a raven. It had been painted black, the eyes dotted with a delicate reddish pigment. The feathers had been carved deep with grooves and a thick leather cord had been wound about the carved ornament. At first Rosa merely stared, impressed with the work, but then she saw intricate markings along the raven's body and recognized them as elven. Something in their shape seemed to whisper inside her and she felt Rogathe react with interest.

"It's beautiful," Rosa murmured softly. "But…" She met Tal's gaze and swallowed the sudden tension building within.

"It's to bind Rogathe," Tal said, so quiet it was almost a whisper. "Revas made it." Tal unwound the leather cord and ran a fingernail over the lettering on the raven's body. "This will activate a powerful binding," he said." He grimaced then and added in a whisper, "But it needs blood."

"_He_ made this?" Rosa asked, scowling. She almost pushed the talisman away for that alone, but she clenched her hands and stopped herself from giving in to that instinct. "Why didn't he just activate it?"

"Same reason your _mamae_ wouldn't let you activate your old one," Tal told her blankly. "Blood magic cuts you off from the Fade. He's a Dreamer too." He sighed, still holding the little black raven cupped in his palm. "And because the spell will work best if it uses your blood…or a relative's." His brown eyes crinkled as he smiled dryly at her.

"You're volunteering?" Rosa asked, torn on how to react to this. On one hand she wanted to reject this gift despite its usefulness simply because Solas had made it and on the other she felt only warm with gratitude for her brother's help. And no small amount of relief, cool and comforting as it washed over her.

Tal shrugged flippantly. "Of course. I'd be a right prick if I didn't."

"You could never be anything less than wonderful, _da'isamalin,_" she said, smiling with love. The Creators had truly blessed her when they gave her Tal—though she knew they hadn't really been responsible because they were actually fallible false gods and super-powerful mages.

Tal flashed her a goofy grin and shrugged once more. "We should hurry and get this done though. Han isn't going to sit in that tavern long before he comes after us." He turned and began walking for the stairs down, following the brownish dirt path where passing people's feet had cleared the snow away. Rosa trotted after him, feeling lighter than she had since waking with the Creators-damned green mark in her left palm.

"You know," Tal said as their booted feet clattered down the pale stone steps. "You should at least _try_ to make peace with Revas."

"Tal," she said, growling his name in a warning tone as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Rogathe was alert within her, watching the world through her eyes, and _feeling_ anything remotely close to anger, resentment, pain, or fear would make the spirit rise to influence her.

"I know, I know," he said quickly, making a placating gesture with one hand. "But he's been visiting me in my dreams to tell me about this talisman and to make suggestions for how you should control Rogathe until then."

Rosa shot her brother an irritable look as they walked toward their cabin, passing similar wooden cabins on either side. A man was outside the cabin to the right of theirs, chopping wood from the enormous pile nearby. He dipped his head and smiled at Rosa as she and Tal walked by. If any of these _shemlen_ overheard them and grasped the topic of their discussion…no amount of silly belief in their burning prophetess would save her from their fear and hatred of spirits possession. She could still hear the shouts from Templars and mages alike on her last night in the Hasmal Circle, when dying mages became abominations. She and Solas had barely managed to escape.

"I'm not afraid of him," Rosa blurted as Tal opened the door to the cabin for her. She winced at hearing herself. _That_ was Rogathe more than her.

"I didn't say you were," Tal replied smoothly. "In fact, I know you're not. You're angry with him—and for good reason. But whatever kept him away the past year, it's pretty obvious to me he regrets it and only wants the best for you." He shut the door behind him with a hollow, wooden thump as Rosa strode through the darkened foyer and into the bedroom. Her brother's voice followed her as she moved to the window and leaned against it, arms crossed over her chest. "Did anyone tell you that he was the one who watched over you when the Seeker's people found you in the temple ruins?"

She looked to Tal with a small frown, vaguely aware that that had been the case. The idea of Solas sitting at her bedside then, when Tal and Mahanon couldn't because they'd been imprisoned, left her stomach feeling loopy. She wasn't sure why. Rogathe, however, didn't like learning this one bit. The spirit rose with her as a wave of pressure, its emotion one of distrust and alarm, which naturally meant it wound itself—and _her—_up for a fight.

"Tal," she said again, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes. She focused on breathing and imagining her mother's face. That was where she went for tranquility, a consistent counter to Rogathe's agitations.

"I just thought you—and Rogathe—should know that," he said gently as he walked over to stand beside a dresser top where a porcelain washbasin sat with a bit of water in it for washing. He set the raven talisman next to the washbasin with a little hollow tap and reached for the small utility knife he held at his waist.

"You know what to do?" Rosa asked quietly as her eyes flicked over her brother, the washbasin, the glinting knife in his right hand poised to strike at his left palm.

"Yep," Tal replied, staring at the knife with his lips pinched into a hard line, eyes narrowed with concentration. "Revas told me what to do. He said he learned this spell from a very ancient spirit in the Fade."

"Is he sure it wasn't a demon masquerading?" Rosa asked, frowning. Such a mistake wasn't an easy one for a Dreamer to make because demons caused pain by their very presence. But Solas had indicated, accidentally and purposefully alike, that the world he'd known before uthenera had been markedly different from modern Thedas. But, like their father, Eolas, he'd been tightlipped about the details—always hiding something.

"I trust him," Tal said without meeting her gaze. "And I know you do too—with _this_, I mean, not with anything else." His brown eyes flew to hers, a nervous look passing over his features. "And you're right not to trust him with anything else," he babbled, obviously afraid he'd push her into a rage. "Absolutely right."

Rosa cracked a small smile, finding his babbling more humorous than anything else. Rogathe, oddly enough, hadn't been bothered by Tal's comment, largely she suspected because she hadn't considered it offensive. It was true and there was nothing shameful in acknowledging another's mastery of a topic. "You're right," she told him with a nod. "He is trustworthy in this." Pausing a minute, she asked, "Is there anything else I need to know about this spell?"

"Rogathe won't be able to leave you while you wear it," Tal said as he pressed the small blade to his palm. "And it won't be able to help you if you're wounded or need extra strength. Basically the spirit will sleep. You'll be you again." He smirked. "So, if you lose your shit while you wear this you can't blame Rogathe. It'll all be you."

"That's stronger than the pendant _mamae_ made me,"Rosa murmured to herself. That spell had merely _dissuaded_ Rogathe and made it impossible for the spirit to overtake her completely. It had still influenced her behavior and emotions, making her appear to have a death wish when Templars captured them.

"Good thing, too," Tal said and then, inhaling sharply, he slashed his palm open. Bright red blood dripped into the clear water in the washbasin, diffusing out. Tal set the bloodied blade into the water and snatched up the talisman, palming it. He hissed with pain, letting more blood dribble over the wooden carving, getting into its grooves.

In the tense silence, as they listened to the musical dripping of Tal's blood into the water, her brother said, "You have to tell Han about Rogathe."

"I know," she muttered, scowling. Her face flared with heat as she felt Rogathe flail with irritation at her evasion regarding that topic. She was frightened of his response, so she'd flat-out refused to do it. Rogathe was unimpressed. _Admit your fear as the cowardice it is,_ the spirit commanded.

Rosa ignored it, focusing on Tal as he healed his palm with a quick blast of spirit magic. He held the raven aloft by the leather cord. It glittered with the moisture from Tal's blood, but the tiny symbols of ancient writing Sola shad carved into it began to gleam white-gold and then, eerily, changed to green. The sensation of the magic activating made Rosa shiver. It felt…ancient. It felt like…

"It feels like Revas' orb," Tal said, eyes narrowed with the same suspicion Rosa felt churning inside herself.

"Yes," she muttered, scowling. "Yes, it does." Tal had had minimal exposure to the orb, though apparently it was still enough to leave a lasting impression. Rosa, meanwhile, had spent days with the sensation of it nearby, carried in Solas' robes after they'd escaped the Hasmal Circle tower and traveled across the Free Marches. The memory of those days made her stomach clench with both grief and longing. Her head spun as Rogathe reacted with rage, furious that Solas had abandoned her, left her in the dead of night to sneak away like a coward.

Hands clenching into fists, Rosa spoke through gritted teeth. "Hurry, _isamalin._ Please."

He nodded and, with finesse that revealed how skilled he had become despite having so many varied mentors throughout his life, Tal summoned fire into his left palm. He dried the blood on the talisman with a few well-placed flicks of fire. Then, blowing on it a moment, he pivoted at the waist and opened the cord, stretching it and then pulling it over her head.

All sense of Rogathe vanished, suddenly. That hot, scalding place of endless bravery, defiance, and fearlessness, went cold and static inside her. Rosa blew out a breath of relief, shoulders slumping. "_Ma serannas,"_ she thanked Tal as she fingered the black raven hanging down to be in line with her breasts. Red-brown pigment from Tal's blood lined the carved grooves of its wings and feathers.

"Don't thank me," Tal said with a small shrug. "Thank Revas. This is _way_ better than I could have done."

"You can thank him for me," Rosa said as she tucked the raven under her tunic, beneath the so-called armor the Seeker had equipped her with. It was still warm from Tal's fire as it nestled between her breasts.

Tal clucked his tongue. "Two minutes without Rogathe talking in your ear and you're already passing me your dirty work."

"Hardly," she said, smirking. "If I wanted you to do my dirty work I'd ask you to sit by and listen to the _shemlen_ drone on and on about Inquisition and Chantry bullshit."

Tal gave a mock shudder. "Please, _asamalin,_ have mercy!"

* * *

Solas arrived at the stables just outside Haven's walls promptly at the time the Seeker had indicated to him when she had visited him the previous day and asked for his assistance on this journey to the Hinterlands. Cassandra had taken the liberty of selecting a horse for him—a gelding with a grayish coat and black hair. It was far from the majestic halla he had ridden once in Elvhenan, but the horse had a grace and beauty all its own, even if the humans had mutilated it to render it docile for riding and working. They did the same, almost, to their mages by making them Tranquil.

A stable-hand was present to help them prepare the horses and Solas allowed him to strap on the gelding's saddle, reins, and saddlebags for him. Solas covertly watched the Seeker as she readied a sleek white mare with black mane and tail for herself. It was clear by her comfort with the animal that this was likely her personal mount, an animal she had a well-established relationship with. Solas smiled to himself when he saw Cassandra produce a sugar cube and feed it to the mare, smiling with affection as she did.

That relative moment of peace was shattered as Rosa, Varric, Mahanon, and Tal emerged through Haven's gates. The dwarf had a lead on the three elves, who bickered loudly amongst themselves, and shook his head with both amusement and exasperation when Solas met his stare. The stable-hand met Varric, tugging a mare with a brown coat by the reins. The mare was noticeably shorter than the other mounts, though she wasn't a pony exactly—more of a runt.

Standing beside her mare, Cassandra called irritably to the elves. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Nothing," Rosa answered in a growl, glaring daggers at Mahanon in warning.

Solas moved around his horse, adjusting saddlebags and checking supplies in a show of nonchalance, as if the tension he could feel in the air didn't exist and didn't affect him. It was easy enough to guess what this fighting was about. Cassandra had selected their party purposefully for balance and trustworthiness. She qualified as their warrior and defense against hostile magic as she possessed abilities similar to a Templar. Varric would act as their rogue, covering them with his crossbow and picking any locks or acting as the spy if needed. Solas was valuable for his obscure knowledge and his magic. Rosa was required because she had become the Herald of Andraste—her magic was just a boon or menace, depending on whom one asked.

But Mahanon and Tal had not been asked to come along on this journey, and Solas suspected he knew the reasons why. Tal was a mage, which would unbalance their party and probably prove too much magic for Cassandra to tolerate, really. Mahanon, meanwhile, was an archer and they already had Varric for those skills. But, more than those niceties, Solas knew the Seeker probably didn't trust the other two elves. She knew Mahanon and Tal both had strong connections to Rosa and she likely hadn't overcome her suspicion of them. Allowing Rosa to travel with so many allies might give the Dalish elves the strength in numbers they needed to defy Cassandra and flee.

"Seeker," Mahanon said, pressing ahead of Rosa after apparently ignoring her glare. "I humbly request that I join your party on this journey."

"No," Cassandra told him flatly. Her mare nickered, bumping against the Seeker's armor as she searched for wherever she had the sugar cubes hidden. Cassandra ignored the horse's antics as she turned from Mahanon's openmouthed stare to Rosa. "Are you ready, Herald?"

"Yeah," Rosa said, but lifted one finger in interjection. "But I'd like to take my brother along."

Cassandra huffed with annoyance. "If I had wanted to take either of your Dalish companions I would have asked them to join us. Our party is large enough and balanced as it is. There is no need."

"Is that a no?" Tal asked, flashing a lopsided smile.

"No," Cassandra affirmed, turning and snatching her mare's reins. She strode to the animal's side and mounted her in one smooth motion that again revealed her comfort around both this specific mare and horses in general.

"Please," Mahanon said through gritted teeth, red-faced and distressed. "If you will not allow me or Tal to go in addition to everyone else, then let Tal go and make _Revas_ stay."

Still somewhat hidden behind his gelding, Solas rolled his eyes and rechecked the same saddlebag for the third time just to be doing something.

"Han," Rosa growled at the other elf. "Shut. Up."

"No," Mahanon shot back at her. "I know you can't stand him. And it is foolhardy to ride. They cannot make you—"

"Elgar'nan's fiery fucking cock," Rosa snarled, clearly exasperated. "I said _shut up." _Solas bit his tongue to keep from snorting at her inventive cursing, but he heard both Varric and Tal sniggering unabashedly.

The Seeker, atop her mare, scowled her disapproval. "Enough," she snapped, waving one armored hand at them. "Revas' care for the Herald saved her life. That is why he will accompany us. We do not require another mage or another rogue. With respect, I do not know that you could have saved the Herald…_Tal,"_ she said, pronouncing his name carefully.

"I understand," Tal replied, sounding friendly despite being turned down.

The stable-hand decided now was a good time to bring Rosa's mount—a pale brown gelding with a white mane and tail. Watching over the top of his own horse's back, Solas saw Rosa grimace at the sight of the animal. She backed up a few steps and edged closer to Tal, reaching out to him with one hand as if unbalanced. Tal caught her with a supportive, reassuring arm and turned his head to speak something into her ear. Rosa's violet eyes were wide as she stared at the horse and showed no reaction to whatever Tal said. Mahanon, just an arm's length away, shot her a pained look.

_She's frightened of the horse,_ Solas realized and frowned with bemusement. Rosa had stood defiant against Templars who slapped and punched her without hesitation for insolence. She had challenged and taunted the Formless One, a powerful demon she had no chance of defeating. Why would she be afraid of a horse?

"I'll walk," Rosa blurted, looking toward the Seeker. "I don't need a horse."

Cassandra scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. You would not be able to keep up."

The stable-hand stepped forward and took Rosa's bags. She let it happen, looking ashen and stiff. Tal patted her on the back. "You got this, _asamalin._"

"Be careful, _vhenan,_" Mahanon told her, his brow furrowed with the same concern Solas heard so clearly in his voice.

The term of endearment on the other man's lips made Solas' stomach churn with revulsion. That bitter, acidic emotion inside…jealousy…was something he had felt so rarely in his long life that he actually had to wonder for a moment if he might actually be ill instead. Perhaps he had eaten a bit of bad meat or tainted herbs? But with a few swallows and short breaths it passed.

Deciding he couldn't delay any longer, Solas mounted his gelding, getting comfortable and doing his best to ignore the slight commotion behind him as Rosa did the same. He felt Mahanon and Tal watching him as much as they did Rosa and tried not to let a warm blush spread across his cheeks. Whatever they knew about Rosa that he did not…he tried to quash and deny the stab of loss that cut him to think that he did not know her anymore and would _never_ know her so well again.

"If everyone is ready," Cassandra said with a touch of impatience. "Then let us be on our way." Spurring on her horse, the Seeker led the way at a steady trot. Her shield thumped on her back as her horse's hooves clopped on the stones and dirt underfoot.

Solas clicked his tongue, following after the Seeker in second, though he kept one ear tuned toward Varric and Rosa behind him.

"You go on ahead of me, Violet," Varric encouraged her. "My horse will be slowest. Short legs, just like me. I think I'll call her Shorty."

Rosa didn't answer but Solas heard the sound of hoofbeats a few seconds later, so she must have done as he said.

Solas let himself relax slightly as the cold, clear mountain air and the sigh of the wind enclosed him. He could let his mind go blank in these lulls of isolation during their travels, focusing on the beauty of the mountains, the snow, the elegance of the horses, and the pleasant scent of the pine trees. For a time, no matter how limited, he could forget who he was, who he had been, and what he must still do: destroy this world.

They rode until just after sunset when the Seeker stopped them in a clearing. They had dropped below the snowline in just a few short hours of riding and now the forest contained broadleaf trees, heather and blueberry bushes, all currently barren because it was early winter. The Seeker tended the horses, tying them about the clearing in places where they could graze from grasses or ferns. Varric and Rosa put up a tent and Solas gathered firewood to put a comfortable distance between himself and the so-called Herald of Andraste.

They shared a meager meal of rations from their saddlebags around the fire before Cassandra asked them to split up watch duty. The tent would be crowded with three sharing it at a time, but the fledgling Inquisition simply didn't have enough supplies to do anything else yet. Cassandra claimed the last watch, saying she was an early riser. Varric complained that he was a night person and wouldn't sleep if he had any other watch except first. So, Solas and Rosa were stuck puzzling out who took second and third between them. Trying to be polite, Solas left the choice up to her.

"I have no preference, Herald," he said. "I will defer to your choice." He tried to smile at her, though he knew it'd look more like a grimace, probably.

She glared at him across the fire, the flames flickering and casting bizarre shadows over her features. "Second then," she muttered.

He nodded. "And I will take third." He noted the leather cord about her neck and felt a little tension leave him, letting him slump slightly in his spot. Tal had been as good as ever, fulfilling his promise to Solas that he would hurry the raven pendant to her and charge it with his blood. Knowing Rosa had some measure of protection from the danger Rogathe placed her in was an immense relief.

And, relishing that relief a little too much, Solas let himself stare at her too long, admiring her almost heart-shaped lips, her oval face, and strong cheekbones. He remembered what it had felt like to kiss those lips, to caress her skin with his hands, to hear her call him by his true name, and to taste her mouth. How reckless and foolish it had been of him to let himself fall in love with her and then, worst of all, give in to temptation and lie with her. The torture of walking away from her, of resisting her call in the Fade, and then of lying awake and alone and tormented with longing until he sought release at his own hand and found the experience hollow and humiliating…he had ruined himself and hurt her in a way she did not deserve.

"Stop staring at me," Rosa snarled across the fire, still glaring.

And Solas quickly averted his gaze, feeling heat spread across his cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat thrown by the fire. "Apologies, Herald."

"Don't call me _Herald,"_ she snapped.

"Whether you like it or not," Cassandra said dryly from her spot where she was running a whetstone over her blade. "You _are_ the Herald of Andraste and we must call you by that title to inspire hope when we visit the Hinterlands. It is war-torn with the mage-Templar conflict. The people are weary and in need of our help."

Rosa stared at the Seeker a while, silent and with an almost contemplative look on her face. Finally her face softened with something like admiration. "You really mean to help them, don't you?"

Cassandra halted her work with the whetstone and blinked across the fire at Rosa. "Of course."

Rosa nodded, her eyes glazed. "All right," she said and sighed, rising to her feet. "I'm going to sleep."

"Really, Violet?" Varric asked, sounding disappointed. "So soon? But we haven't gotten round to story time."

Rosa waved a hand at him dismissively and walked to the tent, ducking inside. In her absence, Solas stared into the fire, trying not to think about her or anything at all. Unfortunately the Seeker destroyed any chance he had of achieving inner peace when she asked, in a guarded, wary voice, "Can I trust the two of you to work with one another?"

"Certainly, Seeker," Solas replied with a polite smile.

"Perhaps I should rephrase," she said, eyeing him doubtfully. "Can I trust the two of you to work together civilly, without coming to blows?"

Solas stared at the Seeker, struggling to keep his face neutral. What was he supposed to say to _that?_

Varric, across the fire from Cassandra and Solas, chuckled dryly then and answered for Solas. "I don't think it's Chuckles there you have to worry about, Seeker. If anyone starts throwing punches, it'll be Violet."

Sadly that had already happened when she slapped him across the face during the fight with the pride demon beneath the breach. Solas stared again at the fire, trying to empty his mind and numb up the emotions roiling inside.

"Whatever this nonsense between the two of you," Cassandra said with irritation, "it must stop—and quickly. We must present a united front when we reach the Hinterlands."

"Seeker," Solas said without looking at her. "I will make every effort to be peaceable with the Herald. But I cannot promise she will do the same. It may prove more beneficial to all if she and I are separated." As much as he hated to admit that, it was likely true. She had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

"That is unacceptable, Revas," she scolded him. "Whatever conflict lies between you, it must be put in the past. You are both members of the Inquisition now." She let out a little huff and nodded to herself, apparently reaching a decision. "I will speak with her regarding her behavior toward you." Sheathing her sword and putting away her whetstone, Cassandra rose to her feet. "Good night," she told the dwarf and Solas with a respectful nod to each of them as she tromped off to join Rosa in the tent.

Now it was just Varric and Solas sitting about the fire and the dwarf's lips spread in a slow grin as he opened his coat and slowly produced a silver flask. It glinted orange in the firelight and Varric shook it, revealing the slosh of liquid within. It sounded quite full. "So," he said, smirking. "Chuckles. You look like you could use a few sips of this, and lucky for you I'm willing to share—for a price."

"I'm not interested, Child of the Stone," Solas grumbled.

"Well," Varric said, still smirking. "You can either agree to chat with me and get some much needed medicine here, or you can brood silently while I _guess_ why you and Violet have devolved into violence. And—I should warn you—I'm _damn_ good at reading people. So chances are good one of my guesses will be right and you'll regret not just telling me." He chuckled. "Your choice."

Solas heaved himself up to his feet, frowning across the fire at the dwarf. "Very well," he said grumpily. "Then I choose to leave."

As Solas walked over to the tent, he heard Varric let out a longsuffering sigh. "Damn," the dwarf muttered a she sipped from his flask. "There goes my entertainment for the evening."

* * *

The next morning as they broke camp Cassandra instructed Rosa to ride at her side in a tone that suggested refusing was unwise at best. So, steeling herself for a full day on horseback, Rosa obeyed. There was one small mercy in this change of position in that she didn't have to see Solas ahead of her, stately and comfortable as she seethed and writhed beneath her skin with distress. She loathed him for his peace, hating that he could have so easily left her and she despised herself for letting that devastate her.

But at the Seeker's side she only had to worry about the horse. Her thighs and lower back ached from riding the previous day and she knew today would be longer and therefore worse. She made a conscious effort to stop squeezing so tightly to the saddle and willed herself not to think of being thrown at every little twitch of the horse's ears. Cassandra seemed fearless at her side, indefatigable and confident. She and her horse were one powerful, graceful beast.

For the first half hour or so Cassandra rode with her in silence, but then she turned her head and asked, "Had you not ridden before this?"

"Only halla," Rosa admitted through gnashed teeth. Even saying the name made her feel nauseous. She swallowed, determined to overcome it. As a Dalish she couldn't hope to escape halla and their importance to the People. Horse riding was a valuable step in the right direction. She should be thanking the Seeker, she thought, for insisting she ride.

"Is that so different?" Cassandra asked with a slight shake of her head, apparently failing to comprehend Rosa's reaction.

"No," Rosa muttered. "Not…really." She was grateful Rogathe had been bound into sleep within her. If it had been free the spirit would have long since thrown her into a fit of violent rage in reaction to her chronic state of fear. It also would have pushed her to confess everything regarding this fear to the Seeker. The thought of doing that made Rosa's cheeks burn with humiliation and her heart stutter with horror. Not to mention the heavy, achy grip of grief clutching at her heart.

Cassandra made a grunting noise of interest but then let the topic slide as she instead segued into another. "It occurs to me I don't actually know all that much about you."

"What's there to know?" Rosa said with a tense shrug. "I'm Dalish, that should tell you everything important."

"Hardly," Cassandra said with a small snort, unimpressed with Rosa's diversion tactic. "If I'm not mistaken, most Dalish mages do not become Circle mages, and they do not join Qunari mercenary groups to spy at the Conclave."

"Tal-Vashoth," Rosa corrected the Seeker automatically.

"What?" Cassandra asked, arching one sculpted, black brow.

"The Valo-Kas are Tal-Vashoth. They're Qunari who never knew the Qun or left it behind," she explained, relaxing slightly now that she had something other than herself to discuss and a distraction to keep her from thinking about how the horse could buck and throw her at any moment. "They were good people, funny and brave." She sighed, feeling her chest constrict with grief again, but for a different reason now. "I…miss them, actually. So many of my friends died that day."

"Yes," Cassandra agreed, frowning with gloom. "We lost countless good people that day." Rosa read something in the Seeker's brownish eyes—grief, deep and personal. She had been the Divine's Right hand, so surely she missed Justinia. But had there been someone else? Although Rosa was curious, she kept her mouth shut rather than risk irritating this powerful warrior woman who had little patience for her and would've executed her if not for the power she bore in her left hand.

"Where are you from?" Cassandra asked after a moment's pause.

"Don't you know already?" Rosa asked, still hoping to shake the Seeker's questions.

"I have read Leliana's report," Cassandra answered. "But I wish to hear it from you. You were not originally from the Free Marches, I gather?"

Rosa sighed, hunching up with unease as she stared at the horse's ears. Its head dipped rhythmically, in time with the cadence of its hooves, clopping against the gravel and dirt underfoot. Rosa shot nervous glances to either side of the trail, worried that at any moment a pheasant or some other small animal would dart out and spook the horse. She let the silence drag out for an uncomfortable amount of time before finally saying, "I was born to a clan in the Brecilian Forest, but I left. We had too many mages."

A lie, not that the Seeker would ever learn otherwise.

"I see," Cassandra said with a nod. "And now you are with a clan in the Free Marches after being interred in the Hasmal Circle." She shifted slightly in the saddle to turn more directly to Rosa. "I have heard that the Hasmal Circle fell in a revolt prior to the vote by the First Enchanters in the White Spire. I understand it was a particularly brutal conflict." She paused a beat, lips pinching tightly. "Can you tell me about it?"

Rosa stared straight ahead, trying to remain impassive. "What's to tell, Seeker? The Templars began slaughtering mages in a witch-hunt. Rather than be butchered, we fought back." She swallowed, her throat feeling too tight. "I barely escaped with my life." Quickly changing the subject, she added, "Afterward, I traveled east and joined the first clan that would have me."

Cassandra made a grunt of interest, looking to the road again as a few tense moments passed in silence. At last Cassandra said, "Herald, I apologize, but I hoped to discuss the animosity between you and Revas."

Rosa clenched her jaw and her hands tightened on the horse's reins. "That's none of your business, Seeker."

"Under normal circumstances that would be true," Cassandra said, a note of concession in her voice softening it. "And I would never ask such things for that reason. But I cannot have strife within our ranks. We cannot afford petty disagreements in front of our enemies or those we seek to recruit."

"There is nothing _petty_ about what he did to me," Rosa blurted, lips curling in a snarl. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and trying to table that awful gnawing pain inside her of betrayal, abandonment, and grief. She snuck a quick peek at the Seeker and saw the other woman's features had twisted with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. She could almost feel the Seeker's temptation to ask for details, but to her credit, Cassandra resisted it.

"Would you prefer to be kept separate from him?" Cassandra asked instead, arching one of those sculpted black brows. "I can make the arrangements, if you wish."

"No," Rosa muttered, shaking her head. "I'm not a coward who deals with problems by avoiding them." Her shoulders slumped. "I…I know what you're asking. You just want me to be civil with him. I'm trying, Seeker, truly I am. It'll just take some time."

Cassandra nodded solemnly, a glint of something akin to respect in her brownish eyes. "I appreciate it, Herald."

They fell into more silence as the wind rustled the trees and birds chirped. The horses' hooves clopped on the gravel and occasionally the animals snorted and whickered to one another, tails flicking to bat away flies. The nip in the air, the scent of leaf litter, pollen, and moisture on the wind…it was too close to that day in early spring. Even the scent of the horses' sweat was similar enough to halla that it twisted her stomach and suddenly her eyes stung and her throat felt swollen as emotion tore into her like a wolf's fangs.

Struggling to hide her internal pain from the Seeker, Rosa turned her head to stare off the road and breathed deeply. Her shoulders shuddered a few times and her breath wavered, but gradually the burn inside her throat and chest began to ease. And then, unexpectedly, she heard Cassandra's voice ring out, beautiful and strong.

"All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker. Those who bear false witness and work to deceive others, know this: There is but one Truth. All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies."

Twisting slightly to peer at the Seeker, Rosa frowned. She knew by the cadence Cassandra used that she must be reciting Chantry scripture. Yet it wasn't one she recalled from the brief time she spent in the Hasmal Circle, learning the doctrine of the Andrastian faith.

Cassandra went on from memory, her words clear and strong: "All things in this world are finite. What one man gains, another has lost. Those who steal from their brothers and sisters do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind. Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart." Drawing in a breath, her tone changed into one more upbeat as she added, "The one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know peace."

"I'm not Andrastian," Rosa told the Seeker in a quiet voice, her nose wrinkling slightly as she tried to dispel the lingering chill of awe that washed over her. Grudgingly, she added, "But…that was beautiful."

"You knew it was the Chant," Cassandra said, eyeing her with interest and something bordering on approval. "Tell me," she said, "do you believe in the Maker?"

"I'm not sure I believe in anything, Cassandra," Rosa murmured. That was only half true. She couldn't profess to believe in the Creators as gods because she knew from her father, a survivor of Elvhenan, that they hadn't been any more divine or indestructible than any other Elvhen man or woman—just exceedingly powerful. Instead, Rosa had come to believe in the Creators as ideals, more akin to spirits who embodied some emotion or moral. She had selected her vallaslin—Dirthamen—with that in mind. He stood for secrets, intelligence, and the love of family.

"That is a shame," Cassandra lamented, sounding both disappointed and sad. "Yet, I must believe the Maker has placed you and I on this path, even if you do not." One corner of her mouth tugged upward slightly. "But, perhaps your time with the Inquisition will convince you the Maker exists and watches out for us."

"Maybe," Rosa said, sniffing back the last of her emotion. She realized she had spent so much time despising the Andrastian religion because of its suppression and distrust of magic and spirits that she hadn't ever considered what she thought of the deity it actually followed. In the Hasmal tower she'd been defiant and angry, bitter at the oppression of this foreign religion that so hated her simply for possessing magic. Now, however, she realized she'd deafened herself to its beauty. What harm was there in truly listening?

"Is there a part of the Chant that offers comfort for the grieving?" she asked softly.

Cassandra nodded. "There is, yes." Her brownish eyes were warm, a silent question lingering in their depths.

"Can you recite it for me?" Rosa asked, finding she could just manage a tight, wan smile.

With another nod, Cassandra began to speak again. "O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights…"

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"I rather thought I was doing an admirable job of being _peaceable _so far," Rosa said as she looked back to the lake, glittering as it reflected the starlight. "I haven't given in to the desire to hurl fireballs at your ass even once."

"You slapped me in the middle of battle," Solas reminded her, blank and flat.

Rosa raised her index finger and said, "Ah, but I didn't follow it up with a knee to the balls. Considering the pressure I was under and that Rogathe wanted me to run you through with my staff, I think we can both admit I showed _immense_ restraint."


	5. Granddaughter of Dirthamen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa has a much needed chat one on one with Solas about just what he was doing in Haven before the Conclave blew. The fledgling Inquisition takes on the Hinterlands, where the mage/templar war is in full swing.

The Templar hefted his sword up to the sky, catching the sun on the blade as he shouted a war-cry. Rosa Fade-stepped through him before he'd finished with it, freezing him as she passed with a sharp whine-pop. Whipping around, she smashed his back with Fade rock and he crumpled to the ground. Blood oozed from a crossbow bolt in his thigh that'd landed precisely in a gap on his armor.

Solas spun his staff, casting winter's grasp on a Templar Cassandra had taken on a few meters away. The man had used his shield to block Varric's bolts and all the magic hurled his way, but he could do nothing to stop Solas' winter magic. The Templar's body crackled and his movements slowed, allowing Cassandra to pivot round him and thrust her blade through his back, lips curled in a ferocious snarl. "Maker take you!"

As the man fell to the ground with a dull thump, bleeding out into the moss and grass of the Crossroads, Solas realized with a warm pulse of satisfaction that he was barely winded at all. The fight with these Templars had been _easy _and never dropped him below half of his mana reserves. He had spent much of the last year since escaping the Hasmal Circle meditating to increase his mana reserves, restoring it to some semblance of its pre-Veil greatness, and overall had spent little time fighting. The exhilaration of it now had his blood pumping and his body taut with the carnal enjoyment of physicality.

"It must have been some time since the renegade Templars encountered a mage of any talent," Solas remarked to Cassandra and Varric, who were closest as he surveyed the battlefield. Strewn with bodies and stained with blood, it was a small skirmish at best, but the conflict had still clearly terrorized the local populace.

"Patting yourself on the back, flat-ear?" Rosa asked him with a dark look as she walked nearer, standing with her arms crossed over her chest behind Varric.

Solas bristled and shot her a glare. "It was an honest observation," he said tartly. Narrowing his eyes, he wondered if her comment had just been a dig at him or if she was double-speaking, suggesting that the ongoing mage-Templar conflict was _his_ fault because of the Conclave…

_No,_ he thought, _no—she cannot have guessed that much._ If she had she would surely have revealed him with how deeply she seemed to despise him now.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise as she stabbed a finger at both of them. "Enough, both of you." Turning toward Rosa, she said, "Mother Giselle is somewhere in the settlement here, tending the wounded. Go. Seek her out."

Rosa frowned, cocking her hip. "You're not coming with me?"

Cassandra gave a quick shake of her head. "No," she said with a little huff. "I am not the one she wishes to see regarding the Grand Clerics."

"See," Rosa said, grimacing. "_That_ is why you need to go with me. You say _Grand Clerics_ and all I hear is 'shemlen _who would rather stone me to death than look at me.' _That and the Chantry's hierarchy is all gibberish to me." She shrugged. "Do these Grand Clerics wear big hats or the little ones? Honestly, I can't tell one Chantry member from another and that's why I'm just going to make an ass of myself."

Cassandra rolled her eyes as she ran a bloody rag over her blade to quickly clean it and then sheathed it at her waist. "With that attitude you most certainly _will_ fail to impress Mother Giselle _and_ the Grand Clerics. Or anyone."

"I'm a savage," Rosa groused, half-smirking and half-frowning. "Remember?"

"You are more than that," Cassandra said testily. "You are the lone survivor of the Conclave and the Herald of Andraste, whether you believe it or not. For the good of the Inquisition, you must _act_ and it is not my place to hold your hand through this."

_That, _Solas knew, was both the exact right thing to say to someone like Rosa while also being catastrophically wrong as well. He watched as the reluctant, unbelieving so-called Herald of Andraste scowled and scoffed. She fidgeted, glaring daggers at Cassandra and opening her mouth to fight her only to snap it shut again. It was fortunate she had Rogathe bound now. The spirit probably would have challenged Cassandra to a duel to prove Rosa's bravery and honor.

Even with Rogathe controlled, however, Rosa was clearly at odds with herself. Knowing her as he did, Solas guessed she was torn between stubborn defiance—and perhaps a dose of fear at the responsibility foisted on her by the humans—and the need to plunge ahead fearlessly.

Deciding to escape their bickering, Solas turned and began to make his way over the wet earth of the Crossroads toward where the nearest wounded soldier lay clutching a burn to his shoulder. The man wore Inquisition armor and watched Solas with wary eyes as he knelt beside him. "May I see the wound?" Solas asked.

The man hesitated a moment and then grunted, nodding his consent. He released the burn and Solas cautiously inspected it, using his eyes more than his hands. It wasn't fatal, at least without infection, but it would scar. "I can heal this," he told the soldier. "If you'd like."

The man chewed his lip briefly and then nodded. Solas gently laid a hand over the man's shoulder and summoned mana for a simple but effective healing spell. The raw, red wound diminished until it was just a brownish discoloration mottled over new, fresh pink skin. The man twisted his neck to look down at it and his mouth fell open with shock. Then, with bright eyes, he began to enthusiastically thank Solas.

As he finished healing the man, Solas saw Rosa make her way up a stone stairway to one of the larger huts in the Crossroads. Her body language was hunched and tense, but her stride held determination. Cassandra wasn't with her. A woman in the distinctive garb of a Chantry Mother appeared out of the hut and moved to meet with Rosa.

Despite her animosity toward him, Solas smiled slightly and wished her luck.

* * *

They camped just downslope from a small lake trapped in the rocky hills above them. Rosa didn't catch the name the Seeker and the other Inquisition people called it and she didn't care. The only thing she needed to know about it was what her ears told her: it was _infested_ with frogs. So, as everyone settled into their roles about camp, Rosa snuck off into the rocky hillside to reach the lake.

Rams snorted and stamped off in the distance, running away at the sight of her. With her staff strapped to her back and a utility knife at her waist, Rosa considered giving chase and dismissed it. They'd hunt rams for meat for the refugees tomorrow.

As she reached the lake the sound of frogs entered the air and the rich scent of greenery and moisture washed over her with a warm wave of nostalgia. The Brecilian Forest had been alive with frogs in certain spots near where her birth clan camped. Their songs had lulled her to sleep as a child countless times. But the Free Marches where Lavellan clan made their home seemed drier, and therefore it lacked the charm of the frogs and their song.

At the shore of the lake, near a stand of lilies, cattails, and blood lotus, Rosa pulled her staff from her back and laid it on the grass as she sat cross-legged and faced the waters. From the reeds off to her left she heard the hollow, resounding buzz of a bullfrog calling for a mate. The rest of the lake was alive with the high-pitched trilling _peep_ of tiny peeper frogs. The sun had just gone down and the fullness of night had not yet completely drawn in, but she could see fireflies swarming across the water on the far side of the lake. Here, in this place, it was as if the Conclave had never happened and as if death could never touch this place.

She drew in a deep breath of the dense, humid air, and closed her eyes. One hand gradually rose to the leather thong about her neck, fingering it in an idle gesture. The raven pendant, carrying Tal's blood in its grooved feathers, jostled slightly in its place between her breasts. Sometimes, though she was certain it must be her imagination, it seemed to flush slightly warmer than her skin.

After a few minutes of peace, Rosa heard the soft rustle and breath of another person. Opening her eyes, she turned her head toward the path that led up from the Inquisition camp and saw a familiar figure standing at the edge of the clearing. Sighing, she looked to the lake again, seeing the stars glitter over its surface. _Of course_ he would find her and disturb her peace—but she had to admit that running from him forever was foolish and cowardly. She might need his help getting Rogathe to leave her again…and it was high time she confronted him about his _true_ reason for being in Haven when the Conclave exploded.

"Flat-ear," she said, her voice chilly.

Dirt and pine needles crunched under his feet despite his soft, barefooted tread as he drew closer like a tentative deer, primed to flee. The analogy was funny enough that she smirked to herself as she stared at him, unable to read his features in the moonless dark at this distance. "Rosa," he said, his voice as cautious as his tread. "I hoped we might speak in private."

She thought she detected a hint of reproach in his tone now and thought she could guess why. For the past week in Haven she had been using dream-suppressing herbs to prevent him from summoning her into his dreams. He was a strong Dreamer—more so than any other she'd encountered, even more than her father who she could resist only with the greatest effort—and that left her with no other choice but to do without dreams. She'd guessed he was powerful in the Hasmal tower, despite his weakness at the time, because in the Fade he threw a disturbingly large and yet vague shadow in her inner senses…more like a powerful demon in some ways than like a Dreamer. But of course he wasn't a demon, just an ass.

Now, undoubtedly, he would prefer the Fade to discuss in true, ultimate privacy. He probably found her evasion annoying. _Good,_ Rosa thought, letting herself be petty.

"What could we _possibly_ have to talk to each other about, _flat-ear?"_ Rosa asked him with a snort. She shifted in her spot on the ground, resting her elbows on her knees and clapping her hands together to dust them off. "It's not like we knew each other well and have a lot in common, is it?" she added sarcastically.

Solas let out a short breath, half-sigh and half-huff. He jerked his head off to one side, his pale skin clear even in the gloom. He had halted a few meters shy of her and now stood stiff with tension, his hands clasped in front of his waist as he swayed from foot to foot. "Please," he said, sounding both miserable and exasperated at once. "We cannot continue this hostility. You are right to be angry and I do not expect or deserve forgiveness, but I hope we may establish a peaceable working relationship while we are both members of the Inquisition."

"I rather thought I was doing an admirable job of being _peaceable _so far," Rosa said as she looked back to the lake, glittering as it reflected the starlight. "I haven't given in to the desire to hurl fireballs at your ass even once."

"You slapped me in the middle of battle," Solas reminded her, blank and flat.

Rosa raised her index finger and said, "Ah, but I didn't follow it up with a knee to the balls. Considering the pressure I was under and that Rogathe wanted me to run you through with my staff, I think we can both admit I showed _immense_ restraint."

Solas made a humming noise in the back of his throat that was neither agreement nor dispute, though it did almost sound amused. "Rogathe is one subject I hoped to discuss with you."

She nodded, still staring at the lake and trying not to enjoy the sound of his velvety voice. "I know."

"Rogathe left you easily after we escaped the tower," Solas said. "It may leave you while you sleep tonight just as easily now that we are some distance from the breach."

"And if it doesn't I need to find out what keeps it within me," she said, nodding.

Now Solas took another few steps closer to her and sat in the grass, cross-legged in the same position Rosa had adopted. His knees popped as he settled and he grunted, as if irritated by the sound. Rosa shot him a sidelong look. "Feeling your age, _flat-ear?"_

"Somewhat," he hedged, a note of irritation roughening his voice. Unlike her, Solas had come to the lake unarmed, apparently unafraid of whatever the wilds of the Hinterlands had to offer. Rosa wondered if this modern world seemed devoid of threats to an ancient Elvhen or if Solas was simply confident—or arrogant—enough to forego it regardless.

Breaking the ongoing song of the frogs after a time, Solas asked, "You do not remember what happened at the Temple?"

Leaning back and using both arms to support her, Rosa twisted to look at him through the dark, plastering her coy smile on her lips. It was the expression she'd practiced constantly as a teenager at her father's coaching when he discovered she possessed her grandfather's truthsaying gift—although it was fickle at best. Now she tried to draw it up, focusing every inner sense on Solas. "No," she admitted tightly. "I don't remember anything more than flashes."

"Then you do not know how Rogathe came to possess you," Solas said and his voice held the same tension as her own.

"Nope," she answered, deliberately flippant, hoping to take him off-guard as she added, "But I know whatever happened at the Conclave _you_ had something to do with it."

Now Solas' head swung in her direction and, despite the darkness, she was sure she saw his eyes narrow and his lips pinch. The bullfrogs and the peepers continued their peaceful song, heedless of the deadly stillness that'd descended on the two elves nearby. Rosa's heart had started to pound as she watched her ex-lover, waiting for him to respond to her accusation. Already too long had passed for a denial. She didn't need to be a truthsayer or Dirthamen's granddaughter to puzzle that out.

"Why were you in Haven, _Solas?"_ Rosa asked, growling the question low.

"I hoped to stop it," Solas said, the words quiet and still.

The gift in her head remained mum. Either that was the truth or it was simply being fickle.

"How did you know it would happen?" Rosa pressed, lips curling in a snarl.

His gaze dropped to the grass between them and it was easy to read his emotion despite the dark—shame. "The explosion was caused by my orb."

She stiffened, breathing in sharply as the realization cemented. Solas had been frantic to protect his orb in the Hasmal Circle from tampering and had explained that with enough magic it could be very dangerous. Rosa hadn't realized it would be _that_ dangerous, however. This explosion had been so devastating it tore open the very Veil itself.

"I lost the orb in a skirmish shortly after I parted from you," he said in a low, solemn tone. He had not yet met her gaze again. "I spent most of my time since then tracking the orb, hoping to reclaim it before disaster struck."

"Who attacked you? Who took it?" Rosa asked, urgency tainting her words. Her hands dug into the dirt and grass with her tension.

"It happened as I slept. I had set wards, but the attackers dispelled them. They were Templars, renegades from Hasmal." He chuckled dryly. "I strayed too close to the tower in my journey, hoping to trade for better clothing and a staff. Instead, I fell victim to Templar attack. I was beaten, badly, but managed to flee. However, afterward, I discovered the orb was missing."

Rosa felt something buzz in the back of her mind, deep within. Instantly she adopted the coy smile again as her heart raced with apprehension. _A lie._ Something Solas had said just now was a lie. Something, or maybe all of it. She had no way to tell exactly. She also knew better than to challenge him. Just as she had in the Hasmal Circle, she knew she had to wait for the ideal moment. Eventually, if the lie was important, Solas would get tangled in his own deceptions, tying his own noose, and ensnaring himself.

He heaved a small sigh and rubbed his face with one hand. "I believe they traveled north and sold the orb in Tevinter, where such ancient arcane curiosities can fetch the highest price. I could not follow as the Imperium is too dangerous for our people, but I learned who came to own the orb."

"Who?" she pressed.

"A Tevinter supremacist cult. They call themselves Venatori."

"Why would a Tevinter supremacist cult blow up the Conclave?" Rosa asked, shaking her head in consternation, still wearing the tight, coy smile over her lips.

"That I do not know," Solas replied with a small sigh.

The buzz came in her head again. _A lie._ Rosa nodded, keeping the smile from faltering with an effort. "So, you came to Haven to try and reclaim the orb?"

He dipped his chin once. "I was too late. After the explosion, I hoped to reclaim the orb from the ruins—but it was no longer there."

"Is it still dangerous?" Rosa asked. "Even after the explosion?"

"Yes," Solas said simply.

The single word hit Rosa like iron. She flinched and looked out to the lake, her body flushing cold with dread. "It's still out there, then. In the hands of these…terrorists. The Venatori?"

"Yes," he affirmed with a small nod. Then, shifting with what Rosa read to be unease and nervousness, Solas said, "I hope you can understand why I did not share this knowledge with the Seeker or Lady Nightingale."

"That would be suicide," Rosa said, chuckling dryly.

"There is something else you should know," Solas murmured, sounding morose now.

Rosa turned her head, smiling as she tried to focus her fickle gift again. She saw Solas' eyes glint in the light cast by the moon, slowly rising over the hills behind her. "What?" she asked. "Maybe you can surprise me this time with good news, I hope."

The playfulness in her own voice took her by surprise and made her frown, averting her face from him as her blood rushed in her ears. It was disturbingly easy to slip back into a place of near-comfort with him because she still found him so attractive and because he knew so much of the ancient past, just as she did because of her father. She had to keep reminding herself that she couldn't trust him. Already he'd lied a few times to her, though she wasn't certain about what exactly or _why._ She had to be guarded and wary. She had to keep in her mind constantly her pain and loss at his abandonment…

And yet, hadn't he just explained why he'd not come for her? He'd been trying to stop a disaster like the Conclave from happening…

Unless it was all a lie. Unless everything about him was a lie. She already knew something he'd said was. 

"Unfortunately," Solas told her, swallowing audibly. "It is not good news. The mark on your hand that closes rifts was part of the orb."

She leaned forward at this new information, resting her elbows on her knees again so she could look at her left palm. Dirt smudged the palm and she brushed it away, feeling the tingle of the magic inside its dormant seam. "I'm not surprised," she murmured and then snorted wryly. "It's not like I ever believed it could be a divine gift from the _shemlen's_ prophet." She paused and then looked at him over her shoulder. "What's the bad news?"

His expression, twisted with sympathy and shame and pain, made her heart clench and crawl up into her throat. "The mark should not have been bestowed upon you. I do not know how it came to happen, but it is a tool and a magic not meant for this world. I have stabilized it as much as I can and will continue to do so, but…"

"It's a death sentence," Rosa muttered, sighing. "Isn't it?"

"Without the orb…" His voice trailed off and his lips curled downward as his eyes darted away. "There is no way to remove the Anchor—the mark—from you, save severing your arm at the elbow."

Rosa's body had gone still and cold again at this news. "And if I don't hack off my arm?"

"You will undoubtedly die," Solas told her, staring down at the dark grass between them and the lake.

She was silent a moment before she asked, "How long?"

He shook his head. "I have no way of knowing. The Anchor will eventually destabilize. When it does you will have a matter days, perhaps weeks before it will consume you." Silence reigned again for a few heartbeats before Solas continued, "You may live the remainder of your life unbothered or it may destabilize in weeks or months. There is no way to be certain."

"Well," she said, hunching as she rested her marked left hand in her lap and let her fingers curl open and closed rhythmically. "Good to know," she said in a sarcastically singsong voice. "I can start practicing fighting and eating and dressing myself and _writing_ with just the right hand." She groaned, gnashing her teeth. "You know, Solas, you've brought me nothing but misery since you left me that night with clan Manaria."

"That was not my intent," Solas told her, his words strained. "I could not foresee this outcome, Rosa. I did not expect to see you or Tal in Haven and when I did…" He broke off, sounding as if he'd choked.

"Then what _was _your intent?" Rosa asked, springing to her feet and whipping around to glare down at him, hands curling into fists at her sides. Solas stared up at her, eyebrows curled downward in a position of pain. His lips twisted as well, but he remained silent.

"_Fenedhis,"_ she growled at him. "Answer me!" He flinched at her rising volume and Rosa felt a bitter thrill of triumph at it.

He dropped his gaze to her feet; the shame and agony in his face still clear despite the darkness. "You know that I have…other responsibilities. That I served Mythal. I could not continue our relationship until I obtained her consent, but I could not locate her. When the orb was taken from me, I could not ignore it and sought to reclaim it first. I—"

"Nugshit," she snapped with a slash of her hand, dismissively. "You could have reached out to me in the Fade at any time. You didn't." Anger swelled in her chest, making her breaths come fast. "You're just like my mentor," she snarled, actually meaning her father though Solas wouldn't know that, and saw him flinch again. "Coldhearted and cagey and you _abandoned_ me."

Solas shook his head, still not looking at her. "I…" He licked his lips, his eyes closing as if he expected she'd strike him. "I made a mistake. I should have contacted you. I believed it would be less painful if—"

"If what?" Rosa interrupted, spreading her hands. "If I just _never_ heard from you ever again? If I just thought you were _fucking dead?_" She felt breathless, her chest and shoulders heaving, her stomach clenching. She didn't know if she would scream or vomit as she gritted her teeth and bared them in a savage snarl. "You have _no _idea what I went through!"

He winced, jaw muscles flaring taut, but he said nothing and didn't look at her. She wanted to curse at him, to slap him across the face, to make him react with something that made _sense._ If he was angry with her or affronted she could spit at him and turn cold. If he pleaded with her for forgiveness or confessed he still loved her and had some better explanation for his lack of contact…well, she could deal with that. But the way he sat there, defenseless and cringing, made her feel she was beating a puppy.

And yet, she had every right to be angry. More than he knew. But, simultaneously, she also knew he couldn't rightfully take the blame for the deeper reason for her anger and pain. His lack of communication had cost her more than she could reveal, even as the words sat on her tongue and pressed against her throat. How would he react if he knew?

"_Ir abelas,"_ he murmured softly. The song of the frogs filled in the deafening silence between them that descended a moment later as Rosa glared at him through the dark and Solas stared down at the grass at her feet. Rosa was about to lose her patience with him and go stomping off, fuming, before she said something she'd rather keep to herself just to get a reaction from him, when Solas spoke again. "I cannot change what I have done, but my desire now is only to help you—if you will allow it."

Feeling the raven he had carved hanging in its place between her breasts, Rosa hesitated. She didn't need her truthsaying gift to tell her what he said now was apparently true. The raven talisman revealed that much clearly. Yet, even so, her first instinct was to reject him, dismiss him with disdain. Aside from his expertise with spirits like Rogathe, how could he possibly help her? His influence had caused nothing but disaster and death so far. Someday, possibly soon, it would still claim her arm.

But, beyond that initial reaction, she thought of her father and the image was like a slap to her face. The last time she had seen him in the Fade, her father had worn the same sort of wounded, devastated look as Solas. And when Eolas had sought out Tal later, he'd said something very similar to him, or so her brother had told her when she questioned him about the last time he'd seen their father. Eolas had pleaded with Tal to give him a chance to help, even knowing he couldn't right the wrongs of his past. Now, about a year later, neither sibling had seen their father in the Fade or felt any trace of him. It seemed increasingly likely that he was dead.

And that meant the last words Rosa had spoken to him were in anger. Her throat tightened with pain at the memory, making her swallow convulsively. Solas had not been dead as she periodically feared in the months after he'd abandoned her, but what if he died in the next few weeks? Did she really want to leave things like this? Whatever his reasons, it was clear he cared enough to humble himself before her, to acknowledge that he had hurt her and regretted it.

Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out again, Rosa forced herself to let go of some of the hostility. Slowly, she nodded. "I guess I could use any help I can get."

Now Solas lifted his eyes to meet hers and a small, wan smile spread over his lips. "Thank you."

Trying to be lighthearted, she snorted. "Don't thank me yet. I might decide the best way for you to help me is by doing my laundry or washing my dishes every night in penance for being such an ass."

"I may also act as a packhorse, if you wish," Solas suggested, his smile lopsided now though it remained small. She snorted again, shaking her head, and Solas sobered somewhat as he added, "More importantly, however, I joined the Inquisition to lend my considerable knowledge to the cause…to _you._" His eyes drilled into her now, unflinching. "_You_ are why I joined and why I will stay."

She frowned, the anger twisting inside her again, scalding her. "Too bad I wasn't enough last year."

He cringed, averting his eyes again.

"Never mind," Rosa said, waving a hand at him. "I'm sorry. You're trying your damnedest to make peace and I'm just chewing at you like a starving wolf on an old bone." Heaving a sigh, she stooped and snatched up her staff. Shimmying this way and that, she re-secured it onto the strap at her back before facing Solas again. "Well," she said, striving to maintain an even tone. "It was nice chatting, _Revas,_ but I really should be off to my tent to sleep." Tugging at the leather cord about her neck, she added, "And don't worry, I'll take it off and see if Rogathe leaves on its own tonight."

"If it does not," Solas said somberly. "Please let me know."

She nodded once and then jogged past him, returning to the path. She didn't look back at him and tried not to think about him and all the mostly terrible things he'd told her.

* * *

Dwarfson's Pass seemed to be infested with rifts, and most of them spat wraiths, terror and rage demons. Rosa spent the whole day jogging down its length, searching for the stone ruins the cultists had claimed. She'd headed this way when an elven man in the Crossroads pleaded with her to fetch his son for a potion. Rosa planned to give him a tongue lashing for abandoning his parents as she twisted his ear and dragged him back to the Crossroads. Thinking about that kept her from worrying about why Rogathe hadn't left her over the past week and a half they'd spent in the Hinterlands.

As she led Varric, Cassandra, and Solas up the walled path leading to the ruins of what must have once been a sizeable fort or a small settlement, Rosa felt her skin prickle. The Veil was thin here, weakened and warped in a way she'd begun to recognize meant there'd be a rift nearby—or one that would soon open. The mark in her hand felt heavy, ready to crackle and come alive in response. The ancient magic curled through her arm, separate from her core of mana.

A well-dressed human woman stood alongside the closed gates, glaring at Rosa and her party as they approached. "I know you," the woman called to them, thrusting her chin in the air to match the haughty tone of her voice. "They call you the Herald of Andraste for what you did at Haven. But are you?"

How did this woman already know her? Rosa shot a glance over her shoulder at Cassandra, seeing the other woman's distinctive armor and sighed, deciding that must be what gave her away. That and the fact that _everyone_ knew the Herald of Andraste was a Dalish mage. It wasn't as if Dalish were all that common, especially wandering about the Hinterlands in the company of a dwarf, a Seeker, and a…well, Solas.

The woman prodded Rosa when she didn't immediately answer. "Are you chosen by Andraste? The Maker has not told me."

Now Rosa flashed a grin. "Then that makes two of us, lady." Somewhere behind her, Varric chuckled. Motioning at the gate, Rosa asked, "Are you the gatekeeper here or do I need to talk to someone else about getting in?"

The woman frowned and ignored Rosa's question. "As I suspected," she said, sounding haughty all over again. "Stories of you mastering the rifts are just blind heresy."

Behind the pompous woman, Rosa saw a gatekeeper peer out from between the bars on the gate, observing the exchange. The square-shaped spaces between the vertical and horizontal bars were probably just small enough that Rosa could squeeze through if she hunched her shoulders _just _right…though it'd look ridiculous to say the least. Aware of Cassandra's mounting impatience with this situation Rosa asked, "What's your name?"

"I am Speaker Anais," the woman replied and inhaled, apparently ready to explain her title and authority further, but Rosa quickly interrupted her.

"Well, Speaker Anais, your Maker and his precious Andraste don't exactly chat with me the way he apparently does with you, but I _can_ close rifts." Lifting her right hand, she wiggled her fingers rhythmically.

"Then prove it," Speaker Anais challenged her, crossing her arms over her chest. "Show me that the rifts bend to your will, the will of the Maker. Show me the power you wield."

_I'll show you my power all right,_ Rosa thought irritably, though she forced herself to smile. "I can't show you anything until you let me in to seal that Creators-damned rift you're hiding in there somewhere."

Continuing to glare at her, Speaker Anais gestured over her shoulder at the gatekeeper, still watching through the grated gate, and the man vanished. A moment later the gate clattered as it began to rise, metal grinding and groaning. With a curt nod to Speaker Anais, Rosa started forward, into the settlement—only to stop short when she heard Cassandra questioning the other woman.

"This cult," the Seeker said. "What are you doing out here? What do you believe?"

Speaker Anais thrust her chin out into the air again as she faced off now with Cassandra. "The Chantry has fallen and shown its imperfection in doing so." Cassandra's eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. The expression only worsened as Speaker Anais went on. "The Chant of Light was a lie! It was arrogance to think that mortal lips could frame the Maker's will."

"_That_ I can believe," Varric interjected as he strode forward to the Seeker's side. "Come along, Seeker. Let's leave the Speaker to her duties. No sense starting a religious debate when Violet's got a rift to close."

Glowering between Anais and Varric, Cassandra eventually stomped past, following Rosa. Solas and Varric tailed after her, both offering the Speaker brief nods of respect.

Rosa hurried deeper into the settlement before Solas could catch her watching him. Although Cassandra's reaction had been the most obvious, Rosa hadn't missed the way Solas' lips had twitched downward with something similar to the Seeker's reaction. Speaker Anais irritated him, but not for her belief in a faulty Chantry or the Chant of Light. Numerous times while she had been in the Hasmal Circle with him, Rosa had noticed Solas react bitterly to religion, both the _shemlen's_ Chantry and to the elven pantheon. She knew he had seen the Creators as mortals firsthand, but there was some deeper resentment there she didn't understand and had only glimpsed the surface of. It hadn't been important during their time in the tower, except that he wasn't Andrastian and therefore had been an ally to her in dealing with Rogathe, but now…

_He's seen mortals be elevated to godhood before,_ she realized. He had known Mythal, from a distance he claimed—not that Rosa believed that—and that meant he had seen her become a goddess when she was just as vulnerable to death as any Elvhen man or woman. Now, bizarrely, he was seeing the same thing happen to _her_ as the humans elevated Rosa into a religious icon, even against her will. Maybe he would have some tips as to how to make the humans back off?

Reaching a cave at the back of the settlement where natural rock formations formed broken columns, Rosa paused. Various members of the cult were kneeling in the dirt, grass, and moss, heads bowed and palms pressed together in prayer. She heard their murmuring, beseeching the Maker for guidance and forgiveness and mercy while, just through the cave, the rift sparkled green in the air, dormant for the moment.

The small hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms stood on end as she thought again about the _shemlen_ religion and the deep past she knew because of Solas and her father. She could imagine the way her father would have reacted to this scene: with dry humor and sarcasm. Hadn't he told her once, when she asked about the Creators—especially Dirthamen—that she could not trust any story she heard? That stories take on a life of their own, as do the people within them.

Today she would be the one making a story for these people. They would repeat it however they liked and, so far, that meant they bowed and scraped with awe. She would become the Herald of Andraste to these people, divine and blessed of heaven. They would not see her pointed ears or her vallaslin, only the green mark in her left palm that they would claim for their Maker and their Prophetess Andraste. How long before _she_ would be unrecognizable in their stories? How long after she died would it take them to imagine her into some chaste human woman, a docile Circle mage from Hasmal, selected by Andraste and the Maker? She could almost hear it now.

_And so, unto the frightened people of Thedas, the Maker sent a savior. He sent Andraste Herself to select a Herald. And Andraste chose Rose _(because they would humanize her name, of course), _a mage who was pure of heart and of deepest virtue, and gave her the sacred green mark…_

"_Fenedhis,"_ she muttered and shook her head, hands opening and closing into fists at her side.

"Herald?" Cassandra asked, moving to her side as she sensed something wrong.

"I…" She swallowed, looking at the scattered cultists. "Is there any way we can shoo them away or something? I'd rather not do this in front of all these people."

Cassandra's expression warped with disbelief. "You cannot be serious."

Rosa frowned, chewing her lip as apprehension got the better of her. The mark in her hand had started to throb, at the verge of springing to life with the rift this close. She shook out her hand and racked her mind for some valid reason to feel as she did.

But she wasn't fast enough to appease Cassandra, apparently. "You _are_ serious," the Seeker said, stunned. She shook her head. "You heard the Speaker outside. These people have lost their way. They _must_ see what you can do. They _must_ have hope again and the Inquisition can _be_ that hope. _You_ can."

Rosa was about to make a sarcastic retort when Solas stepped forward, keeping his voice low as he spoke to her. "It is in the Inquisition's best interest for as many as possible to see you at work here, Herald."

Hearing _him_ call her by her unwanted religious title made Rosa scowl. "Don't call me Herald. I'm not Andraste's chosen."

Oddly, Solas' eyes were sad and his lips twisted downward with sympathy. "Unfortunately, _you_ cannot make that decision any longer…" He hesitated a moment and then said, "Rosa, you must close this rift."

"I know that," she snapped, letting out a little huff as she turned away from him and trotted down the staircase into the cave. Her left hand went hot with sharp pain as the mark—Solas had called it an Anchor—crackled to life. The rift rippled and pulsed, demons leaking through it as they reacted to Rosa's presence. Varric, Cassandra, and Solas hurried after her, each making their own preparatory sounds: Varric's crossbow clacked, Cassandra's sword rang metallically as she drew it, and Solas' winter magic hissed.

Snatching her own stave from her back, Rosa drew in a deep breath and moved to cast barriers over their group—but Solas beat her to it. Immediately she felt the strength of the barrier and thought again he must be stronger than when they'd escaped Hasmal. In the fight with the pride demon at Haven she'd been so distracted by Rogathe she hadn't noticed such details. She shot him a quick look and saw he was already gazing at her, a wan smile on his face. Nodding her gratitude, she dropped into a battle ready crouch and held her staff balanced at the ready.

The first wave of demons manifested from the lumps of Fade ether that'd leaked out: terror demons and wraiths. There were three terrors and two wraiths. The terror demons unleashed screeches almost immediately, their toothy, misshapen mouths yawning wide. Rosa flung Fade stone at the nearest and Solas used a Veilstrike on the one closest to him. Varric grunted as he hurled fiery bolts at one of the wraiths, somersaulting to evade the harmful magic they flung at him. Cassandra, meanwhile, charged forward to slash at the last terror that Rosa and Solas hadn't targeted.

Rosa Fade-stepped through one of the terrors as it got up, slowing it as the frost of her spell spread over its green skin. Solas flung fire at the other terror as it also righted itself and then spun about to cast dispel on the wraiths Varric was fighting when they erected barriers over themselves. Varric's next bolt took out one of the wraiths, scattering it into green energy that streamed back to the rift.

Spinning her staff, Rosa cast chain lightning, sending the purplish energy crackling and arcing between all three terrors and the last remaining wraith. The lightning damage killed the wraith, letting Varric toss down a bag of invisibility powder at his feet to disappear for a sneak attack on one of the terrors. As he vanished, the terror demon Cassandra was close to killing, hacking it apart limb from limb, lost its nerve and dug at the earth beneath itself, creating a greenish ripple that it slipped into within seconds. Seeing it, Rosa scanned the ground quickly, her senses alert and her heart pounding as she waited for it to reappear in its usual ripple of green.

And _there_ it was, beneath Solas. Before she could shout for him to move, the other mage had Fade-stepped away, out of the green ripple at his feet and through one of the two other terrors closer to Rosa. His Fade-step was powerful enough that it killed the terror, freezing and cracking it into countless pieces. Rosa arched an eyebrow, impressed despite herself—but then again, winter school had never come as easily as fire and lightning for her.

And then, too late, she realized the green ripples were under _her_ feet now.

"Rosa!" Solas shouted, seeing it too.

She tried to summon Fade-step, already knowing she would be too late as the ground shifted and she yelped, falling backward. Her barrier splintered and cracked and she gasped, the wind knocked from her. Above her, she heard the terror demon shriek and cringed at the sharp sound, like glass in her ears—but it was cut short with the slick _crack_ of Fade stone impacting the demon. It fell over, dying.

As she started to right herself, grunting as she caught her breath, she saw Solas pop out of a Fade-step at her side and reach for her. She let him take her bicep, accepting the help, but then quickly pivoted away to survey the rest of the battlefield. Cassandra had dispatched the last terror demon, and now the rift shimmered as another round of spirits was drawn into it and spat out into the waking world.

"Here they come," Varric shouted from the base of the stairwell, cranking Bianca's drawstring all the way back.

This time only wraiths spawned, though there were six of them and all immediately flung damaging energy barrages at the four Inquisition members. Gripping her staff with her sweaty hands, Rosa pirouetted and jumped nimbly to evade the wraiths' assault and flung lightning from her staff. She paused only briefly to cast a barrier; only to have Solas beat her to it yet again, covering the whole group. Not taking the time to thank him in the midst of things this time, Rosa used chain lightning to catch four of the wraiths closest to one another in the single spell, doing increased damage.

Cassandra charged from one wraith to another, shield bashing and slashing. Two fell swiftly to her assault, while Varric finished off a third that'd been weakened by Rosa and Solas' combined efforts. Dodging another wave of green energy flung out from the wraiths, Rosa sent a Fade rock hurtling to one and destroyed it. "Void take you," she shouted with satisfaction through gritted teeth.

The last two wraiths died quickly as all four Inquisition members combined tactics. As their green essence streaked back to the rift and it cracked with a sharp boom that echoed through the chamber, Rosa hurried to stand beneath it. Her hand throbbed, hot and sharp with agony, but she powered through it as she thrust it high. The rift whined as the Anchor gripped the fabric of the Veil and tugged the rip in it closed, like a needle suturing a tear in clothes.

_Boom!_ The rift closed and vanished, leaving only a few puddles of green Fade ether where demons or wraiths had died.

A cheer rose up from the entrance to the cave as cultists stared with gaping, smiling mouths, clapping. Rosa's heart leapt into her throat at the sight and sound of them and her cheeks burned. She turned away from it, nudging the lump of Fade ether that the rift had left behind in its wake with one booted foot. _And that,_ her father's voice told her tauntingly, _is how you become Rose the chaste human Hasmal Circle mage, blessed of Andraste and the Maker. _

Solas was at her side suddenly, his voice concerned. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she growled, snarling down at the Fade ether. Glancing past him to the cheering cultists, she muttered, "Think it's too late to cast some blood magic spell and convince these _shemlen_ I'm anything but divine?"

His smile was sad, his blue eyes dark. "Such action would only bring disaster. You risk being remembered as a malevolent force, rather than a positive one."

"Or I'd just be forgotten," Rosa countered, frowning.

Solas shook his head. "No, I'm afraid it _is_ too late for that." Something in his expression was bitter, frustrated in a way that took her aback as he added in a near-growl, "It is better to be remembered positively."

He turned and walked away from her before she could question him. Frowning, Rosa watched him, her brow furrowed and her chest tight as she wondered, yet again, just how _little_ she truly knew the man she'd fallen in love with.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"You still love me," she said, the words biting with anger and shock. Solas' eyes flicked quickly to her and then away, but not fast enough to miss the bright sheen of her tears and the angry set of her jaw. "You still love me," she repeated, the words quavering with her pain. "But you abandoned me anyway. Why?"

Solas closed his eyes, struggling to stay calm and keep his voice even. "Please, Herald, we should rest before—"

"Why?" she repeated, louder and with a greater tremor of anger and pain in her voice than before. Her hands curled into fists at her side, shaking. "Why did you really leave me that night? Without a word, without a goodbye?"

* * *

Endnote: Next time we go to Val Royeaux!


	6. Lord Seeker Demon-Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas has a Freudian slip with Rosa that he very much regrets. Our beloved egghead wears his feelings on his sleeve. Rosa journeys to Val Royeaux to face the Chantry and Lord Seeker Lucius, with some unexpected and canon-breaking results. Tal and Varric are comic relief, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven Used
> 
> Ma Ashalan: my daughter

Gasping, Rosa shot awake. Shaking, she clawed desperately at her covers as an almost inhuman keening issued from her throat. She fought to breathe through the agony of grief constricting her chest. Her hair was wet with perspiration along her temples and neck, her night tunic soaked through at her underarms and back.

Through the bluish light from predawn, she saw Tal sit up in his bedroll on the floor along the fireplace, reacting to her cries. He shouted groggily, "I swear on Mythal's bosom I didn't spit in the Keeper's stew!"

Tal's shouting stirred Mahanon as well. He groaned and sat up in his own bedroll lying alongside Tal's. "Creators, what's going on?"

Springing from the bed, heedless that she wore nothing but her smallclothes under her sweat-soaked tunic, Rosa lurched from her bed for the small porcelain washbasin. The raven talisman thumped against her, between her breasts as she walked, her tread still uneven from sleep. Both men watched her, blinking blearily with sleep and baffled at her abrupt waking. She couldn't bring herself to care as she splashed water onto her face, washing away the mixture of sweat and tears.

She could still feel the cold grip of the despair demon's bony hand as it fed her visions of that spring and of what she'd lost. She'd willed it away repeatedly, but the demons—there'd been dozens clustering around her like vultures—kept at it. She'd constructed her own dreams, changing the Fade to bring herself away from the demons, but they always found her again. It was too fast, too much. Every other heartbeat they assaulted her with memory as she slipped into dreams written by the demons where despair reigned.

She saw her birth clan slaughtered by the bandits on the Fehorn River. She heard the pitiful crying of the children in the aravels as human men snatched them up. She saw the leer on the face of the man who'd stabbed her through the shoulder. She saw the hunter—her first lover—take a sword through the belly and collapse in a pool of blood.

"Rosa?" Mahanon called from his bedroll. Tal, being a heavier sleeper, was still blinking and staring dazedly about the room.

And then she had seen one of the demons posing as her father, staring at her with such abject misery. "Ma ashalan_,"_ his voice echoed in her skull. _"I never got to say goodbye. I never got to tell you how sorry I was. You never gave me that chance and now you'll never have it."_

Her lungs convulsed, making her hiccup with a little sob. "No," she cried, splashing more water onto her face as she felt the bite of tears. "No…"

"Rosa?" Mahanon said, sounding much more awake and concerned now. His bedroll rustled as he worked his way out of it.

Hearing him made her think again of the memories the demons had fed her of herself that spring, curled in a fetal position with Mahanon's mother, the clan healer, staring down at her with sympathy and grief as she combed her fingers through Rosa's messy hair. _"Shhh,"_ the older woman cooed. _"Shh, now _da'lan._"_ She tasted the bitter infusion of herbs; sedatives and willow bark that made her nearly gag.

Mahanon's hand rested on her back then, warm and comforting as he stroked between her shoulder blades. "Rosa? _Vhenan?_ What's wrong?"

She sniffed, her heart beginning to slow now with the first physical contact in the waking world. "Nightmares," she said and let out a long, hard breath. "Demons."

"It must be the breach," Mahanon muttered.

"Maybe," Tal said from his bedroll, sounding doubtful as well as sleepy. "Or maybe it's _something_ else."

Rosa grimaced, staring down into the washbasin. She had told Tal via dreams while she journeyed back from the Hinterlands that Rogathe had yet to leave her and she didn't know why. Despite her brother's encouragement that she should take her concerns to Solas, Rosa hadn't and instead focused on trying to calm her own inner psyche. But doing so had proven nearly impossible as, the longer she went without taking dream-blocking herbs, the more demons had flocked to her. Tonight had been the worst by far and she knew Tal probably guessed things were deteriorating.

She sensed Mahanon's curiosity, but to his credit he didn't pry for once. That was possibly because he'd had the gall to fight with her when he learned Cassandra had plans to leave almost immediately for Val Royeaux. They'd only just returned from the Hinterlands the night before, weary from the road, and Mahanon had been trying to insist Rosa couldn't possibly be expected to travel again so soon. Rosa had retorted that she was Dalish, and their credo was the moving target. _Of course_ she could handle more traveling. But that had made him protest being left behind once more and she had little patience for his insecurity—because that was truly what the spat had been about.

"Rosa," Mahanon said, continuing to stroke her back. "Do you want me to go wake the apothecary for some herbs?"

"No," she said, shaking her head as she wiped at the water still clinging to her face. "You both go back to sleep." Sniffing, she riffled through the dresser, pulling out drawers until she'd located her breeches. Pulling them on under her long night tunic drew Tal's muffled complaints from his bedroll about the brief glimpse he had of her smallclothes.

"Really, _asamalin?_ Are you trying to turn me to men _permanently?_"

She shot him a withering look in response but didn't dignify him with a response when she saw his goofy, awkward grin, still bleary with sleep. Snatching a long coat from a hook hanging on the doorframe between the bedroom and the foyer, Rosa shrugged it on and began buttoning it. Seeing the boots in the foyer made her sigh, but she didn't have foot wraps that'd protect her well enough from the chill currently so the _shemlen _footwear would have to do. She strode into the foyer and hunched over the boots, struggling to put them on without sitting.

Mahanon tried weakly to suggest he go again. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather rest, _vhenan?"_

"These are my bad dreams," she said. "I should be the one who deals with them." Using her sleeve, she wiped at her face to clear it of remaining moisture and puffed out a breath, readying herself for the bitter pre-dawn chill awaiting her.

"I'll come with you," Mahanon said, scrambling to grab up his own coat and boots.

"No," Rosa said, her voice firm and authoritative as she grasped the door handle. Before Mahanon could protest any further, she pulled it open and hurried out into the cold.

* * *

Solas woke abruptly from a dream he'd been sharing with his old friend Wisdom, seeking its guidance regarding Rosa and Rogathe. Groggy and with his eyes still rheumy, he at first didn't know what had disturbed him until the noise came again: an insistent pounding on the door to his cabin. Tossing his covers aside, Solas rose from his bed, rubbing at his face with one hand as the other reached out to the wall to steady his sleep-clumsy legs.

At the door he pushed aside the wooden slat to let him see out of the little viewport. "Who is it?" he asked, croaking. A cold draft spilled in from the viewport and in the bluish light of approaching dawn, he saw only the top of an elven woman's head, her dark brown hair a tangled mess. It was enough that he knew and immediately unlatched his door, opening it before she could finish answering.

Rosa stood outside, wearing a long coat made of bronto leather, her arms crossed over her chest with her hands tucked under her armpits for warmth as she shivered. Her violet eyes had gray rings beneath them and a haunted look that made his stomach sink with worry and concern. "I need to talk to you," she said, her teeth nearly chattering.

Solas stepped back, opening the door wider to admit her. "Of course."

She strode in, moving to his desk and then toward the coals burning in his little fireplace. She stood in front of it, warming her hands. Why hadn't she used magic to warm herself, he wondered, and decided to risk asking it aloud. "Have you forgotten how to use magic to warm yourself?"

"No," she replied irritably. "But this place has plenty of Templars and I don't want them looking too closely at me…for obvious reasons."

"I understand your caution," Solas told her, nodding. She had always been wary and suspicious, at least when Rogathe wasn't motivating her to be reckless in the name of bravery. It was a good survival strategy, one he could applaud even if it sometimes made her a tad prickly to interact with. Squaring his shoulders, he tried to banish the last bits of grogginess from the unexpected wakening and asked, "How can I help you?"

Her posture was stiff as she fidgeted in front of his fireplace, staring down at her hands as they wrung themselves together almost of their own volition. Solas was certain he could guess why she'd appeared here: Rogathe had not left her. He knew that easily by the clearly visible leather cord of the raven talisman at her neck. But she hadn't come forward with that yet, so he had to respect her privacy and wait for her to reveal it.

Then, as usual, she surprised him.

"I've been having problems with demons plaguing me." Her messy brown hair slipped forward as she stared down at the orange coals in the fireplace. "I know how to shake them, usually. That was one of the first things my…my mentor taught me." Her voice cracked a little on the word _mentor._ "But since I stopped suppressing my dreams in the Hinterlands, it's like I'm a wounded halla and the wolves have my scent. Every night there are more of them and I can't shoo them away far enough. They always find me again right away."

The agony in her voice, straining it, made Solas wince. He wanted to embrace her, offering comfort, but he knew he couldn't. It was unwise and wrong on so many levels, and she would only reject it as an unwanted advance.

She pivoted round to stare at him, brow furrowed and chin wrinkled with emotion. "What's going on? Is this _my_ fault? Because I'm such a…" She choked on the words though her eyes were only a tad too moist now. "…a wreck?" she finished.

Solas shook his head slightly. "You have experienced emotional trauma before and not suffered in this way," he reminded her softly. His eyes skipped over her frame and settled on her left hand. He inclined his head to indicate it. "I suspect you do not realize how the Anchor affects you in the Fade. Demons and spirits alike can see it much the same way we can see the breach. You were already as bright as a beacon to them before as a Dreamer. Now, with the Anchor, you are doubly so. I suspect that is why you can no longer escape them."

A stricken look flashed over her ashen face. "Are you telling me that as long as I have this," she lifted her left hand and wriggled her fingers. "I'm going to draw demons like a…like a…" She broke off, letting out a strangled cry. "Shit."

The sight of her anguish made him act without thought as he stepped closer to her and laid his hands on her shoulders, squeezing. "There is no reason to despair. I believe I can help you overcome this…just as your mentor did." She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, brow furrowed and lips pinched in a hard line. "There are also herb concoctions that may blunt your presence in the Fade." As some of the pain in her expression eased, Solas smiled at her tenderly. "I _will _find a way to help you, _vhe—_"

Catching himself, Solas suddenly withdrew from her, frowning and feeling his face flush hot with self-recrimination. Rosa stared at him, her violet eyes narrowed and her brow knit all over again. "Apologies," he said, clearing his throat and gazing down at the floorboards.

A heavy silence descended, broken only by the gentle sigh of the wind outside, blowing constantly through the high peaks of the Frostbacks and cutting Haven to the bone. But inside the cabin Solas felt as though someone had set him aflame. How could he have so foolishly allowed himself to get that close to her? How could he have let himself be so cruel as to give her reason to believe there was anything other than a platonic working relationship between them? He'd let himself slip back into that emotional place of a year ago, when they'd fought for their lives to escape Hasmal and given into their passion.

Dry-eyed and solemn, Rosa finally broke the silence as she asked in a near-whisper, "Do you still love me?"

He should lie, but the words stayed trapped in his throat. His stomach clenched and his heart raced as cold dread clutched at his throat. Unable to meet her stare, Solas said, "I will begin seeking a way to help you at once, but presently, I believe it would be best if you returned to your cabin and tried to rest before—"

"You still love me," she said, the words biting with anger and shock. Solas' eyes flicked quickly to her and then away, but not fast enough to miss the bright sheen of her tears and the angry set of her jaw. "You still love me," she repeated, the words quavering with her pain. "But you abandoned me anyway. Why?"

Solas closed his eyes, struggling to stay calm and keep his voice even. "Please, Herald, we should rest before—"

"Why?" she repeated, louder and with a greater tremor of anger and pain in her voice than before. Her hands curled into fists at her side, shaking. "Why did you really leave me that night? Without a word, without a goodbye?" She bared her teeth. "And don't feed me nugshit about responsibilities to Mythal."

_Because I am a monster,_ Solas thought, though he swallowed the words. _Because I do not deserve you and you deserve someone better than I, someone who can give you happiness. Because I cannot risk you discovering the truth about me and then opposing me. Because I killed your father. _He had been too weak to break off the relationship, too addicted to loving her in every sense of the word. So, as Rogathe would have called it, he had chosen the coward's path and left the possibility of reconciliation open if, in weakness, he did decide to reach out to her. But, by some miracle of self-discipline and masochism, he hadn't and instead Rosa had experienced it as abandonment when in reality he thought of her _every day._

"Forget it," Rosa snarled. "Just…forget it."

Solas looked up at her and saw her flicking her tears away, sniffing and recomposing herself. She shot him a glare and then stepped around him, heading for the door, her tread heavy with anger. Solas winced as he heard her open the door and slam it shut behind her.

Alone, Solas covered his face with his hands and stumbled over to his bed, half-falling half-sitting on it as he cursed himself for a sentimental fool _and_ a monster.

* * *

The journey to Val Royeaux took over a week, beginning with a grueling trek out of the Frostbacks and through the wilderness of the Dales until they reached the Imperial Highway. Rosa's fear of being thrown from her horse remained a constant source of tension in the back of her mind, but Cassandra had apparently decided there was no harm in letting Tal accompany them and his cheeriness was a blessing for everyone. He and Varric chattered like birds in springtime, trading stories and playing word games and occasionally incorporating Cassandra, Rosa, and Solas in their banter.

It was Tal and Varric who broke the ice every night at camp, doing most of the talking while the less talkative members of the party could go about their business comfortably. Tal and Varric could make Rosa forget where she was headed—straight into a den of wyverns in Chantry garb who'd probably try to kill her—and who was with her—mainly, Solas, the one who'd apparently caused much of this fiasco. She hadn't spoken to Solas at all since meeting him in his cabin and hearing him almost call her _vhenan_ again. Just seeing him made her guts twist with pain and…something sharp and fluttery that made her feel sick. Somehow she had managed to loathe him _and_ feel something akin to hope and longing simultaneously.

That confusing, writhing mass of emotions inside her would doubtless draw demons to her even more, but fortunately Rosa had procured a large supply of herbs before leaving Haven. Now, each night before going to sleep, she made a tea from them to block her dreams. Solas typically retired to the tent he shared with Varric and Tal early to sleep, which left Rosa far more comfortable. Without him to distract and wind her up with tension, Rosa could open up more to Cassandra and Varric, bonding with them with a little help from her gregarious brother.

The last leg of their journey was a brief ferry crossing over the narrow western arm of the Waking Sea. Rosa spent most of that trip on the upper deck curled over a bucket that she periodically had to heave into. Tal wasn't bothered by the motion sickness and instead fraternized with the sailors, asking to learn about the rigging and sails and anything else he could. In the afternoon Varric and Cassandra stopped by Rosa's spot sitting on a bench beside one of the forward masts, the bucket clutched between her knees. Both tried to offer her tips to combat her queasiness.

"I recommend watching the horizon," Cassandra said. "It helps, I'm told."

"Or you could get Chuckles to give you some of his ginger," Varric suggested. When she shot him a withering glare the dwarf lifted his palms in a defensive motion. "Hey, I'm just trying to help." He chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes. "But, you know it's funny, the longer I know you both, the more I find you two have in common. He's been seasick since we left shore too."

Rosa frowned at him, swallowing bile as much from seasickness as from hating how right the socially savvy dwarf was about her and Solas.

"Do not antagonize her," Cassandra growled in warning. The Seeker had become almost protective of her sometimes, much to Rosa's surprise. It had started after Cassandra discussed the Chant with her on their journey to the Hinterlands, when Rosa vaguely revealed that Solas had hurt her deeply. Cassandra wouldn't know how exactly, but she appeared to sympathize.

It was more than that, though. Over fireside chats at night, after Solas had retired to his tent, Rosa had learned Cassandra had had a brother once. The Seeker had revealed her brother was dead, though she hadn't explained how. Yet, Rosa hadn't needed those details to see how deeply the loss had affected Cassandra. It was probably why she had allowed Tal to join them. Rosa wondered if she felt any jealousy when she saw Rosa and Tal together or if she felt only joy to see the siblings enjoying one another's company and camaraderie. She suspected it was the latter, because the Seeker seemed to be warming to Tal quickly in her own way.

Then again, everyone tended to warm to Tal quickly.

"C'mon, Seeker," Varric said, making the defensive motion of his meaty hands again. "I'm just saying that Chuckles has a remedy and I'm sure he'd be willing to share."

Rosa stared at the horizon as Cassandra had suggested, still swallowing bile as her stomach churned. "I'll be fine," she muttered.

From off to their right—and several meters high along the sail supports and rigging—Tal let out a whoop. "I can see land!"

Cassandra made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "He's going to fall and break his neck." She shot Rosa an expectant look, as if silently asking, _Why aren't you doing something about this?_

Rosa snorted, smirking. "He wouldn't listen to me if I told him to get down from there. But _you_ might have more luck." She smirked despite her ongoing nausea. "Try reminding him how he broke his collarbone last winter."

Varric laughed. "He broke his collarbone? Doing what? Aren't elves supposed to be as nimble as cats?"

Rosa eyed him with dry amusement. "Aren't dwarves supposed to live underground?"

He laughed again, nodding. "Point taken."

Cassandra grunted and then strode off across the deck, her boots thumping. She lifted her chin and shouted up into the masts and rigging to where Tal hung off one of the countless ropes. "Get down from there!"

"I got this, Seeker," Tal yelled back at her, waving one hand dismissively—leaving only one grip on the rigging for a moment. The sight made Rosa's stomach flip-flop with anxiety

Cassandra huffed. "Do you truly wish to break a bone again?"

"Again?" Tal asked and then sighed. "She told you I broke my collarbone, didn't she?"

"Just do as I say and get down from there," Cassandra scolded.

Pushing off with his feet, Tal gripped the rope and slid down with a buzzing noise as his palms rubbed over the fiber. He landed with a thump on both feet, grinning brightly even as he shook his reddened hands, which had been clearly rug-burned. "See?" he challenged the Seeker before his gaze flicked to Rosa and he winked. "I'm as fleet-footed as Andruil and as clever as Fen'Harel."

"And as thickheaded as Elgar'nan," Rosa rejoined, also smiling.

"Yep," Tal agreed, still grinning as he released the rope and strode confidently past Cassandra, pausing a moment to waggle his eyebrows at her—which earned him a very disgusted eye roll. "So nice of you to be worried for my welfare, my lady," he told her.

Cassandra groaned and stalked off as Tal snickered with delight and sauntered over to where Rosa and Varric still sat. Rosa could tell by his smug look that her brother had accomplished one of his countless mini-goals—challenges he set for himself during a journey or…well, all the time. "Did you see?" he asked, both brows arched in silent emphasis to his question.

"What were we supposed to see?" Rosa asked him.

"I saw it," Varric said, smirking. "At least, I think."

Tal nodded. "She blushed." He snapped his fingers and made a noise of satisfaction in his throat. "I've been trying to get her to do that all week! She's a tough nut to crack."

Varric laughed, long and hearty. "You can say that again, Stoic."

Rosa narrowed her eyes with disapproval at her brother. "Just…" she cleared her throat and switched to elven. _"Don't get any ideas about taking her to bed."_

Tal's mouth fell open in mock shock and affront. _"Asamalin,_ you wound me so! I would never dream of it!"

She glared at him knowingly. _"Good, because you are First to Manaria and your Keeper is going to want you warming her bed, not some _shemlen's." Rosa would have had to have been blind and deaf not to notice the way Tal's Keeper so clearly wanted him. It was a wonder she let him leave for the Conclave. 

"Yes, _mamae,"_ Tal grumbled and stalked off for the bow of the ship.

"Do I want to know what you just said?" Varric asked, a note of caution in his voice.

"Nope," Rosa said and then, suddenly feeling her stomach lurching, she leaned forward and gagged, dry heaving into her bucket again.

Varric chuckled. "Behold," he said, spreading his hands to indicate her as she groaned and wiped at the spittle on her lips. "The Herald of Andraste, come to save us all. What _will_ the Grand Clerics say?"

The thought made her hurl again.

* * *

Rosa had to admit that Val Royeaux was…prettier than she'd expected. She'd seen very few human settlements, sticking strictly to the wilderness for her own safety. Until joining Lavellan clan every city she'd seen was from a distance. Since becoming Lavellan's First, Rosa had been to Wycome, a walled settlement in the Free Marches. It hadn't been all that impressive as she found it to be cramped, grungy, and smelling of piss and shit.

Val Royeaux was both larger and grander than Wycome, with white walls stretching high over head, golden trimming on everything, and red banners hanging above to provide shade from sun and rain. The street beneath their feet was clean and in excellent condition. Exotic plants grew along the bridge leading into the markets where Cassandra expected they'd meet the Chantry clerics. Rosa eyed the bushy plants with red leaves, wondering how many stares she'd earn if she went over and hopped up on the half-wall to snatch one to taste.

Tal must have been thinking the same thing, but he had no such reservations about making a fool of himself. Jogging ahead of their group, he leapt up on the half-wall, trotting over some of the other vines and flowering plants. Beside Rosa, Cassandra huffed with irritation. "Has he no shame?" she asked.

"Nope," Varric answered her with a laugh. "Apparently not."

"We're Dalish," Rosa reminded the Seeker with a smirk. "Savages and all. Remember?"

Cassandra let out yet another huff. "I do not see why that means he cannot contain himself. _You_ are not traipsing through the decorative plants."

Now Rosa grinned. "Who says I didn't want to?" She pointed at where Tal now stood, examining the red bush with interest. "I've never seen that plant before and _that's_ saying something because Tal and I know plants like you know the Chantry."

Bells tolled from somewhere beyond the walls, lowing and mournful. Cassandra turned her head at the sound, forgetting Tal's less than cultured behavior for the moment. "The city still mourns," she lamented and Rosa knew the citizens of Val Royeaux weren't the only ones feeling grief at the reminder of Justinia's death.

A man and woman were walking out from the city onto the bridge, dressed in finery and wearing masks. Rosa watched with an amused smile as the woman, the one closest to their group, reacted to seeing Tal standing in the potted plants on the half-wall with a little gasp. Her rouged mouth fell open and she covered her lips with one satin-gloved hand.

Noticing her, Tal waved. "Hey there—I don't suppose you could tell me what kind of plant this is?"

The woman's gaze moved to Rosa and the rest of her party then and her horror only seemed to increase. She half-turned as if she planned to run back the way she'd come, except it was clear she didn't want to be traveling in the same direction. She reminded Rosa of a trapped nug, making high-pitched noises of panic and fretting because she didn't know where to run.

"Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are," Varric quipped.

"Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric," Cassandra retorted, sarcastic and dry as they walked through the immense iron gates of the market and over a slightly worn mosaic in black and white. A long, open corridor stretched ahead of them, lined by large statues.

A woman in Inquisition scout dress raced forward to meet with the Seeker, looking and sounding alarmed. "My Lady Herald," she greeted Rosa, dropping into a kneeling position. Rosa flinched at the sight, refusing to acknowledge the title. Fortunately, Cassandra took over.

"You're one of Leliana's people. What have you found?" the Seeker asked.

Uninterested in whatever news the scout had, Rosa twisted at the waist to see Tal hop down from the potted plants. He ran over to join Solas, clutching a rolled up red leaf and looking a tad flushed, as if embarrassment had finally caught up to him. Solas shot him a look that was both irritation and amusement as Tal grinned, dipping his head in acknowledgement before gesturing to the red leaf. "Have _you_ seen this plant before?"

"Of course." Solas was already paying more attention to the exchange between the scout and Cassandra, which meant his eyes briefly caught Rosa's. She clenched her jaw and looked away from him, hating the way her stomach twisted in that traitorous way that wasn't all hate as it should be.

She listened with only halfhearted interest as the scout revealed that there were Templars up ahead, apparently protecting the Chantry mothers. She rolled her eyes at that news, even as she heard Tal pestering Solas for more information. "Then what _is_ it, Revas? C'mon. You can't just tell me you know what it is and then not—"

"Now is not the time for horticulture," Solas admonished. "When we are not otherwise occupied with Inquisition business I will be happy to tell you everything I know."

"I'll hold you to that," Tal said and Rosa didn't need to look back at him to hear the playful grin in his voice as they hurried through the statue-lined corridor and into the markets.

There was no sign of "a great many Templars," but a crowd had drawn around a stage gilded in gold that'd been setup at one end of the market. One or two people appeared to be Templars, armored and standing near the stage or on it. A proliferation of mostly women wearing Chantry garb had gathered about the stage and now spoke to the gathered people, most of whom wore fine silks, leathers, and feathers. This was a city of splendor and decadence, Rosa realized, but somewhere amidst the finery there'd be the poor and unwashed, downtrodden masses—and they'd be elves, overwhelmingly.

Orlesian guards stood nearby in full armor and what must be—Rosa _hoped, _anyway—ceremonial dress. They muttered together and probably glared—though she couldn't be certain of that because of their full-face masks. They wore swords at their waists, but they made no move to oppose Rosa and her party as they walked through the market, heading for the stage at the far end. The crowd parted for their group, gawking and glaring, or simply ignoring them with their heads bowed in obeisance to the Chantry mother addressing them.

"Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!" the Chantry mother shouted as her eyes landed on Rosa and her group. "Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more!"

Rosa rolled her eyes, certain she knew _exactly_ where this was going. Apparently the crowd also knew because they erupted in hushed chatter and fidgeted with agitation. Rosa tensed, ready to cast at the first sign that the crowd might turn on her. Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and Tal did the same around her and their vigilance helped ease Rosa's tension as the Chantry mother stared down at her in challenge.

"Behold the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell," the Chantry mother continued. "We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no _elf_ in our time of need!"

Rosa smirked with dry humor as she wondered if this woman would have believed her divinely touched if not for her pointed ears. Or would she have protested her magic if she were human? It was entertaining to see which of Rosa's unpopular identities took precedence as most despicable. She imagined the horror this Chantry mother would feel if she were to learn that Rosa was also possessed. Would her magic then be the worst thing about her or would being an elf still trump that?

"I'm not Andraste's herald," Rosa shouted, spreading her hands in a gesture of exasperation. "I've not once claimed I was sent by the Maker—not _once."_ She could almost feel Cassandra's disapproving glare from where the other woman stood off to her left, but she ignored it. She wasn't about to lie just to please the Seeker or the Inquisition. "But I _can_ close rifts and I aim to seal that damnable breach, too." Resting her hands on her hips, she raised her voice louder still, adopting her most authoritative tone. "Join me and help close the beach instead of standing out here and bleating like an old goat!"

Tal or Varric, maybe both, made smothered noises of amusement at that.

Cassandra took over, more tactful as always: "The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it's too late!"

As the Seeker spoke, Rosa's sharp ears heard the all-too familiar metallic clank of Templar armor. She turned her head, staring past Varric and Tal who stood to her right, and saw a dozen or so fully armed and armored Templars striding across the courtyard. Something prickled her skin, sharp and slightly painful, like a dozen spiders with needlelike legs swarming over her. Rosa frowned, blinking and shaking her head at the sensation, dizzy with disorientation. This sensation…it was normally something she only felt in the Fade. Around demons.

Solas, behind her, let out a little breath that might have been irritation or trepidation—or surprise, as if he felt something unusual as well.

The Chantry mother noticed the Templars now as well and pointed at them, announcing, "It is already too late!" She stepped backward to clear space for the Templars as they strode onto the stage. "The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this 'Inquisition,' and the people will be safe once more!"

"Great," Rosa growled, looking to the Seeker.

"Now seems like a good time to leave," Tal put in with a grimace, edging closer to her side. She felt the prickle of his magic, familiar and comforting despite the situation. "Unless you're feeling particularly suicidal today, _asamalin."_

Before she could answer the Chantry mother cried out on the stage and Rosa refocused her attention fully on the stage as she realized one of the Templars had _punched_ the elderly woman in the back of the head. She fell like a sack of potatoes, limp and lifeless and stunned. One of the Templars who'd been present from the start, a dark skinned man with green eyes, moved to aid her, a look of shock crossing his pleasant features. But another Templar, this one pallid and with gray hair, intercepted him, patting him on the shoulder. "Still yourself," he ordered in a deep, gruff voice, brimming with authority. "She is beneath us."

"Yes," Tal muttered at Rosa's side. "Literally now, beneath you. _Fenedhis."_

Rosa remained silent, eyes narrowed as she gazed over the newly arrived Templars, her heart racing and her skin still prickling painfully. Turning round, she glanced to Solas, lips parted as she struggled to find a subtle way to ask him if he sensed what she did and if she was right to interpret it this way. Solas' gaze flew from the stage to her, brow furrowed and lips pinched in a hard line.

"It feels like…" She didn't finish the sentence, hoping he would know her meaning.

"Yes," he replied and swallowed audibly.

"Lord Seeker Lucius?" Cassandra called out, her voice both angry and hollow with shock. "What is the meaning of this? Are you not here to deal with the Inquisition?"

"As if there were any reason to," said the gray-haired man Rosa had assumed was merely another Templar. He walked off the stairs, his head held high and shoulders back.

Cassandra moved to follow him. "Lord Seeker Lucius, it's imperative that we speak with—"

"You will not address me," he interrupted her, not even bothering to look her way.

Some inner sense tugged on Rosa, the prickling on her skin receding as the Lord Seeker and some of his Templar thugs moved further away. She shot Solas a look, frowning, wondering if he felt the same thing. This time, when he met her eyes, Solas gave a quick shake of his head: _no._

_What in the Void was _that_ supposed to mean?_

Rosa stepped forward hurriedly to join Cassandra's side as the Lord Seeker at last turned and faced her, a few of his Templar lackeys moving to flank him. "Creating a heretical movement, raising a puppet as Andraste's prophet." His stare moved to Rosa as he spoke. "You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed!"

"I'm _nobody's_ puppet," Rosa snarled, eyeing him with increasing suspicion. _But I think _you _are. _Her skin had started to burn as well as prickle and her stomach clenched with nausea, roiling. Her heart pounded and cold sweat broke out over her.

The Lord Seeker ignored her comment, continuing with his ranting. "The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!" He raised an arm, pointing to Rosa and Cassandra. "You are the ones who have failed! You who'd leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!"

"Righteous swords my ass," Rosa snapped, baring her teeth. Cassandra shot her a withering look.

Lucius returned her snarling with his own, warping his pallid face. "If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine."

_Well, that was a bit of a non-sequitor, _Rosa thought, grimacing now with her mounting discomfort. A few more Templars marched over to stand near the Lord Seeker, but Rosa didn't feel any reaction to them, other than watching them warily to ensure they didn't draw their weapons and try to skewer her.

"So," she said, her voice strained. "Did you just come here to go shopping and blather on about your great destiny?" She gritted her teeth together and gestured at his armor. "Because if so, I think you forgot to buy specialized armor. I honestly thought you were just one of these normal Templar thugs."

"Herald," Cassandra hissed under her breath in reprimand, clearly less than thrilled with Rosa's uncouthness.

"I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh," Lucius retorted condescendingly.

The Templar who'd tried to help the Chantry mother strode around Lucius and through his crowd of lackeys then, speaking hurriedly. "But Lord Seeker…"

Rosa's temples had started to tighten with the beginnings of an ominous headache. She swallowed the bile trying to rise in her throat. From behind her she heard Tal, Solas, and Varric moving closer, their paces slow so as to be nonthreatening even though it was obvious they were positioning themselves to aid Rosa and Cassandra in the event of a fight. Rosa felt the combined magic from both elves behind her and tried to concentrate on it as a balm for the pain and nausea tearing through her. One of these Templars—or the Lord Seeker himself, she actually suspected—wasn't what he appeared.

"What if she really was sent by the Maker?" the dark-skinned Templar asked. His green eyes watched Rosa, curious and open. "What if—"

One of Lucius' lackeys stepped up then, cutting the other man off. "You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!"

Emboldened by his lackey, the Lord Seeker went on with more drivel. "_I_ will make the Templar Order a power that stands against the Void. _We_ deserve recognition. Independence!"

_Is it a pride demon?_ Her taut muscles were at the edge of quivering. This was the closest she'd ever been to a demon—unrestrained by a spirit trap—in the waking world. In the Fade they were an annoyance she could will away, until the Anchor had made her too easy to find, anyway. Here its effects had intensified with every moment she spent near it and she couldn't _read _it the same way she could in the Fade. In the Fade Rosa could sense the type of demon once she was close enough. But in the waking world she'd never encountered one hidden like this. Was the Lord Seeker an abomination, somehow?

Rosa shot a look behind her to Solas and saw he appeared a tad pale but otherwise seemed surprisingly unperturbed. How was this not bothering him? His blue eyes darted to her and his jaw clenched as he once more gave that slight shake of his head. _No._ A warning.

The assembled Templars responded to Lucius' comments about independence and recognition by clenching their fists and thumping them against their armored chests with clinks and clanks of armor. Rosa steeled her spine as her head began to pound in time with her hammering heart. She felt sweat trickle down her temples and resisted the desire to wipe it away. Solas' little head shake swam through her mind again. The warning. But could she really trust him? Hadn't _he_ set the disaster at the Conclave in motion? What if he somehow supported this? Whatever _this_ was…

She remembered with a jolt that made her sway on her feet that Solas had seemed so well-versed and comfortable with the Formless One, a powerful demon that'd come after her during her time in the Hasmal Circle. Hadn't he tried to dissuade her from speaking to it? Hadn't he predicted how it would behave? She'd accused him of having some personal knowledge of it before and he'd denied it, but once she'd learned he was not a half-Dalish wandering apostate as he initially claimed but was actually a survivor of Elvhenan, it seemed obvious he _did_ know it.

What if he knew this one too?

"You have shown me nothing," the Lord Seeker droned on.

Breathing hard, Rosa closed her eyes, gnashing her teeth. She had trusted Solas with her life, with her heart. Clearly the latter had been a mistake, but the raven talisman suggested he didn't wish her harm. He must be warning her because he feared the Templars would kill them if she tried to attack the demon.

"And the Inquisition…" the Lord Seeker continued. "….less than nothing."

"_Fenedhis,"_ Rosa snapped, eyes opening as she snarled at the Lord Seeker. "I'll show you something, all right." Turning to Cassandra on her right, she clasped the other woman's shoulder, pulling her close to speak into her ear. Cassandra tensed, trying to move away, but stilled as she registered Rosa's face, which must have looked ashen and awful because her brown eyes widened with alarm. "He's a demon," she whispered to Cassandra.

"What?" Cassandra asked, her mouth falling open with shock and disbelief.

"He's a _demon,"_ Rosa repeated, hissing the last word as her hand tightened its grip on Cassandra's shoulder. "I can _feel_ it."

"Rosa?" Tal asked, his voice croaking alarm and concern as he reached for her from behind. "_Asamalin?_ Are you—"

"I'm fine," she bit out through clenched teeth, pushing through the pain. She released Cassandra's shoulder, sighing as she saw the other woman still gawking at her, clearly unsure what to do and probably certain Rosa didn't know what she was saying.

From behind her she heard Solas' voice whisper in elven: _"Do not engage it, Rosa. They will all turn upon you."_

The Lord Seeker's body language had changed, hunching up slightly. He glared at Rosa, his focus needlelike and scalding with hate. His nose wrinkled and his lips curled, but even in the midst of her haze of pain, Rosa thought she saw a very different emotion in his eyes: fear.

"Templars!" Lucius yelled. "Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection!" He started to turn away, motioning toward the gates leading out of the city. "We march!"

Rosa's hand flew to her waist where she kept a small knife. She fingered its bone handle, cool to the touch and familiar. She knew how it would fly. She knew how to throw it. She knew the little blade, enchanted with spirit runes, would definitely hurt a demon. Her eyes followed the Lord Seeker's exposed head as he started to walk away with his lackeys and with each step he took her pain eased.

In elven, she asked, _"Is it too powerful to kill?"_

When Solas did not answer immediately, she knew what she would do—and she knew the Lord Seeker was her target. Lucius had turned and glared back at her, his face warping—his mouth widened and his eyes seemed to go gray. He understood what she'd said. The Lord Seeker should not have understood elven.

Snatching out the knife before the Lord Seeker could get any further, Rosa aimed and flung it. The blade whipped through the air, spinning end over end. It impacted the Lord Seeker in the head and he stumbled, falling onto his hands and knees. The Templars around him shouted with alarm and the air rang as they drew their swords and whipped around to brandish them at the Inquisition party. The crowd scattered about the market cried out with horror and Rosa heard Solas hiss and curse behind her.

And then, suddenly, an ear-splitting shriek filled the air. Rosa's head pounded and she winced, stumbling backward into Tal and Solas, both of them rushing to steady her. Cassandra gasped and called out, "Lord Seeker…?"

The Templars had frozen too, stunned and gawking as the Lord Seeker's body twisted and changed shape. His armor split and then fell away to the stones with a clatter. Pale flesh like a corpse showed through. The shrieking came again and the Templars scrambled backward, terror overcoming their training as a demon with elongated limbs, no eyes, and a wide mouth full of needlelike teeth, took shape where the Lord Seeker had been. As it righted itself, green mist and light flickering about it, the pale bone handle of Rosa's knife could be seen sticking out of its head.

With a last shriek the demon leapt up, dissolving into mist, and flew away in a streak of gray-green. The Templars gawked, their swords out but held useless as the demon fled the market by rushing out of one of the market's closed gates and then into an alley. A few screams still echoed through the market even though the demon had gone, but silence had descended until a few Orlesian guards rushed, armored boots clattering over stone, past the Templars and into the gate and the alley, trying to find the demon and kill it to protect their city.

"That was incredibly foolhardy, Rosa," Solas said behind her, the frown in his voice obvious.

"Yeah," Rosa agreed, panting with relief and trying to keep herself form shaking. "No kidding. I lost my favorite knife to that thing."

"Lord Seeker Lucius was…a _demon?"_ Cassandra said, mouth agape. She had drawn her sword in preparation for a fight but now, like the Templars, she stood motionless with shock and the weapon was superfluous.

"Yeah," Rosa said and sagged against Tal, who still had an arm thrown around her shoulders for support. "I told you."

"How did you know?" Varric piped up, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Didn't you hear I was sent from heaven?" Rosa told him, smirking wearily.

As if on cue, some of the crowd began to mutter and whisper, staring not at the Templars, but at Rosa. Someone shouted, "Praise the Herald of Andraste!"

Another added, "She cleansed the Templar Order! The Lord Seeker was a _demon!"_

A quick glance at the Chantry mothers still on the stage revealed they too were staring with awe. One of them, the only man in Chantry garb among the mothers, had dropped to his knees and had his hands pressed together and his head bowed in supplication. Seeing it, Rosa sighed and gradually shifted to carry her own weight, letting go of Tal though her brother kept close with a hand to her back.

"I'm fine, Tal," she told him, smiling wanly.

"You look like Elgar'nan must have after he battled the sun," Tal told her with a cluck of his tongue.

"Triumphant?" she wisecracked, smirking.

"More like beat to shit," Tal said with a chuckle.

The green-eyed Templar who'd dared to question the Lord Seeker before had now sheathed his weapon and, with a few other Templars in tow, hurried toward Rosa and her group. Seeing them made Rosa groan. She twisted and motioned to Cassandra. "Can you deal with them? I…I'm tired."

Cassandra nodded solemnly. There was something bright in her brown eyes, a light Rosa hadn't seen before when the other woman looked at her. The sight of it made Rosa's shoulders droop even more. If Cassandra had doubted she was holy before, now there was no question. "Yes, Herald," she replied and strode forward to intercept the Templars.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"If you die, Rosa, we will have no means of closing the breach or any of the rifts. Thedas will be destroyed."

Her heart pounded as she searched over his face and saw only deadly stillness. A tight smile spread over her lips as she gave a flippant shrug. "Oh? Is that all?" Then, switching to elven, she growled, _"What, specifically, will happen, Solas? What do you know?"_

* * *

A/N: I haven't played DA2, but the wiki notes on Dreamer mages says that demons cause them physical pain. As such, they're very rare and most wind up dead, possessed, or tranquil very early in life. Obviously Solas does not reflect this, and Felassan, who is another confirmed Dreamer, didn't seem to give a rip about being beside a very powerful demon in "The Masked Empire." So I chose to interpret this as exposure-based. Felassan and Solas are *accustomed* to demons. Rosa and other Dreamers of modern Thedas are not, so they suffer adverse reactions. Rosa's reactions decrease over the course of her adventure because, sadly for her, the envy demon is far from the last demon she encounters in the flesh. 


	7. Peace Offering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and company retire for the night in Val Royeaux. To help Rosa deal with seasickness, Solas gives her some ginger. And, to help her deal with meddlesome despair demons that follow her everywhere in the Fade, Solas gives her a lesson on how to ward her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven Used: Vhenain...For plot reasons, I'm not going to define this one other than to say this was one I made up using the brilliant FenxShiral's Project Elvhen. So if you want to translate it, go there. I will say it breaks down as "vhen'ain" and I'll remind everyone that "vhen" doesn't necessarily translate to "heart." That is all...

For about an hour the Templars, led by the dark-skinned, green-eyed man by the name of Ser Barris, chatted with Cassandra. She extended an invitation to them to visit the Inquisition in Haven, to unite with them to help Rosa close the breach for good. It was obvious that Ser Barris and most of the Templars with him wanted to speak to Rosa. Their eyes leapt continually to her. Awe and apprehension and…well, fascination, colored their faces. Rosa, however, had no desire to engage with them and let Cassandra do the talking while she stood close to Tal, just eager to leave this wretched place and _sleep._

Solas and Varric had formed a sort of honor guard nearby, watching the crowd and keeping the occasional Orlesian from drawing too close. They were also the ones who intercepted a messenger who wanted to invite Rosa to some snooty party. And, when an arrow landed in the stones ahead of them, Varric was the one who investigated and found it wasn't an assassination attempt, but a note with a clue. The dwarf went off to find the red items hidden about the market square and returned with a time and location that Rosa thought must be for an ambush—except that Varric insisted he knew of the "friends of Red Jenny" group and thought it was worth checking out.

When Cassandra at last finished with the Templars and the men and women left to return to their order, Rosa was virtually sagging with relief. Somehow she found enough strength to walk under her own support, though Tal stayed close to her side, ready and willing to be her living crutch. Cassandra led the way back to the bridge while Solas and Varric were in the rear. But as they entered the corridor lined with statues, a woman's voice called out to them from behind.

"If I might have a moment of your time?"

Weary with exhaustion, Rosa turned round and saw an elven woman in all-too familiar Circle mage robes. The clothing was of a finer make and with more complex baubles than the set Rosa had worn, suggesting this woman held a higher rank as an enchanter rather than just a mage. The woman strode forward, unarmed by all appearances, and despite her diminutive form as a short elven woman—Rosa realized immediately that she was taller than this Circle mage by almost half a head—she held an air of authority about her. It became clear _why_ that was the case as Cassandra blinked at the elven mage and asked, "Grand Enchanter Fiona?"

"Leader of the mage rebellion," Solas said, a look of surprise—and suspicion—crossing his face. "Is it not dangerous for you to be here?"

Rosa had gone stiff with tension again, half-expecting this to be another demon. Yet, if that were the case, she knew she should feel at least some reaction. Solas showed no sign of discomfort, despite his question, though he had had little reaction to the Lord Seeker too. Rosa stayed quiet, eyes narrowed as she stared down the Grand Enchanter. She wished she'd paid more attention to Cassandra and Cullen when they'd described the specifics of the mage rebellion now. Her only experience with it had been personal, in the Hasmal tower, and _that _had been a rebellion of their own making.

"I heard of this gathering," the Grand Enchanter said. Her accent was thick and Orlesian, making Rosa scowl. "And I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes." She broke off, smiling tightly. "And you have not disappointed."

At least this was a better greeting than the one Lord Seeker Demon-Face had offered. Rosa tried to smile back, though she knew it'd look more grimace than friendly.

"If it's help with the breach you seek, perhaps you should look among your fellow mages," Fiona said.

Rosa bristled a little at the description _fellow mages_, as if she had lived her life in a Circle for more than a few weeks and shared any of their Andrastian beliefs in the inherent corruption of magic and spirits. But she schooled her expression, controlling that initial reaction as she recalled that most of the Circle mages had little choice. They had to conform or they wound up dead or Tranquil. If she had not been born to the Dalish she would have been Andrastian too…and that ignorance and fear of her own talents would have resulted in her death or being made Tranquil as a child when her talents as a Dreamer manifested.

"You're willing to help now?" Cassandra asked.

Fiona looked to Cassandra with a nod, though her pale green eyes were a tad irritable. "Yes, we are. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there."

_I was _just_ in the Hinterlands,_ Rosa thought. She just managed to keep her polite smile from cracking. Just. "Maybe you will," Rosa hedged.

"Au revoir, my lady Herald," Fiona said and dipped her head to Cassandra as well. "Seeker Pentaghast."

They watched as Fiona walked away, returning to the sunshine and splendor of the market. Cassandra turned her head to stare at Rosa when the Grand Enchanter was clearly out of earshot and asked, "Was she who she appeared to be?"

Rosa shrugged. "Probably."

The Seeker pivoted to face Rosa directly, her eyes narrowing with scrutiny. "How did you know the Lord Seeker was a demon?"

Rosa clenched her jaw, torn between honesty and caution. In the Circle she had kept her identity as a Dreamer secret, as had Solas. Dreamers were known for their susceptibility to demons and rarely survived to adulthood before succumbing to possession. Most often they were made Tranquil to protect them and everyone around them from the threat of abomination. Rosa didn't know if Cassandra, Leliana, and Cullen knew that Solas was a Dreamer and had accepted him anyway for his usefulness in keeping her safe and understanding the rifts and the breach. If they _did_ know it'd make her more comfortable admitting the truth.

The raven talisman between her breasts seemed to turn to lead and with that she made her decision: caution. If Cassandra and the others knew she was a Dreamer they might puzzle out that she wasn't alone in her own mind. Rogathe was within her.

Plastering on her coy smile, Rosa said, "I just knew."

"It seemed to cause you pain," Cassandra observed, her brown eyes crinkling with sympathy.

"The mark hurt me," Rosa lied, lifting her left hand and wriggling her fingers for show. The mark was dormant presently, but Cassandra didn't need to know that it typically never hurt her when it wasn't flaring up.

Cassandra made a humming noise in her throat, nodding. "I see." She let out a breath and turned back to the bridge, setting off again. "We should return to Haven."

"What about the party the messenger from the Circle invited Rosa to?" Tal put in, almost sounding pouty at the thought that they'd be leaving so quickly.

"And the Red Jennies have reached out to Violet, too," Varric reminded them, holding aloft the red scarf he'd found hidden in the café near the markets. "Doesn't anyone else want to see if it's an ambush? Or it could be an opportunity for an alliance."

Cassandra huffed and then, turning at the waist while walking, she called to Rosa. "What are _your_ wishes, Herald?"

"_My_ wish," Rosa said with a sigh. "Is to take a nap and get out of this blighting city."

"But the party, _asamalin!"_ Tal protested, gripping her forearm and squeezing a little. His grin was playful.

"And the maybe-ambush," Varric added, in a tone that suggested he was actually talking about a treat like dessert. "Can't forget about that."

"_After_ my nap," Rosa agreed with a groan.

* * *

They stayed in an inn just outside the city that night. It wasn't upscale, Rosa guessed, but it was far nicer than anything she would've stayed in while with her clan, whether that was in the Free Marches or the Brecilian Forest. On the road, Rosa and Tal had never stayed in an inn. Ever. But once they'd joined the Valo-Kas they'd done it routinely, enjoying ales and laughter and song in the taverns and then collapsing to sleep through the night in actual beds rather than bedrolls or furs.

This tavern was decorated in an Orlesian style, with plaster walls painted blue, but the wood underfoot was rough-hewn and the chairs at the table they ate dinner at weren't sanded smooth enough to avoid splinters. Tal discovered this almost immediately upon sitting down. Fortunately Varric provided him with a pair of tweezers normally reserved for his more delicate work on Bianca.

While Tal picked out his splinter and Varric worked over his first ale of the night, Rosa covertly scanned the tavern, wondering where Solas had gotten off to. He had been tailing behind them as they entered the tavern but hadn't sat down and hadn't gone with Cassandra to secure lodging and meals from the manager. She considered asking Tal but didn't want to give away that she'd noticed Solas was gone. That felt like admitting she noticed him entirely too much, which was true.

Cassandra arrived back at the table then, her feet thumping over the wood floor. Some of the other patrons eyed her with a wary respect. A few had glared daggers at Rosa and Tal, seeing the staves on their backs—or maybe it was their vallaslin and pointed ears. Rosa could never be sure what offended humans most. She made an effort to grin, hard and fierce, at one old man who sneered at her from across the room as he smoked his pipe, the greasy stink of it coiling into the air. Maybe, if she tried hard enough to look savage and intimidating, he'd take his stinky pipe and leave.

"I have secured two rooms for the night," Cassandra told them as she sat down and began to unstrap her sheathed sword from her side for her nightly ritual of cleaning and sharpening it. "And we will each receive supper and breakfast. The innkeeper has also told me there is a bathhouse down the street." Pausing a moment, she shot Rosa an uncomfortable look. "However, none of us should go alone to bathe."

"I'll go with you, Lady Pentaghast," Tal chimed in, grinning mischievously. "If you're pining for a bath and a chance to get squeaky clean, I'm game."

Cassandra glared at him, unimpressed. "No. I will accompany the Herald if she wishes to bathe. _You_ will join Varric and Revas if _they_ wish to go."

"Don't you people communally bathe? Or is that one of the things you _shemlen _think is so savage about us Dalish?" Tal asked with mock-confusion. "I keep forgetting because in my clan we saw each other naked _all the time._"

Rosa and Varric chuckled under their collective breath as Cassandra made her signature noise of disgust and rolled her eyes. The lighting was poor, but she _may_ have been blushing slightly.

"I wonder if that's where Chuckles went," Varric said, twisting about as much as his stumpier frame would allow, scanning the tavern for any sign of the other male elf in their party.

"Nope," Tal said. "Revas went off to the apothecary." Brightening, he leaned over in his chair and started fumbling with his pack. "Rosa, did I tell you that Revas told me that red-leafed plant the Orlesians had growing in the raised garden beds outside Val Royeaux was an import from Tevinter?"

Varric laughed, lifting his mug of ale, now mostly empty, to gesture at Tal. "Stoic, you really got to get a better hobby."

Cassandra huffed. "And _you_, Varric, mustn't drink to excess here. We have limited funds and—"

"Hey, Seeker," Varric interrupted her, protesting. "What I'm drinking tonight is on _my_ coin. Don't worry one little hair on your head."

"Varric," Tal drawled out the dwarf's name sweetly. "Have I told you how much I simply _love_ your books? Because I do. We should have a drink and chat about _Hard In Hightown_." And then, right on cue, his face fell with regret. "Oh, but _fenedhis!_ I don't have any coin so I can't…"

Rosa was laughing long before Tal got to his sales pitch and covered her face in both hands, shaking her head. "Creators, _isamalin,"_ she said.

Varric was grinning too as he sloshed the ale about in his mug and then said, "Well, I suppose I could be convinced to cover a few ales for you, Stoic."

Tal beamed. "Sylaise bless you, Varric. I always knew there was a reason I liked you."

When the barmaid swung by their table with a meaty stew for supper, Varric ordered ales for himself and Tal—but also for Rosa. "Oh, no," Rosa protested, shaking her head as the barmaid strolled away. "I'm already exhausted. Alcohol will just mess me up even more."

"No problem," Varric said, smirking as he motioned with one meaty hand to Tal. "If you don't drink it I know someone else who will."

"In a heartbeat," Tal agreed with a nod. "This past week _without_ alcohol has messed me up."

"You should be cautious," Cassandra chimed in, shooting Tal a look of disapproval. She was working over her sword with a whetstone in slow, smooth strokes. The metal glinted in the orangey light of the braziers and candles lighting the tavern.

Tal scoffed dismissively. "I'm not going to drown in one cup of ale."

"You should listen to her," Rosa admonished, brow knitting with concern. She'd known Tal had a fondness for alcohol virtually since the moment they'd met. His mother hadn't kept it from him even when he was a child, though she _did_ try to keep him from drinking too much. In the Circle he'd always drank more than she approved and had made foolish mistakes because of it, risking exposing them as siblings or revealing other things Rosa preferred remained hidden. She'd learned the hard way that sometimes revealing something innocuous to someone who seemed harmless was actually deadly.

That'd been exactly what almost led to the slaughter of her birth clan when the Second revealed idly to a city-elf a detail of where the clan was encamped. That city-elf must have sold the knowledge to some human slavers who then hurried to attack the clan while they knew it would be understrength with the Keeper, several warriors, and the Second away. Rosa had been the one to face those slavers as they slaughtered her loved ones around her.

It'd be better if she could keep Tal tightlipped now, too. He could reveal she was possessed or let slip his suspicions about Solas having some connection to the explosion at the Conclave. Rosa hadn't told Tal what she learned from Solas because that would mean revealing _who_ he actually was. She knew Tal suspected it, but if he didn't know for sure he couldn't reveal it while inebriated or—Creators forbid—under duress.

Tal scowled. "Stop mothering me, Rosa." He winced then, averting his eyes from her and cleared his throat. "I mean you're _smothering me._"

Rosa glared at him, her stomach going taut and her teeth on edge. He hadn't meant to hurt her. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath, turning her head away to glare at the tavern door—anywhere but at Tal and Cassandra and Varric who were both watching with curiosity.

"Look," Tal went on, a note of exasperation in his voice as he lowered his volume and switched to elven, a language he was far clumsier with than she was. _"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"_ He broke off, swallowing audibly, then blurted, _"But you know, sometimes I just really need to drink."_

Something in his voice, a depth woven into it, caught on her mind like the splinter must have in his hand earlier. She jerked her head to look back at him, her anger forgotten as curiosity and concern took over. Varric and Cassandra ceased to exist for a moment as she saw her little brother's warped expression, his brows downturned at the outside and his lips pinched as if with pain. Over the last few months, since sometime in the summer, she'd guessed he had withheld something from her. Part of the reason she'd reached out to invite him to join her on her mission to the Conclave was to have a chance to whittle him down until she learned whatever it was—because it wasn't like Tal at all to keep secrets for long.

Now she realized maybe his increased drinking since joining the Valo-Kas and the Inquisition wasn't a happy-go-lucky, careless behavior at all. Maybe it was a survival technique to cope with…what? Was he mourning their father, who was _probably _dead? Or was it something else?

Slowly, she let herself smile. "All right," she said and looked to Varric and Cassandra, who were still tense with the change in mood between the siblings. "Let's drink."

Varric grinned. "Now, that's the spirit!"

Cassandra huffed with irritation and returned to sharpening her sword.

* * *

After dinner and a few too many ales, Rosa walked down the street with Cassandra to bathe. The bathhouse had beautiful blue tiling, though it was dingy with mildew in the grout cracks. The steamy baths had few people in them at this time of night; meaning Rosa and Cassandra were alone in the women's section. The heated water was a relief to Rosa's muscles, but her life had been ruled by practicality for far too long to tarry. So, once she had done a little scrubbing with a cloth and washed her hair, Rosa was ready to leave, but Cassandra took much longer.

And, despite the Seeker's seeming modesty in the tavern when Tal had teased her about communal bathing, Cassandra had no qualms about being nude as far as Rosa could tell. She didn't scramble for a towel between the sauna and the large bath pool and unabashedly cleaned every inch of skin, just as Rosa did. When Rosa had finished her basic cleanliness routine, she let herself float on her back and stare up into the domed ceiling above the bathing pool, squinting to see through the steam. It made her think of Fade ether, her father, and Solas.

If only she could purge that last one from her mind.

_But that would be the cowardly choice._

Oh.

She lifted one hand out of the water and touched the little hollow between her breasts where the raven talisman usually resided, though she knew it wouldn't be there. She'd stripped it off and left it with her clothes in the dressing room. She'd scrambled to hide it in her armor before Cassandra could get a good peek at it and realize the red pigment in the grooves wasn't paint but blood. Taking it into the baths would probably weaken or disrupt the blood binding, washing it away. She had little choice then but to leave it behind, but that meant Rogathe was very much awake inside her for the present.

"That is an impressive scar," Cassandra said, abruptly breaking into Rosa's thoughts.

Rosa splashed as she tried to lift her head to look across the pool at the Seeker. "What?"

"You have a rather large scar on your side," Cassandra elaborated, gesturing with the hand she wasn't using to scratch at the soap and oils in her hair she had yet to rinse out.

"You have a few yourself," Rosa pointed out, ignoring the press of Rogathe inside her. The spirit wanted to brag about her combat experience, but the specific scar Cassandra had mentioned was _not_ something Rosa wanted to talk about. She'd collected that scar during her escape from Hasmal.

"I do, yes," Cassandra admitted, the water sloshing as she moved. "But I am a warrior."

"So am I," Rosa said quickly. Making a decision, she splashed a little as she left her back-floating position and instead moved to sit on one of the slimy tiled benches that lined the pool. Sitting there put her shoulders and most of her breasts out of the water but she could see Cassandra from this spot. "I may not have a sword or a shield," Rosa said, thrusting out her chin. "But I _am_ a warrior, same as you. I have fought for my life and for my people and my freedom countless times. I walked alone from the Brecilian Forest to the shores of the Waking Sea."

She paused, trying to control herself and keep from saying more. Rogathe was the one driving this talkativeness, sharing her exploits. And with a few ales in her to lower inhibition, this conversation was all the more dangerous. Shooting to her feet with a splash that drew Cassandra's surprised stare, Rosa scrambled out of the bathing pool. "I should be going," she said, motioning back in the direction of the sauna. "I…I can't stand getting pruny."

_Lies do not become you, _da'len, Rogathe scolded. _You fear sharing the truth with her, but this woman is worthy of your respect! She is a fellow spirit of valor! _

"Yes," Cassandra said with a nod as she splashed more water onto her neck, washing away some of the suds still on her. "I know you were tired. I suppose I should finish here quickly and join you."

"Sure," Rosa said, shrugging as she continued to backpedal toward the doorway leading into the sauna. "But I'm going to go get dressed now. See you soon," she said with false cheeriness before whipping around and hurrying into the sauna and through it, her feet padding on the tiles.

In the dressing room she hurriedly dug into her clothes, snatching the raven talisman and putting it on. As the wooden figure tapped against the hollow between her breasts, Rosa sighed with relief. This talisman and the spell Solas had placed on it were so powerful in subduing Rogathe that she could almost forget the spirit still possessed her. She couldn't afford to make that mistake. She knew she must seek Solas' aid in this matter, even though the thought made her cringe.

She was dressed before Cassandra joined her, but the Seeker was efficient and donned her own clothing quite quickly. Together they walked back to the inn through the darkness. Rosa's wet hair made her shiver at the winter-chilled air, huddling into herself for warmth rather than risking using magic to provide heat and possibly drawing unwanted attention as a mage. They drew a few suspicious or curious stares as they passed through the tavern, Cassandra nodding to the innkeeper as she headed upstairs with Rosa on her heels.

Their room was the farthest down the hall on the right, with the men in their party sharing the room opposite it on the left. Rosa was eagerly imagining sleep, though it would be dreamless by necessity to keep her safe from demons. Her head drooped and her shoulders sagged as she marched after Cassandra, only to nearly collide with the Seeker as the other woman stopped in the narrow hall well short of their door.

Lifting her head, Rosa saw Cassandra staring at the small window a few meters down from the doorways to their rooms where Solas had apparently been seated in the cushioned alcove there, reading. He rose to his feet now and nodded to Cassandra. "Seeker," he said and then, in a softer voice, "Herald." He closed the book he'd been reading and smiled politely.

"Revas," Cassandra said with a nod. "What can I do for you?"

"I had hoped to speak with the Herald, actually," he replied, blue eyes flicking over to Rosa. "In private."

Cassandra glanced over her shoulder and Rosa did her best to appear impassive rather than apprehensive and exhausted. "Herald?" she asked.

"Don't call me that, Cassandra," Rosa admonished, sighing. "My name is Rosa. You know that." She shot Solas an irritable look. "_Both_ of you."

Rosa's testiness apparently was all the answer Cassandra needed. Nodding, she strode to the door of their room and used her key in it, unlocking it. "I will leave it unlocked," she told Rosa. "But I ask that you lock it when you have finished out here."

Rosa shrugged. "Sure. Got it."

With a last wary look at Solas, Cassandra opened the door and strode inside, slamming it shut with a thump behind her. Alone now, Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one leg out, forcing a coy smile onto her lips as she tried to focus her truthsaying talent, to feel it if he lied to her. "Revas?" she asked, making sure to use his alias.

He stared off at the wooden wall to his left as he grabbed at a pouch tucked into his belt, pulling it free. Meeting her gaze now, Solas stepped closer and extended it in his free hand not holding the book. Rosa looked from the pouch to his book, reading the spine quickly. _A Study of the Fade and Its Inhabitants._ She made no move to take the pouch and waited for him to explain himself.

"I took the liberty of acquiring some herbs that may help you access the Fade," he spoke quietly, blue eyes crinkled at the edges with sympathy. It was a cagey answer, meant to be discreet in case someone could overhear them. He would not have missed that Rosa hid her identity as a Dreamer from Cassandra. She wondered if he had hidden that truth about himself as well.

After a moment's hesitation she took the pouch from him with a decisive, swift movement. Aloud she said, "Why would I want to access the Fade?"

A tight half-smile played at the edge of one corner of his lips. He didn't answer her question. They both knew it was a bluff, spoken in case someone like Cassandra was standing just on the other side of the door, eavesdropping. Instead, he said, "I also purchased some ginger root for you as Varric and Tal both told me you experienced seasickness during the journey across the Waking Sea."

Rosa tugged open the cinch at the top of the pouch and sniffed inside, detecting the sharp scent of ginger just as Solas had said. She cinched it tight again and shot Solas a quick glance before her eyes darted away again. His kindness made her tense even as it set her stomach flip-flopping with that unmistakable attraction rearing its monstrous head again. This was a peace offering, she realized and swallowed the press of conflicting emotions that rose in her throat.

She couldn't help but wonder if it was also yet another sign of his ongoing romantic affection. The thought made her wince and she turned her thoughts quickly away from that. But meeting his eyes again, she found herself flooded with memories of their time together in the tower and felt certain that, had they been in the Fade together, she would have felt his emotion leeching through the dreamscape, as blatant as words on a page. She had felt his attraction to her for weeks and weeks in Hasmal and the delicious flirtation of it had kept her sane under the constant pressure and threat from the Templars. Not to mention that Solas had saved her life and helped Tal as well several times over.

Maybe it was the ale doing the thinking for her, but right then, suddenly, Rosa could only remember the exhilaration and pleasure of his skin against hers, his hot lips on her own. She swallowed and tried to speak, "_Ma serannas,_" she murmured, croaking. "Flat-ear."

He nodded to her, a small, tender smile over his lips and sadness in his eyes. "Think nothing of it," he told her, his voice formal and distant. Then he let out a little breath and his expression warped with something akin to disapproval. "What you did today, Rosa, was very dangerous."

"Did you forget everything about me in the last year?" she asked, a bite to her words that earned her a cringe from him. "Because I'm on an intimate, first-name basis with danger."

"Yes," he agreed, frowning. "I recall, but I'd ask you to temper that trait. You are too important to take such risks." He drew a step closer, his volume dropping into barely more than a whisper. "If you die, Rosa, we will have no means of closing the breach or any of the rifts. Thedas will be destroyed."

Her heart pounded as she searched over his face and saw only deadly stillness. A tight smile spread over her lips as she gave a flippant shrug. "Oh? Is that all?" Then, switching to elven, she growled, _"What, specifically, will happen, Solas? What do you know?"_

His blue eyes leapt to the right and left of them, taking in the doors to their prospective rooms. _"This is not the place to discuss such things. I hoped to meet with you in the dreaming and help you combat the demons that have plagued you. We can speak there, if you wish."_

Although he hadn't phrased the last sentence as a question, he raised both brows as if seeking an answer. Rosa palmed the bag of herbs and hesitated. She had avoided meeting him in the Fade repeatedly. It was too intimate. It was where they'd fallen in love before and where they'd shared their first kisses. Meeting with him again felt like weakness, like giving in to some guilty pleasure she knew would only harm her in the end. Yet she still needed his help. Rogathe had not left her and demons plagued her—and that was not even mentioning the valuable knowledge he had of the foes they faced and the power they wielded with his orb.

What choice did she have, really?

Slowly, she nodded and let out a little sigh. _"Ma nuvenin,"_ she told him.

"_I shall see you tonight?"_ he asked, already edging for the door to the room he was sharing with Varric and Tal.

She frowned. "Yes."

"Then I wish you good night, Herald," he told her, smiling tightly.

"Sure," she said and shrugged as she lurched for her own door. "Good night, flat-ear."

* * *

It was amusing to consider how greatly things had changed since Solas had first woken and been dragged to the Hasmal Circle by Templars. In those first fragile weeks he had been a shell of his former self, unable to cast a spark or control the Fade. He had never been so weak, not in his living memory. The experience was humbling and humiliating, frustrating and horrifying.

But Rosa had seen him through it. In those days she was the strong one, the Dreamer and the mage to be reckoned with. Inside the Hasmal tower, in this near-Tranquil modern world, she might as well have been an Evanuris. It was her talents, with his guidance, that allowed them to escape the tower together.

Now Solas was the more powerful of the two, though he could never reveal the full extent of it. The Fade bent to him in ways it simply would not do with Rosa. He could ignore her summoning while she had no recourse but to flee the Fade if she didn't wish to meet with him. In the tower Rosa had slipped into his dreams at will most nights and Solas had scrambled to try and hide or reshape details the Fade conjured from his memories of Elvhenan to keep her from guessing the truth. Now _he_ stepped into her dreams unannounced and could see what she—or the Fade—had crafted from her mind and memories.

This time he saw a clearing surrounded by a mixture of pines and broadleaf tress with branches laden with unopened blossoms. The scent of pollen and wood smoke tickled his nose. He saw bipedal shapes, lean and vague, walking through the clearing between aravels. Halla bleated and grazed in the field beside the aravels, under the watchful gaze of an elf he recognized: Mahanon.

He felt Rosa before he saw her. The weighty presence of another Dreamer came with the faint sense of being watched and he pivoted to look toward that inner, other sense and found himself staring at a nearby aravel. Rosa sat on the small set of folding stairs leading out of the aravel, her body hunched up and her skin pallid.

It only took him a heartbeat to realize the source of her distress as he registered the painful prickling on his skin of a demon. With senses honed from ages of experience dealing with hostile spirits, Solas quickly pinpointed not one, but _two_ demons in the vicinity. One was behind him, out in the fields with the halla herd, watching him. "Mahanon." The other, a woman, was crouched beside the hearth fire near the aravel where Rosa sat. They were despair demons, leaving a sort of slimy cold sensation somewhere deep inside him.

"Solas," Rosa greeted him, sounding bitter. "Welcome to one of my typical nightmares." She jerked her chin toward the woman sitting by the fire—the second despair demon. "Meet Ashani, clan Lavellan's healer and mother to Mahanon." She rolled her eyes. "And apparently, a despair demon with a crush on me."

Solas nodded to the despair demon sitting at the fire. It watched him with tarry black eyes, but otherwise it appeared entirely elven, Dalish specifically with Mythal's vallaslin. "Greetings, Despair," he called to it.

"Greetings, Pride," the woman replied, her voice wet and quavering, as if she were about to cry.

"She's being really well-behaved with you," Rosa grumbled. "Normally Ashani likes to wail and weep and make me remember things I'd rather forget. And Mahanon out there is no better. He likes to come sit beside the fire and taunt me about how everyone I love will abandon me or die."

Although she sounded dryly amused—and bitter—Solas still winced with sympathy and could not stop his gaze from flicking away with shame. He wanted to tell her he had not abandoned her, not truly. He had not been with her physically, but she had always been on his mind and in his heart. And he _had_ sent his arcane warriors to scoop her and Tal up to safety before he tore down the Veil. But he couldn't tell her that, couldn't even try to comfort her with platitudes for fear it would encourage her to view him in a romantic light.

Scrubbing at her face, Rosa groaned. "How do I get rid of them for more than a few seconds? They're always here, waiting for me."

Solas frowned as he surveyed the dream and then Rosa herself, eyes narrowing as his inner senses got a read on her. He had long ago discovered another of his talents that other Elvhen, including the Evanuris, couldn't seem to replicate was an ability to overlay his normal vision with spirit-sight. Now, as he let that view take over for a moment, he no longer saw Rosa sitting on the steps. Instead he saw a giant ball of white and green light. The white light was her internal spirit, her brilliance as a Dreamer, while the green was from the Anchor. The white was paler than the green. She'd _felt_ impressive in the Fade even without the Anchor, back in the Hasmal tower. With it, though, she was as bright as the sun. Curious or hostile, spirits of all types would come to watch her. Yet, with the right concoction of herbs, he'd hoped to dim her presence, and though Rosa seemed sullen currently, Solas suspected it was already working.

"Is it only these two that trouble you?" Solas asked, making a show of looking around again. He nodded respectfully to 'Mahanon' out in the field with the halla. "I would think one as talented as yourself would not find two despair demons a challenge."

"It _is_ usually more," Rosa told him, sounding annoyed—just as he'd intended. If she wasn't feeling sad the despair demons would inherently lose interest and be less of a threat. If he riled her enough she might draw a rage demon instead, it was true, but he had to tackle this problem one step at a time.

"Then the herbs I provided you are already dulling your appearance here to them," Solas reassured her, smiling politely. "But I doubt any amount of those herbs will be sufficient to provide you relief."

She stared at him, flat and impassive except for a slight twitch of what he took to be irritation at one corner of her lips. "Get to the point, flat-ear."

Despite her grouchiness, Solas' smile didn't falter. "I will teach you how to create a safe haven. It is a technique your mentor should have taught you, but perhaps he did not know it or he felt you did not require it." It was almost certainly the latter because Solas knew for a fact Felassan knew the technique. Solas had been the one to teach him. In Elvhenan it wasn't meant to block demons but to mask one Dreamer's presence from another. It couldn't stop an Evanuris, but it would deter just about everyone else, including demons.

Rosa sighed tiredly and rose to her feet. "Tell me what I need to do."

Solas nodded. "First I will dismiss these two," he said, motioning to 'Ashani' and 'Mahanon.' "Then you will need to reshape the Fade into a place of calm for you. I will instruct you further from there." Turning slightly, he stretched out both arms, reaching outward with his inner senses, gripping the Fade.

Ashani made a small wailing sound then, keening. "For the lost _vhenain_ of this world," she cried. "Falon'Din guide their souls to the Beyond. May they find peace."

"Shut. Up," Rosa snarled at the masquerading despair demon. "Hurry, Solas," she told him, her voice grating.

From out in the field Mahanon shouted, "There's no hope, Rosa. Why do you go on? Your father is dead. The men you love leave you or die. Your brother—"

Rosa cut him off by hurling Fade stone at him. The despair demon screeched as it fell over. The halla snorted and stamped, reacting much as the real animals would.

Closing his eyes, Solas willed the clearing, the aravels, the field, the forest beyond it—everything—away. The Fade rippled as it reshaped itself and the dreamscape died. When he opened his eyes again, Solas stood on a sandy plain, dotted with oily puddles. Fade ether swirled over the puddles and the entire plain, thick enough that it obscured the distance. The demons were gone and only a few wisps darted about, distant and vague like fireflies.

"Create your place of calm," he told Rosa gently. "And I will show you how to make the dream impenetrable."

Rosa frowned at him. "There has to be a catch to this."

He nodded somberly, his smile falling slightly. "There is, yes. You cannot draw others to you from inside the safe haven without disrupting the guards. You must draw others to you and then recreate the safe haven once more."

"It's a cage," Rosa guessed, sighing. "Like locking myself away in that Creators-damned Circle tower again. For my own good." The last words came out with a derisive scoff.

"I'm afraid so," Solas confirmed, still smiling sadly. "But there is no other way to protect you so thoroughly."

She shot him an unreadable look, silent for a moment. Then the coy smile spread over her lips. "And can others draw me out of the safe haven dream?"

Now Solas' smile was wry. They both knew she was hoping to elude _him._ "This technique _was_ used in Elvhenan to allow Dreamers to elude one another."

She arched an eyebrow. "So, no one will be able to draw me out of it?"

Hesitating, Solas decided to give her this peace of mind, even if it was actually a lie. "That is correct."

The coy smile on her face spread and her eyes narrowed. "I see."

Somehow, Solas felt he hadn't convinced her so he quickly gestured to the raw Fade. "Please, we must hurry before the demons return."

Pivoting away from him, Rosa let out a small huff and Solas felt the Fade ripple under the influence of her will. He watched as the plain of the raw Fade vanished, replaced with a somber forest, lit by milky moonlight piercing the canopy here and there. The light illuminated the pale blocks of an elven ruin, worn and scattered. Rosa stood beside the nearest broken column and, as he watched, laid her hand on the stone. Symbols had been etched into the column and they shimmered as Rosa touched them.

Solas had seen this place before and knew it was somewhere within the Brecilian forest. Rosa had met him in this dreamscape before and, also not for the first time, Solas wondered what significance it held for her. He schooled his expression as Rosa turned round to face him, crossing her arms over her chest and arching an eyebrow expectantly.

If she expected him to make a comment about her choice of safe haven, Solas intended to disappoint her. He explained the spells for rendering the dream impenetrable and allowed her to cast them, quickly moving in four cardinal directions. The warding worked a bit like a spirit trap, only in this case the spirit they were trapping was the Dreamer herself.

When they had finished Rosa seemed edgy, fidgeting and picking at a pine tree branch with a frown on her lips. "Well," she said and cleared her throat. "Thank you for the help, Solas, but—"

Realizing she was about to try and usher him out of her dream, even if that meant she'd disturb the safe haven and have to reset it herself, Solas hurried to interrupt. "Rogathe has not left you. Is that correct?"

She frowned more deeply now and gave a shake of her head as if to say no, but what she actually said in a long sigh was: "Yes."

"Did you wear the amulet to bed?" he asked. "Is the spirit still bound even here, in Orlais?"

Rosa shot him an irritated look. "I've taken it off a few nights and Rogathe hasn't left. I'm sharing a room now with Cassandra." She shrugged. "I didn't want to risk anything, so yes, I wore the talisman to bed. Rogathe is still bound."

Solas nodded somberly. "Then I will not be able to speak with it here. I see." He drew in a breath after a beat of silence. "Do you have any idea as to why it has not parted from you?" He clamped his lips shut before he could add anything along the lines of : _it left so easily after our escape from Hasmal…_

"No," she replied and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I _hope_ it's my fault and that I'm the one holding it here." She licked her lips, glancing briefly at him and then away again. "What are the chances that Rogathe has been twisted by the breach?"

Solas' brow furrowed and he shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, I cannot guess with any confidence. I know a great deal about the Veil, but very little about how a large tear such as the breach may affect your particular situation with Rogathe." Dipping his chin, he added, "I should like to speak with it directly, as I did before, to ascertain its status."

Rosa scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip and one leg out into the damp, dewy grass under their feet. "It _hates_ you, Solas."

"Nevertheless," he persisted in a cool voice, "I'd like to speak with it, if you would allow it." He smiled politely. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Perhaps."

Tucking his hands behind his back in a loose fist, Solas lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, steeling himself for the last thing he'd wanted to speak with her about in the absolute privacy of the Fade. "There is one final matter."

"Yeah?" she asked, shooting him a weary look as her shoulders sank.

Solas winced slightly, hating that he must cause her so much discomfort. It wasn't merely the dire topics—the possibility of her spirit friend becoming a demon, its stubborn possession of her, the demons already hounding her in the Fade and in Val Royeaux, and now the grim news he was about to deliver. It was his presence here, with her. It was…too intimate. Emotion could travel between them in the Fade, could even be used as a weapon or a means of manipulation by those so inclined. Yet, it also could reveal secrets…things better left unremembered or undiscovered.

Like the cold grip of fear coiling in his belly and the fierce pounding of his heart. What he must tell her now to caution her against recklessness risked exposing his true identity. Rosa was too clever for her own good and he felt as though he stood on a precipice and could feel it crumbling underfoot. And he couldn't hope to guess how she would react if she learned the truth…

He'd been silent for too long and Rosa arched an eyebrow at him, one corner of her lips quirking in a way that was neither smile nor frown. "Solas?" she asked, violet eyes dark with wariness.

Could she feel his anxiety? She'd claimed she'd known his affection and attraction for her in the Hasmal Circle early on and _this_ was probably how. She seemed particularly sensitive to emotional conduction…like a spirit, or…

_Dirthamen._ His eyes leapt over her pale vallaslin, struck anew by the realization that she wasn't just Felassan's child. She was Dirthamen's granddaughter, and the great-grandchild of Falon'Din, Mythal, and Elgar'nan. Despite her blood being so diluted, could she possess their gifts? Felassan had not _seemed_ to have inherited anything from Mythal or Elgar'nan—but Solas hadn't known Felassan also hailed from Dirthamen and Falon'Din's loins until piecing the truth together from what Rosa and Tal let slip. Any gifts Felassan had carried from his father (Dirthamen) or maternal grandfather (Falon'Din) would have to be hidden from Solas, to conceal his true origins from the Dread Wolf. But now that he knew…hadn't Felassan's talent for spying within the court of Arlathan been sublime almost to the point of disbelief? Had Solas not trusted his former pupil implicitly, he would have almost suspected him of duplicity. Now he wondered if there was yet more he didn't know about one of his oldest friends, and it made frightening sense for it to be carried in Rosa too.

_Tread very carefully,_ he warned himself, swallowing audibly as he finally found his voice. "I wished to caution you," he revealed evenly, striving to keep his voice professional, to hide the tension riding him and the fear squeezing at his stomach and throat. "Against recklessness." He stared at her violet eyes, willing her to sense only his earnestness and nothing else through the Fade.

"You did that already," she told him as she lifted her left hand and flexed it, wiggling the fingers. "I know this is important, but I can't promise I'm not going to wind up dead. "

"Without the orb there is no way to mend the Veil," Solas told her, shaking his head. "Even should I recover it from the cultists who have claimed it, I may not be able to manage it without the power of the Anchor." He motioned slightly at her with one hand. "Without _you."_

"I get it," Rosa told him dismissively, a touch sarcastic as she smiled dryly. "I'm the Herald of Andraste, remember? Touched by the Maker and His Bride."

"You do not understand," Solas chastened her, frowning. "If we do not mend the breach within the next few months—sooner, ideally—the Veil will _fail."_

Now she arched an eyebrow and her lips parted slightly. "Is that so?" She chuckled humorlessly. "That cannot be good."

"It most assuredly is not," Solas told her somberly. "The damage caused by such a disaster would be unfathomable. Spirits would be warped into demons at the shock and, in their confusion, would lash out. Countless lives would be lost. It _cannot_ be allowed to happen." He couldn't tell her his specific fear—that the Evanuris would be unleashed—just as he couldn't reveal that destroying the Veil would have positive effects for elves. It would bring up far too many questions.

Rosa nodded, though her lips curled in that dangerous coy smile that both thrilled and terrified him. "Well," she said. "Then we'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen, won't we?"

Solas smiled at her, letting a little warmth creep into the expression. "Yes."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Sounds about right," Tal put in, waggling his eyebrows at Blackwall. "Beardie Blackwall." He nodded, brown eyes crinkling with amusement. "And it looks like a soft beard too!" He leaned closer, lowering his voice into a near-whisper. "Can I touch it?"

Blackwall snorted and adjusted his position, scooting back from the table slightly. "I'd really rather you didn't."

Tal clucked his tongue in disappointment. "Ah, c'mon. I'm an elf. I can't grow a beard!" He gestured to his chin, brushing his fingers over the skin there and then on his cheeks as well. "See? Smooth. Like a woman." He smirked, a clearly flirtatious gleam in his eye. "I'll let you touch mine if I can touch yours…"

A/N: Of COURSE Tal would flirt with Blackwall. Because making straight men slightly uncomfortable is just so much fun! Am I right?


	8. Of Beards and Bogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas struggles with his frustrating and lingering attraction to Rosa. He also meets the Inquisition's new Warden recruit and, while he doesn't approve of Wardens, he likes Blackwall. On a journey to the Fallow Mire, Rosa contemplates revealing her possession by Rogathe to Mahanon and a sudden illness afflicts Tal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven Used: Lenalin, meaning "male parent." When Rosa and Tal use it, they're essentially insulting their father. To them it's more like "Sperm donor." An acknowledgment of Felassan's frequent absences, lack of fidelity with Rosa's mother, and his failure to help Rosa with Rogathe.

The text in front of Solas wavered and blurred. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes to rest them a moment. The tome was from Tevinter, something he'd picked up from a rare books merchant while they'd been in Val Royeaux a few weeks back, confronting the Chantry and exposing the Lord Seeker. It smelled musty, dusty, and also, somehow, of spicy perfume that wasn't from the store but rather seemed to have adhered to some of the pages.

While he waited for his eyes to recover from the strain, he tried and failed to keep his thoughts from wandering. He missed the ease of Elvhenan's learning, where merely touching a page could impart more information than reading its script. He wondered, idly, if Felassan had taught Rosa or Tal how to impart magic into the written elven word…

He frowned to himself and cursed under his breath. _"Fenedhis."_ There he went again, thinking about Rosa.

Despite Solas' eagerness to meet with Rosa again in the Fade to speak with Rogathe firsthand, the so-called Herald seemed determined to avoid that. Whether it was an unconscious desire to hold onto Rogathe or simply that she found the idea of meeting with him again incredibly distasteful, Solas couldn't say. Regardless, Solas found himself relegated to Haven for a number of weeks while Rosa rode out to meet with Fiona and the rebel mages in Redcliffe.

Although he would have preferred staying nearby to advise her and guide her away from her inherently reckless nature, the break was useful in its own way. With so much traveling, Solas had hardly had time to meet with his own secret messengers, agents, and spies who'd begun to filter into the Inquisition as new recruits. Now he took the time to lay down new orders with his agents afield. He had his agent in the far north near Tevinter, Zevanni, send a few of her most promising Dalish and city elf recruits to join the Inquisition, infiltrating it. He wanted to send for Zevanni's second in command, an Elvhen survivor by the name of Var, but doing so would cause unwanted questions if Tal encountered the other man. Zevanni and Var had been part of the group that'd rescued Tal from a Templar caravan traveling from the Hasmal Circle to the tower in Ansburg. Tal would inevitably recognize the other elf and wonder why and how he'd come to be there. Until the Inquisition was big enough that Var and Tal were much less likely to meet, Solas couldn't take that risk.

Officially Solas had spent his days since Rosa's departure performing research work Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine assigned him. It was busywork, but kept his interest, mostly preventing his mind from lingering too long on foolish, unpleasant, and inappropriate distractions regarding Rosa's traveling companions. She'd left for Redcliffe with Cassandra, Sera the new recruit—a crass young elven woman—her brother Tal to act as the group's mage, and Mahanon as another archer. It was Mahanon who troubled Solas, of course, though he tried very hard to give the thought no room in his mind. _He_ had no claims on Rosa, so jealousy was completely uncalled for.

But such logic did nothing to keep him from thinking about it. How close was she with Mahanon? He had only ever seen the two bickering, for the most part. That seemed like a poor foundation for a romantic union or pair-bond, but Rosa was passionate and…

He cursed again, shooting up from his desk to pace the short length of his cabin with his hands clenched at his sides in frustration. The last two weeks in Haven without Rosa or Tal being here to remind him of that dreamlike time in the Hasmal Circle _should_ have given him the distance to rein in his foolish, selfish emotions. Instead he'd found himself thinking about her even more. What was she doing? Was she safe? Was she happy? Would they get along better when she returned?

…_is she sharing her bed and her heart with Mahanon? _

He had _no_ right to wonder such a thing and snarled with self-loathing, fingernails biting into the meat of his palms. If she was happy with Mahanon, that was a good thing. He should be _hoping_ for that. Wouldn't it make his task easier?

_No,_ he thought, glaring at the tome laying open on his desk. _It would not._ He had never been tempted to learn much blood magic, let alone cast it, but in this moment he found he could see the value of it for unconventional needs like memory manipulation. How _wonderful_ it would be if he could simply cut away the longing and loneliness tormenting him. But, simultaneously, he also cherished the time he had spent with Rosa dearly. Her laughter, cleverness, and courage brightened his world and made this dark journey, his din'anshiral, tolerable because when he thought of her he could forget it all, no matter how fleetingly. Giving her up had been like swallowing glass and, now that they had been unintentionally reunited, denying his feelings and attraction to her was like doing that every day. But to do anything otherwise was unforgivably selfish and entirely unfair to her.

_You deserve this torment, trickster,_ he admonished himself.

Letting out a huffing breath, Solas darted for the door, throwing it open and stepping outside into the constant chill and wind of Haven. Drawing magic to keep himself warm, Solas made his way down the short stairs and headed to the side entrance of the tavern. It was cracked, letting out a faint smell of alcohol and wood smoke, along with the generous dose of body odor. He let his magic fade as he stepped in and felt the warmth of the tavern collide with him like a wall, immediately starting him sweating.

And at once he blinked, startled, as he saw and heard Tal, Sera, Mahanon, and a human he didn't recognize with a prodigious beard and dark hair. Sera's obnoxious giggling rang in his ears first as the young woman reacted to something one of the others had said, but then her brown gaze found him and she wrinkled her nose with distaste. "Hey, look," she called, motioning one skinny, long-fingers hand toward him. "It's Retches."

Solas glowered at her, despising her crude nickname for his alias. Sera had been hostile or irreverent with him so far. Solas had realized he and Sera would be quite the opposite of friends right from the start, but Tal seemed to get on fine with her—though that wasn't all that surprising. Tal got along with nearly _everyone. _

As Tal twisted round to look at him, Solas managed to work up a smile in greeting. Tal's smile was bright, but his eyes a little glazed already, indicating he'd been here long enough to drink quite a bit. "Revas!" he called. "Good to see you! Come for a drink?"

Hesitating only a moment before he replied truthfully, Solas said, "As a matter of fact, yes." He'd also intended to purchase something to eat with a bottle of wine, deciding that if he was going to torture himself with longing for Rosa he might as well dull the sting a bit with the pleasure of food and drink.

"Great!" Tal said, beaming. He indicated the end of the table and said, "Pull up a chair and join us."

Mahanon shot to his feet, making his chair groan as it ground woodenly against the planks in the floor. Glaring daggers at Tal, the bearded man, Sera, and Solas alike, the Dalish rogue said in a growl, "If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than waste my time getting drunk."

"Like what?" Sera asked him, grinning tauntingly. "Scribbling some more ivy-shite on your face?" She broke into another burst of giggling. The bearded human pinched his lips together and stared at the floor, clearly trying to suppress his own laughter at Sera's joke about vallaslin. Tal meanwhile made a face that wasn't quite a smirk but definitely wasn't a frown of disapproval either.

Mahanon curled his lip at her and then, with a last snarl at Solas, he stormed out the door. A few humans sitting at the bar and at the other tables scattered about the tavern glanced up at his rather abrupt departure, complete with stomping boots. Sera let out another long laugh, slamming one palm on the wooden table, rattling everyone's cups and glasses. "Stupid codger," she said with a snort. "Arse-biscuit."

"Well," Tal said, clearing his throat. "You can have Han's spot, Revas."

"Yeah, Retches," Sera said, grinning at him.

Solas hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward, deciding this would be a suitable distraction from thinking about Rosa. If Sera could get him _angry_ he might just manage to return to work rather than give in to the selfish desire to find some reason to bump into Rosa before nightfall. As he sat and scooted the chair back in to be closer to the table, he asked, "Did you just return from meeting with the rebel mages?"

"Ugh," Sera said with a disgusted grunt.

"Yeah," Tal replied, frowning as he fingered the tankard of ale in front of him. "It…was odd."

"Ha," the bearded man laughed. Judging by the burly set of his shoulders, Solas guessed he was a warrior. "You can say that again."

"I'm sorry," Solas said to the man, smiling politely. "Where are my manners? I don't believe we've met." He extended his hand across the table in formal greeting. "I am called Revas, the Herald's Fade expert."

"A pleasure," the man said, gripping his hand firmly and shaking. "I'm Blackwall. Warden Blackwall."

Solas managed to keep his smile from faltering as this news impacted him, but, discreetly, he wiped his hand off on his breeches under the table where the others wouldn't see it. The Wardens were a terrible, ill-advised attempt to combat Darkspawn. He knew from touching the dreams of sleepers who'd joined the Wardens that they performed a ceremony that involved consuming Blight-tainted blood from Darkspawn. The thought of having touched Blackwall left his skin crawling and made him long for a bath. Wardens were intricately tied to Corypheus because of the Blight. Blackwall could not be trusted. He'd have to tell Rosa that very soon.

"Beardie," Sera said. "That's your name. _Beardie."_

"Sounds about right," Tal put in, waggling his eyebrows at Blackwall. "Beardie Blackwall." He nodded, brown eyes crinkling with amusement. "And it looks like a soft beard too!" He leaned closer, lowering his voice into a near-whisper. "Can I touch it?"

Blackwall snorted and adjusted his position, scooting back from the table slightly. "I'd really rather you didn't."

Tal clucked his tongue in disappointment. "Ah, c'mon. I'm an elf. I can't grow a beard!" He gestured to his chin, brushing his fingers over the skin there and then on his cheeks as well. "See? Smooth. Like a woman." He smirked, a clearly flirtatious gleam in his eye. "I'll let you touch mine if I can touch yours…"

Sera pounded the table and laughed as Solas rolled his eyes, seeing Blackwall flush deep crimson. The Warden cleared his throat and shook his head. "Sorry, not interested."

Eager to change the subject, Solas said, "The meeting with the mages did not end well, I gather?"

"No," Tal said, seguing effortlessly from his blatant flirting with its equally flagrant rejection. Unlike Blackwall there was only the barest hint of something that might have been embarrassment in the redness on his ears. But that could just as easily have been from drink. Solas couldn't be sure whether Tal's pass at the Warden had been entirely in jest or if there'd been an element of real attraction. He wondered again at just how socially savvy the young elf could be.

Much as Felassan had been.

Solas listened as Tal outlined what had happened at Redcliffe. Occasionally Blackwall and Sera made contributions as well. When Tal explained the strange magic they'd encountered that had warped time itself, Solas' lips parted with shock. Dark curiosity swirled in his chest, setting his heart beating faster. _Time magic?_ It would be dangerous, inherently, such things always were, but the possibilities…!

What if he could use such magic to _undo_ his actions in the deep past, making the Veil cease to exist not by destroying it, but by altering history itself? He could prevent the death and destruction of the People, never strip them of magic or immortality to begin with. And yet, although _technically_ this modern Thedas with the Veil in place wouldn't burn in chaos, he would still be _killing_ their entire world…

"Revas?" Tal asked, cocking his head slightly and looking at him quizzically. "Thedas to Revas, you home?"

Solas blinked, realizing he had turned inward to consider the shock of time magic and had missed whatever Tal had said. "I apologize," he said, a tad sheepish. "I was trying to fathom the mechanics and details of a spell that could alter time. It would be a tremendous achievement, nearly unfathomable…"

"Oy," Sera interjected, snarling. "What piss!" She made a backhanded slapping motion at him over the table. "You talk like it's a good thing! It's not! Blighting weirdies and your magic! Stick it right up your arse, yeah?"

Blackwall nodded to her—as if her tirade of drivel had made any sense or carried an actual argument. "I have to agree with Sera on this one. You weren't there. I got caught in one of the eddies outside Redcliffe, by a rift the Herald was trying to close. It was…" His face twisted with a frown as he struggled to find the right words. "Like I was suddenly running through mud. I could barely swing my damn sword or lift my shield in time to fend off a blast from one of the demons."

"I should like to observe it for myself," Solas said, nodding to Blackwall to acknowledge what he said, finding the description intriguing all over again. Then, facing Tal, he said, "Do you know if Rosa intends to return to Redcliffe? To meet with the Magister?"

"Probably?" Tal replied, shrugging. "I don't think she's made up her mind, yet, but it's not like the Templars have been exactly friendly—despite the fact she exposed that Luscious guy as a demon."

"Lord Seeker _Lucius,"_ Solas corrected him without thinking, only to see the playful glint in Tal's eye and realize the mistitle was purposeful.

"Yeah," Tal agreed, smirking. "Lord Seeker _Luscious _with that porcelain white skin and that smooth gray hair and those pockmarked cheeks." He waggled his eyebrows toward Blackwall across the table, drawing an irritable look from the Warden and a sniggering laugh from Sera. "Point is, he was dreamy—except he was a demon and all."

"A raven Lady Cassandra received on the road carried a message saying the Templar Order had massed at Therinfal Redoubt," Blackwall told Solas.

"Yeah," Tal said, somber now. "And seems like most of the Templars who actually _saw_ Rosa nail that Luscious bastard wound up dead before leaving Val Royeaux, or locked away as traitors or some bullshit."

And yet, despite that, Solas knew the tale had spread like wildfire among the common people. In it, Rosa heard the Maker or Andraste, or both, whisper into her ear that the Lord Seeker had been possessed by a demon. That was patently wrong on numerous fronts. Firstly, Rosa's knowledge was biological and magical, not religious. Secondly, the demon had been one of envy, capable of creating a form to exist in the physical world rather than inhabiting a host. That meant the real Lord Seeker could still be alive somewhere, though Cassandra had thought that unlikely. The rest of the story had already diverged with two different ways Rosa exposed the demon. In one she merely laid her hands on the demon and burned it away with the light of the Maker. In the other, less romantic tale, she used a dagger or magic on him. The dagger was the real truth, but magic was close enough to the mark and possibly more believable to anyone who knew the Herald was indeed a mage. Her precision with a blade would be more surprising.

"What I don't understand is _how_ the Templars came to be taking orders from a fucking demon," Blackwall said, shaking his head as his bushy eyebrows met over his blue eyes.

"Cuz they're stupid," Sera said, snorting. "Not hard to understand, beardie."

"No," Blackwall insisted. "There's got to be more to it than that. They must be trained to fight demon-possessed people. They should have recognized him for what he was."

"He didn't _look_ like an abomination," Tal explained, spreading both hands in a sort of shrug.

"But the Herald knew," Blackwall said, stabbing the table with his pointer finger. "If she could tell, they should have been able to tell, too."

Solas stayed mum on this particular topic and took the moment to rise from his seat and go to the barkeeper to place an order and ask for a bottle of wine. He considered calling for a wineglass to use with the bottle before dismissing it. His _manners_ called for a glass, but his _cover_ story demanded he drink straight from the bottle the way Tal, Varric, and Blackwall would do. A wandering apostate wasn't going to carry a wineglass to pour his drink and let it breathe a little between sips.

As he accepted the bottle the barkeeper gave him with a nod of thanks, Solas turned round to return to his spot—only to freeze as he saw Rosa had entered the tavern while he'd had his back turned. Now she stood at the head of the table where Tal, Blackwall, and Sera sat. Had she noticed him here and entered anyway, or would she flee as soon as he returned to his spot? He hesitated an instant, torn between giving her space for the good of them both and moving ahead as though there wasn't any tension or distress between them.

Drawing in a breath, Solas strode forward, sliding past Rosa to retake his seat. She shot him a brief glance as he passed but otherwise seemed absorbed with speaking to the others. Her voice came clear over the other chatter in the tavern as he seated himself.

"I need to be in two places at once," she announced to their group, shoulders slumped with fatigue though her voice carried the note of authority Solas knew she'd have cultivated as First to her Keeper since childhood. "So, I've come looking for volunteers."

"And what are we volunteering for, _asamalin?"_ Tal asked.

"There's some work to be done on the Storm Coast. Leliana's scouts are going missing and it sounds like there's a group of glorified bandits who need some killing," Rosa explained. "That's one of the places I need to be."

Solas glanced at Rosa and then away again. He suspected she had zero desire to go to the Storm Coast. It held special, miserable significance for her, as she'd told him that her mentor—likely her father in actuality—had abandoned her there. Little did she know, Felassan had done so because he received conflicting orders from Solas. He, too, had been required in two places at once, but could only choose one. He'd chosen Solas' orders, abandoning his daughter to possession.

_My fault,_ Solas thought as he took his first tentative sip of the wine, grimacing as he found it musty. _Fenedhis,_ how he missed Elvhenan's exquisite wines, foods, and enchantments. Modern Thedas ate and drank filth comparatively. He tried to think on the wine's poor quality and taste rather than on Rosa and how much he'd wronged her, in ways she'd never probably know.

"And the other?" Tal asked.

Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. "Apparently some Avvar have captured some of our people in the Fallow Mire, far to the south. They want to fight me, specifically, I guess."

"And you can't resist a _personal _challenge," Tal said, chuckling. "These Avvar must really know how to get to you."

Rosa scoffed. "Shut up. This isn't about dealing with them, it's about saving the soldiers." She smirked then a little. "_And_ I'll get to kick their asses while I'm at it. Anyway, so I've told the humans I plan on going south, but the busywork on the Storm Coast needs to be dealt with, so I need people to go in my place."

"Can I stick 'em with arrows?" Sera asked, snickering. "If yeah, sure thing, your heraldy-ness ."

"Arrows are absolutely what we'll need both north and south," Rosa agreed, smiling at Sera. "And I plan to personally fry up some rotting corpses with fireballs."

Sera wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Bleck. The smell! Count me out of a frigging bog."

"All right," Rosa said, nodding in her direction. "So you'll go to the Storm Coast? Cassandra will lead that mission. She's heading out in three days, I think."

Sera shrugged. "Why not, right? Long as I can stick the baddies full of arrows, 's all good."

"Blackwall," Rosa said, addressing the Warden specifically and he sat up as if he'd been stuck by a pin, attentive. "I'd be honored if you'd join me in the Fallow Mire. I can't promise there'll be Darkspawn, but Leliana and Cullen have reports of undead, so I could really use your sword and shield."

He smiled at her and Solas didn't miss the genuine warmth and respect in the other man's blue eyes as he dipped his chin. "Then you shall have them, my lady, as promised."

"Good," Rosa said with a small smile of her own. The Warden and Rosa had clearly grown to respect one another despite only a few weeks traveling together. Solas sipped discreetly from his wine bottle once more as he tried to stifle his growing admiration for how well Rosa was—at least presently—handling herself. He'd caught glimpses of a leader in her before and knew she'd been capable based on her role as First, but the Inquisition had been functioning with Cassandra as its quasi-leader and Rosa as its figurehead. He was surprised the two women had managed it so well thus far, but until one assumed full leadership the organization would be hampered. Rosa had balked at the responsibility initially and struggled with emotional distress from his presence and the effects of her heritage as a Dreamer, but now she seemed to have—

"Revas," she said.

Solas cleared his thoughts to gaze up at her, carefully returning his wine bottle to the table. "Yes?" he asked, hoping his smile appeared cool and polite and not….sentimental.

"I'd like you to accompany me to the Fallow Mire." She arched one eyebrow. "If you're willing."

"I am," he told her simply and left it at that, though inwardly his stomach clenched. She had sought him out and asked him to accompany her. It was…a wonderful development. It was a step toward establishing that vital and yet elusive comfortable working relationship. And yet…it was also _devastating_ considering how little he had managed to control his thoughts and emotions regarding her. Traveling together again would only worsen that problem.

"Am I going?" Tal asked, gesturing toward Solas. "You already have _two_ mages counting Revas. Three seems a bit overkill, don't you think?"

She grinned at him. "You want to stay here, don't you?"

"I want to do whatever's best for you and the Inquisition, _asamalin,"_ Tal said with a haughty outward thrust of his chin.

Sera groaned at the elven word usage, rolling her eyes. Everyone at the table ignored her.

"Oh, come off it, Tal," Rosa mock-scolded him. "I saw the way you were eyeing up that Tevinter mage." She tapped her chin with one finger and tipped her head. "What was his name again…?"

"Boooooooring," Sera whined.

"Dorian," Tal replied, frowning at Rosa. "And I was just interested in his mustache. It's very elaborate." He shot Blackwall a mischievous look. "I have a weakness for men with facial hair."

The Warden scowled at him, clearly reaffirming his own lack of interest in Tal's seduction efforts.

Rosa sighed, less amused now. In elven she said, "_Your Keeper is going to butcher you."_

"_Can't make babies with men,"_ Tal retorted, a note of irritation in his voice.

As Solas arched an eyebrow at their exchange and Sera made retching sounds at the elvish, Blackwall managed to appear uneasy while also detached. The siblings had a tendency to devolve into a sort of mild bickering in the way of all well-bonded families, often excluding others as a result. Solas cleared his throat to try and get them back to an appropriate subject that everyone could follow along with.

"When will we be leaving?" he asked Rosa.

Rosa's violet gaze snapped to his and her jaw clenched. "Two days. I'd like to rest longer than that but those soldiers have been held hostage too long already. If I can save them, I need to do it before the Avvar get bored and just kill them."

"An excellent point, my lady," Blackwall said. "But who else will round out our group if not your brother?"

"I could still go," Tal volunteered brightly. "I know how to use a bow and I can work a dagger with the best of the rogues."

Rosa chuckled, her eyes warm with affection. "You can't hit the broadside of a bronto with a blade."

"But I'm _damn_ good with arrows," Tal protested, huffing.

"Not," Sera interjected, snorting. "_Not_ good with arrows, tree-face."

Tal laughed, as he usually did when Sera used her nickname for him. His vallaslin, which were Mythal's just as Felassan's had been, did indeed resemble bare branches on a tree. "Okay, okay, fine. I'm _passable_ with a bow. I can hunt, anyway—better than you, Sera."

"Right on that, yeah," Sera said with a giggle.

"This is all besides the point," Rosa said, frowning. "I've already told Han he can come, so he rounds out and balances our group."

"Should take Varric instead," Tal grumbled.

"Yeah," Sera agreed. "Least he knows how to laugh."

"Varric already told me he can't come south," Rosa said with a sigh. "He has some other business to deal with up north, so he's going to the Storm Coast." Her violet gaze swept between Tal and Sera, narrowed and critical. "And I'd appreciate it if you both would lay off Han. He's had a hard time adjusting."

"Of course, my lady," Blackwall said, his deep, roughened voice still managing to convey the utmost sincerity and respect. Solas remained silent, knowing Rosa hadn't meant her warning about Mahanon to the Warden or himself. He tried very hard to consider Blackwall, discreetly observing the bearded man's mannerisms and demeanor, rather than acknowledge the sour twist of jealousy in his guts.

He had little doubt what Rosa said was true. Mahanon seemed every bit the dutiful Dalish hunter and he probably believed wholeheartedly that he and Rosa didn't belong here. The way Mahanon probably saw it, Cassandra and the rest of the Inquisition's top crust had effectively held Rosa hostage and brainwashed her into accepting that she must stay here. In addition, from what little Solas had managed to observe in the first week, before Rosa had tamed Rogathe with the raven talisman, it seemed Mahanon wasn't privy to Rosa's secret possession. Tal had confirmed as much in the dreams Solas had shared with him as he prepared the raven carving and its blood magic spell to bind the spirit. Her lack of complete trust was perfectly in character, and Solas despised himself for the little thrill of pride that ran through him that he knew something about Rosa that her supposed betrothed did not. Yet, for Rosa's sake, he hoped she'd educate Mahanon soon, bond with him and be happy. She deserved it…

And, hopefully, Mahaon was the right partner for her.

Because Solas certainly was _not._

As much as he wanted to be. As much as he _desperately_ wished he was…or _could_ be…

"All right," Rosa said, breaking into Solas' gloomy, despondent thoughts. "I'll tell Josephine and Cassandra to make all the arrangements." She frowned then and grumbled, "And I guess I have to meet with this _Enchanter Vivienne _from Mont-see-mud or Void take whatever her blighted Circle is called."

Sera groaned, clearly sympathizing with her. "She's _evil."_

Solas had been present while they were in Val Royeaux, though he had not been invited to the party where Rosa and the Enchanter had met. He had, however, seen the impeccably groomed Enchanter from a distance as Cassandra welcomed her to the Inquisition after they returned from Val Royeaux. Rosa had been less than inclined to accept the Circle mage into the Inquisition, but Cassandra had insisted that Vivienne would be an asset to them, far too valuable to pass up or alienate. Apparently Rosa had been avoiding the Circle Enchanter and now Cassandra or one of the other humans heading the Inquisition had strong-armed her into meeting with the other woman.

"Well," Rosa said, smirking at Sera. "I hope you and our _most-esteemed_ Enchantress can learn to get along better than _that,_ Sera."

The other elf shot her a narrow-eyed look, dripping with suspicion. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to ask her to act as the mage for Cassandra's group." At Sera's ongoing blank stare, Rosa elaborated. "Cassandra's leading _you_ and Varric and Vivienne if she agrees to the Storm Coast—remember?"

"Oh," Sera muttered, shaking her head and scowling. "Right shite, that is." She sniffed. "Said I'd go, though. So, I will."

"Good," Rosa said, smiling. Glancing back to Tal, she reached out and ruffled his hair playfully before turning away. "I'll see you later, _da'isamalin."_

Tal shot her a glare as he straightened out his hair and Sera giggled at his expense. Solas did his best to appear as though he wasn't preoccupied with watching Rosa, catching the glimpse of her shapely hips as she exited the tavern. As he sipped at his wine bottle again, he caught Blackwall watching him, idly stroking his thumb over the thick handle of his tankard.

"Warden Blackwall?" Solas asked the other man, arching a brow.

"Revas," the other man replied, one side of his mouth lifting in a lopsided smile. "Is the wine any better than the ale?"

"I would not know," Solas told him. "But I suspect not."

Blackwall chuckled. "Perhaps I can order you an ale and you can order me a bottle, eh?" the Warden asked, chuckling. "It's the only way to be sure." The grizzled Warden had a battle-hardened aura about him, a gleam of world-weary fatigue that Solas had seen in arcane warriors who were a handful of years shy of falling into uthenera out of exhaustion. But the mortals of modern Thedas had no such luxury. Only death awaited them.

Still, Solas could respect this man as a veteran. His smile was genuine as he nodded. "Very well."

* * *

Rosa was starting to think the Fallow Mire was worse than the Storm Coast in terms of climactic misery. Their journey south had taken five and a half days through Redcliffe and the Hinterlands and proved uneventful—other than constant bickering from _some_ members of her party—but at last they'd reached the endless bog. Not that Rosa needed reports from Scout Harding or anyone else to tell her that. Her nose made it clear enough.

The Mire smelled like rotten eggs and decaying corpses with a shit chaser just to balance the palette. Though some of the plants and herbs she spotted were similar enough to those further east in the Brecilian, Rosa ignored many of them because of the stench. Even if the herbs were clean and pure, the smell of this place tainted them in her mind. And just as well, because Harding reported a plague had all but wiped out the local fishing hamlets.

Now Rosa stood at the edge of the Inquisition camp, arms crossed over her chest, as she stared out at the darkened, abandoned huts downhill. The swamp lay beyond them, open stretches of shallow water glinting in the white light from the moon whenever it peeked through the cloud cover. Cattails and blood lotus dotted the shoreline, as well as countless other weeds, pond lilies, and run of the mill scum algae. A boardwalk of rotted, broken wood led off over the water to the next spit of solid land.

This trip was going to be awful. Rosa could feel it in her bones.

It wasn't the plant life or the abandoned huts or the rotted footpath or even the Avvar that bothered her about this place—it was the gray, skeletal shapes she glimpsed in the shadows. Humanoid shapes walked through waist-deep water, obscured by mist and darkness, but Rosa's keen eyes saw them or the ripples they made and she sneered with disgust. She could feel her skin prickling with discomfort, reacting to the hostile, confused spirits that'd become demons and slipped through the weakened Veil here. Was she going to be able to fight these walking corpses without her own body betraying her, the way it had around Lord Seeker Lucius?

"_Vhenan?"_ a male voice spoke from behind her. Feet squelched in the mud and she knew without looking that it was Mahanon who'd come to stand beside her. She didn't answer him, merely waited for him to speak. He was silent for a while before she felt his hand on her shoulder squeezing as he tried to turn her to face him. She let herself be tugged around, blinking against the constant rain. Mahanon's blond hair was soaking wet, plastered to his forehead and neck. His hazel eyes looked brown in the gloom. "You should get some sleep," he told her.

She mustered up a lopsided smile for him, relaxing slightly. "You're right." Glancing toward camp, Rosa saw a few guttering campfires, weak in the rain. She spotted Harding, Blackwall, and a half dozen other soldiers and scouts, scattered throughout camp—but there was no sign of Tal or Solas. Their little party of almost exclusively elves had been fraught with tension and bickering over most of their trip, much to Rosa's ongoing disgruntlement. The most peaceable member so far had been Blackwall, the Warden.

"Where's Tal?" she asked Mahanon. Her brother had been unusually sullen when they reached the bog, complaining of a headache and nausea. Rosa blamed his excessive fondness for drink, which only earned her Tal's irritated dismissal of her so-called "coddling." But she _had_ noticed that he drank very little that evening when they'd eaten after arriving at camp. Of course, he'd eaten very little too.

"I believe he's gone to sleep," Mahanon said, smiling slightly. "He's smarter than you are, on some rare occasions."

She snorted. "Backhanded compliment there, Han?" she quipped. "Or was that all insult, considering I've never been all that smart myself?"

Mahanon shot her a look that was difficult to read, though she guessed it was anxious amusement. Instead of answering her, his gaze dropped over her in a swift scrutiny before he told her, "Your new armor is quite becoming."

While Rosa agreed with him, she clucked her tongue with mild annoyance. Mahanon was all-too predictable. _Of course_ he'd approve of her new armor—because it was Dalish Keeper armor. She'd had the blacksmith in Haven make it while she'd been traveling to Redcliffe to meet the mages. This was her first outing wearing it. Rosa liked to think that, unlike Mahanon, she'd chosen this armor because it was the most comfortable, durable, and protective light armor in Thedas, because the People relied on their Keepers, giving them the best armor. She wouldn't cling to it simply because it was part of her culture…well, not much anyway.

"It's not about how it looks, Han," she chided him, though she let a playful note slip into her voice. "It's about functionality." She tapped his cheek and grinned at him as she started to walk for the tents, to the one she shared with Tal—but Mahanon snatched her bicep before she could get more than a step away.

Tugging her back toward him, Mahanon nuzzled at her ear. "Join me in my tent?" he whispered.

She hesitated, considering. It'd be a pleasant diversion, a distraction against the prickle of the demons that otherwise crawled over her skin. Other than his irritating tendency to be possessive of her and so easily jealous, Mahanon had been pleasant enough company. She wasn't overly attracted to him, but he was handsome and she knew many around Haven mistakenly believed he was her husband, not just a kinsman or pseudo-betrothed. No one would probably bat an eye if she entered his tent and emerged from it the following morning.

Well, _Solas_ might. Mahanon's needling and coldness toward the supposed wandering apostate had been near-constant in this journey. Solas had always reacted with icy politeness, but Rosa had intercepted a few bitter looks from the Elvhen man that'd been aimed at Mahanon and were almost…envious. Solas had spoken to her only on very rare occasions during their journey—to point out ancient Veil-strengthening devices they could reactivate, mostly—but he seemed sullen rather than introspective or merely reserved.

_He still loves me,_ she thought and couldn't stop herself from frowning, though she wiped it away quickly, hoping Mahanon hadn't seen.

But she wasn't that lucky. He released her bicep and took a step back from her. _"Abelas,"_ he told her swiftly. "I was too forward. Can you forgive me, _vhenan?"_

She smiled at him, though she knew it'd be a sad expression. Why couldn't she just hate Solas and accept Mahanon? He had his flaws, certainly, but he had been devoted to her since they'd first met. And, in the one time when she'd been drunk and shared a few sloppy kisses and wandering hands with him, he'd told her he'd fallen in love with her at first sight. He hadn't cared about her unusual circumstances upon joining clan Lavellan and had indeed leapt at the chance to suggest to the Keeper that they bond.

She remembered when she'd been thrown by the halla that spring and lay in his mother's aravel, Mahanon had sat at her side and prayed to the Creators for her. He'd entreated Mythal for mercy, pleaded with Elgar'nan to lend His strength, and begged Sylaise for Her guidance. He was the model Dalish hunter, the ideal Dalish man most elven girls would fantasize over. For all his rudeness to outsiders and those he considered flat-ears like Solas, Mahanon had always shown her the respect she was due as First. Even now, when he'd said he was being too forward…there was virtually no such thing among the Dalish Rosa had known. There was only interest and disinterest, consent and rejection. Mahanon had shown many times now that, while he was definitely interested, he would never pressure her.

_You should love him back,_ she admonished herself. _Give him a chance to make you happy, to make you forget Solas. _

And then she heard Tal's voice, scolding her as well: _Tell Han the truth. Tell him about Rogathe._

"You weren't too forward, Han," she reassured him, smiling genuinely now, though she fidgeted with her hands as she felt an anxious coil tightening inside her. "It's just…" She dropped her gaze to the mud and grass at her feet. Her bare toes wriggled in it, set free at last from the _shemlen_ boots. "There's…something I've been meaning to tell you."

"What is it?" he asked, arching both brows. His lips curled in a smile. His skin glistened, wet with the rain.

Jerking her chin toward a small grassy rise where a tree grew, offering some shelter from the constant rain, Rosa said, "Let's head over there to talk." She wrung her hands in front of her as she started walking forward, feet squelching in mud and splashing in puddles. She needed to be well away from the camp when she told him, to ensure no human ears overheard her greatest secret…

Well, maybe it was just _one_ of her greatest secrets. She seemed to have more than her fair share—granddaughter of Dirthamen, host to Rogathe, daughter of a survivor from Elvhenan, Truthsayer, Templar killer, rebel Circle mage, Dreamer, and former lover of Mythal's general, Solas, yet another Elvhen survivor. The only thing that was unusual about her that wasn't a secret was that she was the sole survivor of the Conclave and bore the so-called "Mark of Andraste."

They stood under the tree together, huddling as they left the constant lash of the rain. Thunder rumbled and Rosa gnashed her teeth, anxious about the possibility of lightning strikes, but dismissed it. This would only take a few moments and the storm seemed primarily interested in dousing them with rain.

As she surveyed quickly around them, seeing no sign of Inquisition scouts that might overhear, Mahanon cleared his throat and asked, "Rosa?" Turning back to him, Rosa did her best to smile, though she suspected she failed because Mahanon frowned at her. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

She swallowed, trying to get rid of the tight sensation there. "What do you think of spirits, Han?" she blurted.

He stared at her, blank. A tense moment passed as she struggled not to fidget with nervousness. Finally, Mahanon shrugged. "I think they're a menace. If they just stayed in the Fade we wouldn't have trouble with undead or—"

"You're thinking of demons," she interrupted him, shaking her head. Water dribbled from her hair into her eyes when she made the motion. She blinked and wiped it away irritably. "I'm talking about spirits, Han. Spirits like…" She scanned the wet green grass, as if hoping to find the words she sought painted out there. "Like spirits of wisdom, or love or…" She swallowed again, still trying to keep her throat open. "Or bravery. Valor."

Mahanon's lips pinched into a line and he tilted his head with a quizzical expression. "Rosa," he said, a note of caution in his voice. "I've honestly never given it much thought. Keeper Deshanna says we should be wary of spirits, that any of them can become demons or be demons in disguise." He gestured to her suddenly and Rosa winced, taking an involuntary step backward, certain for a moment he would accuse _her_ of harboring a spirit-turned-demon. "Like the demon they say you unmasked in Val Royeaux. The Templar leader."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding somberly. "That was a demon in disguise. But sometimes spirits can come through the Veil without becoming demons." She winced, looking to him and then away again as her heart pounded with fear. This wasn't going as well as she'd hoped. Mahanon had little interest in spirits, though he understood killing demons that came from the rifts well enough.

She tried a new tactic. "You know, the apostate who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall was possessed by a spirit, not a demon. That's an excellent example of what I'm trying to talk about." Her face felt hot, her stomach loopy. Every instinct she had told her to stop as Mahanon frowned at her.

"Why are we talking about this?" he asked, sounding both irritated and wary. "This is something that flat-ear would talk about as your so-called _Fade_ expert."

She stared at him, her body flushing hot and then cold. Mahanon had been raised to believe in the Creators and would spit on the Andrastian religion simply for the fact it was human in origin. And yet, despite that, he had still internalized wary distrust of spirits because they could become demons. It was a sensible fear, Rosa supposed, instilled by Keeper Deshanna to ensure he was cautious when he dreamed—particularly because Mahanon had enough magic to channel a spark. Demons would be more attracted to him than they would a total magic-null like Blackwall, Cassandra, or Sera. And yet, Mahanon was closed-minded, which meant that he was immediately uncomfortable broaching a topic he felt he didn't need to consider from any other angles.

"I…" She swallowed yet again and sighed. "You're right. Never mind."

Mahanon's tight expression fell as he suddenly realized he'd made some kind of error. _"Vhenan,_ I'm sorry if I offended you." He reached for her but Rosa pivoted away, backing down the hill and toward camp.

"I'm going to go to my tent and get some sleep, Han," she told him, ignoring his stricken expression and outstretched, hopeful arms. "You should do the same. We tackle the Avvar tomorrow."

"Rosa," he protested, trotting after her. "Wait, I'm sorry…"

She thrust up one palm in a wordless _stop_ command. "No, I'm the one who should be sorry, Han. Don't worry about it." She feigned a smile, shivering slightly as she left the relative shelter of the tree and the rain hit her again. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Turning her back on Mahanon, she jogged back to camp, feet splashing. She nodded to Harding, who'd taken a seat beside Blackwall, who was chipping away at a block of wood with a small carving knife. The Warden and the scout both smiled at her in acknowledgement and she thought she saw curiosity or possibly concern glinting in their eyes, but neither questioned her. Her tent was just beyond them, at the far end of the camp, and she looked forward to the relative privacy and utter safety of Tal's presence. Tal knew _almost_ everything about her, after all. She'd taken him on this mission primarily as a safety net, someone she could trust above all others.

Rosa was just a few meters shy of her tent when she heard the splatter of Mahanon's booted feet charging after her. She frowned, tensing, expecting at any moment she'd feel his hand close on her shoulder. She wanted to slip into the tent and pretend she hadn't noticed him coming after her, to withdraw and hide—but she knew Rogathe would call that the coward's path. So she stopped and drew in a breath, preparing herself to turn and face Mahanon, send him away…

And then her tent flap whipped open with the sound of billowing fabric and Tal came staggering out, pale as snow. Rosa gasped, lunging to reach for her brother as he half-lurched, half-collapsed against her. "Tal!" she shouted, alarmed. "Tal? What's—"

He pushed against her, sidestepping clumsily, and began violently retching into the mud and grass. Rosa grit her teeth with disgust but refused to release him. In fact, her grip tightened as she supported him despite the splatter of vomit she was sure now coated the chainmail about her legs. She'd have to clean that quickly or the stomach acids and bile would weaken the metal.

"Too much to drink, lethallin?" Mahanon asked, sarcastically.

Tal groaned, shaking in Rosa's arms. She clucked her tongue at her brother, thinking Mahanon must be right, though she patted at his hair and then his temple to check for fever anyway—and then froze as her fingers felt not scalding heat but clammy cold. "Tal?" she called, giving him a little shake. "Tal—_isamalin,_ you're freezing. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

From the fire she heard Blackwall's deep voice, "It isn't plague, is it?"

"No," Harding interjected quickly. "The locals, when they were evacuating, said the sickness started with fever and cough."

"I'm sure he just drank too much," Mahanon said as he stepped forward, moving as if to help Rosa guide Tal back to the tent—but Tal lifted his head and swatted the other elven man's hands away even as he kept an iron hold on Rosa.

Fear clutched cold at Rosa's own throat. "Tal," she said to him, trying to get him to communicate—something he was usually so apt to do. "Tal—what's wrong?"

"I didn't _drink too much,_" Tal snarled, spitting at Mahanon bitterly. Then, breathing hard, he looked to Rosa and she inhaled sharply as she saw his eyes were red rimmed. The moisture on his face wasn't entirely from the rain. _"I hear them, _asamalin," he said in slurred elven.

"_Hear who?"_ she asked, also in elven, and ignoring the confused or curious stares from all the various people around her, watching. Elvish was a dead language to most, but Rosa and Tal had learned it from their father. Mahanon might know enough to puzzle out what Tal had said, but his bewildered expression revealed nothing concrete.

"_Them,"_ Tal repeated, gesturing with one hand toward the swamp and the abandoned fisherman's hamlet with its soaking, soggy huts. _"I hear them whispering."_ He bared his teeth in a snarl, grabbing at his hair and groaning as if in pain. "Mythal have mercy," he said with a whimper. _"I hear them dying."_

Rosa shook her head. _"You must have been dreaming..." Please, _she thought, _let him have been dreaming…_

And then, from behind her, she heard Solas' silken voice, slightly gruff from sleep. "Perhaps I may be able to help him, Herald?"

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Whatever just happened to me is _lenalin's _fault?" Tal blurted, still looking between Solas and Rosa, desperate for an answer.

"Tell me," Solas said, ignoring Tal's question in favor of placing his own, though he already knew the answer. "Was Ivun Falon'Din's son? Grandson?"

"No," Rosa said, glaring at him. "What does it matter? He was part of the Arlathan court, a lesser noble—a nobody."


	9. The Revenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas intervenes to aid Tal in combating a very strange and unique illness that has some startling revelations about the siblings' Elvhen ancestry. While closing a rift, Solas sustains a mortal wound. The only way to cure him lies with Rosa's secret passenger: Rogathe. Too bad it'll expose that she's possessed.

Solas stayed motionless, scarcely daring to breathe as Rosa turned her head to look at him, her face creased with worry. She held her brother by the shoulders, clearly helping support him. Tal's lanky body slumped against her grip, even as he held onto her tightly with one hand of his own, as if frightened she'd vanish. The anguish in the young elf's face twisted something inside Solas with empathy.

It seemed Rosa was not the only truly gifted child Felassan had produced after all. He quashed his own surprise, knowing it was out of place here. This was a time only for concern as Tal clearly wasn't well.

Across the camp, beside a weak fire, Solas saw Harding and Blackwall watching the scene, riveted just as several other soldiers and scouts nearby were. In fact, Solas was certain he saw a few other tent flaps moving as others, who were supposed to be sleeping, peeked out at the unfolding drama.

Clearing his throat, Solas asked again, "May I be of any help, Herald?"

"Doubtful," Mahanon muttered, scowling at Solas. "Go back to sleep, flat-ear."

"Fuck off," Tal snapped at Mahanon. "I want his help." He released Rosa and started to walk unsteadily toward Solas, but his drunken gait made him stagger. Solas lunged forward to catch him, as did Rosa. Mahanon scrambled to get out of their way, glaring daggers at Solas the whole way, as if _he_ had been the one to orchestrate all this.

With Tal slumped between them, Solas spoke in elven to Rosa, _"Perhaps we might speak outside of camp, in private?"_

She nodded without hesitation and motioned toward the fisherman's hamlet where a hill rose alongside the path, topped by a sizeable tree that'd offer protection from the endless rain. But Solas shook his head immediately. _"No, we must get him away from the bog."_

"Yes," Tal said, groaning as he started to walk with them. "Mythal's milky tits, _away_ from the blighting bog."

Solas couldn't help but choke a little on Tal's curse as he worked with Rosa, maneuvering Tal to start walking along the muddied path out of camp, uphill and away from the bog. Mahanon and Blackwall both leapt to follow, shouting for Rosa to wait so they could provide assistance. Solas had no time to wonder if he needed to subtly let Rosa know the Warden and her kinsman shouldn't be privy to the conversation he needed to have with the siblings. Before he could say a word, she was pushing Tal onto him to support fully and turning round to order Blackwall and Mahanon to stay at camp.

"I can handle this without you both," she insisted, standing just at the edge of camp. Solas craned his neck several times to look back at her as he walked further away, Tal gradually regaining some muscular tension with the continued movement. The youth's breath smelled foul, which made sense as one of the first sounds Solas had heard upon waking was of retching. Still, despite Tal's bad breath, Solas surveyed him with new interest.

He had wondered, upon his last meeting with Rosa in the Fade when he'd taught her to construct the safe haven, whether she possessed any of the Evanuris' gifts. The siblings were the descendants of four Evanuris—most recently Dirthamen, but also Falon'Din, Mythal, and Elgar'nan. Each ancestor possessed special abilities and Solas had begun to suspect Rosa harbored Dirthamen's talent for sensing lies. It explained a great deal of how she had come to know and guess so much about him in the Hasmal Circle. But Tal seemed talentless, other than his natural charisma, which _could_ have been inherited from Mythal…

When they were up the road far enough that no one could overhear, Solas searched around until he saw a rocky overhang that would provide some shelter from the rain and turned Tal in that direction. He helped the youth sit on the grass and then knelt before him, summoning a bit of magic to ward away the chill that'd settled on Tal's pallid skin. He laid his hands over Tal's shoulders, letting the spell flow into him.

Tal groaned, leaning back against the rock and shivering. _"Ma serannas,"_ he said.

"Think nothing of it," Solas told him, smiling. On the road behind him came the splatter of Rosa's tread as she followed after them at last.

"Tal," she said, slowing as she crossed the space and plopped down on the grass by his legs. She reached for his hand, squeezing it and smiling with clear relief as she said, "You're warm again. Thank the Creators."

"Thank Revas," Tal told her, smiling woozily. His eyes were lidded with exhaustion. "I feel like I could actually sleep again."

"That would not be advisable, currently," Solas said, frowning mildly as both siblings looked to him expectantly. He drew in a small breath and then let it out in a sigh. With a slight motion of one hand, Solas cast a sound dampening spell over them, blocking the rain as well. He saw Rosa shiver, reacting to the sensation of his magic—which he had shared with her on a very intimate level. He could guess that was what she might be thinking about now as he saw a hint of ruddiness in her cheeks when she should have been chilled from the constant drizzle.

"Why?" Tal asked, brow furrowing. "What do you know, Revas?" He flashed a tired, lopsided smile. "Must be serious since you've brought out the sound bubble." He tugged his hand from Rosa's and tapped Solas' leg as he grinned suddenly and waggled both brows. "Is this the part where you tell me you're not _actually_ a filthy flat-ear apostate and Revas isn't your name?"

Solas scowled and shot Rosa a glare before he could stop himself, only to see her rolling her eyes, as if disgusted by her brother's antics. "Of _course_ Revas is a filthy flat-ear, Tal."

Tal was still grinning, sly and triumphant. "Nice try, Rosa, but he just gave it away by glaring at you." To Solas, Tal said, "Come clean already, _hahren._ Rosa hasn't told me anything, but I'm not stupid. Do you honestly think Rosa would have fallen for a flat-ear? _Seriously?"_

Solas clenched his jaw, shaking his head with disapproval even as he struggled not to feel the warmth of a blush crawling across his cheeks and up to his ear tips. "If you would allow me a moment to explain," he said, almost growling, "I will then attempt to help you before the voices troubling you return and begin driving you mad."

"You know what's going on?" Rosa asked him.

Solas didn't bother glancing her way for more than an instant. This was about helping Tal, not engaging with Rosa when he was supposed to be extricating himself emotionally from her. To Tal he said, "I know how to help you, but I must ask that you agree to keep what I reveal to you secret. Do you agree?"

Tal snorted. "Sounds like I don't have much choice, _Revas._" He thumped his head against the rock behind him and hissed, wincing with pain. "If I understand you right, you're saying I'm going to lose my sanity unless you help me?"

"Eventually," Solas said, jaw still clenched. "I will aid you regardless, but I will not tell you anything beyond what is truly necessary if I do not feel I can trust you. Surely, that is reasonable, is it not?"

"Yeah," Tal agreed, sighing. "But you know you can trust me." He grinned and jerked a thumb at Rosa. "Despite what _she_ says, I actually _can_ keep a secret."

Rosa scoffed. "Barely."

Oddly, Tal reacted with anger, cursing. _"Fenedhis, asamalin,_" he growled. "Did you ever stop to think maybe there's shit I don't tell _you?"_

She stared at him, the moment of tense silence dragging on for several long seconds before Solas cleared his throat and drew their attention back to him. "I did not mean to cause either of you alarm. I merely wished to ensure you understand that what I reveal must not be shared." He hesitated a moment and added, "For my own safety."

"Well," Tal said with a little shrug. "I promise never to tell a soul—aside from Rosa, who already knows. Sound good?"

After a short pause as he readied his thoughts, Solas dipped his chin in agreement. "Very well." He drew in a breath and tilted his head back slightly. "You were correct. I am not a _flat-ear,_ as you put it. I am Elvhen." He paused a moment, expecting some reaction from Tal, but the youth merely smiled at him in a way that was entirely too reminiscent of Felassan, suddenly. It was the sort of smile Solas' longtime student and friend would offer up when he'd puzzled something out and was trying not to let on the depths of his own amusement. The sight of it made Solas' chest tighten and his throat constrict. Averting his gaze to look at the edge of the sound bubble, shimmering overtop of them, he forced himself to go on.

"I slept in uthenera from the fall of Arlathan until a little over a year ago." He drew in a short breath. "My true name is Solas."

"Ha," Tal said, pointing at him and smirking. "I _knew _it."

Solas frowned at his interruption and then proceeded to ignore it. "Before uthenera, I served Mythal as a general."

_This_ finally drew a reaction of surprise from Tal as the youth's jaw dropped and his eyes widened, sweeping over Solas with new appreciation, reassessing him. And, unlike Rosa, who had generally schooled her reactions and tabled her enthusiasm, Tal was quick to interrupt with questions. "You _knew_ Mythal? Personally? What was she like? Was she beautiful or hideous or just mediocre?"

"Worry about that later, Tal," Rosa chimed in, smirking with amusement.

"Right," Tal said, though he gave a small sigh of disappointment.

Solas shot Rosa a grateful look, feeling a little thrill when she returned it. Then he refocused on Tal, wetting his lips and speaking slow and somber. "Because of my time in the court of Arlathan, I became privy to secrets that have since been lost to modern Thedas. One such secret is that many of the Evanuris, those you know as Creators, possessed unique gifts that their direct descendants often inherited."

He hesitated, feeling Rosa's shocked stare weighing on him more than Tal's incredulous look. This was the moment he would discover just what the siblings truly knew of their heritage. Had Felassan lied to them, or had Rosa withheld information from Tal? It was an unexpected boon, an opening for him to "discover" the truth about them legitimately.

"What are you saying, Solas?" Rosa prodded him when the silence had gone on a beat.

"Yeah," Tal added, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you trying to say that…" He broke off, shaking his head and looking suddenly stricken and pale as he glanced at Rosa. "No. That wasn't just some sick nightmare? What in the Void _was_ it then? And how the _fuck_ do I stop it happening again?"

Tal's consternation could have been evidence he wasn't privy to his own heritage, or it could be an act. Solas had to be very careful to keep straight what he was _supposed _to know against what he had uncovered using his agent Zevanni. He gazed between the siblings a moment before settling on Rosa. "You told me once that you had an Elvhen ancestor who survived to the present in uthenera just as I have."

Her lips quirked downward as she said, "Yes…" Tal watched her, blank and impossible to read, but Solas guessed he was taking his cues from Rosa. He would play it safe, revealing nothing until she indicated he could. The siblings had operated much the same way in the Hasmal Circle.

Solas cleared his throat again, tugging at his sleeves in a show of nervousness. "My suspicion, Rosa, is that you have either attempted to mislead me regarding this ancestor of yours, or you yourself have been misled. Perhaps it is both."

"Just spit it out," Rosa said, grumbling as she stared down into her lap at where her hands were wringing themselves together.

"I will be blunt then," Solas said and dipped his chin. "The ancestor you mentioned could not have been a distant relative. If that were true, Tal would not display this particular gift. Only relatively _recent _descendants of an Evanuris inherit it. More than five generations removed and the blood will become too dilute. Therefore, the ancestor you mentioned to me must, in fact, have been your sire." He motioned to Tal. "And Tal's as well. I know you share a father and were born to different clans. There is no sense in trying to deny it based on this latest discovery."

Tal's gaze flicked between Rosa and Solas, his brow furrowed. Rosa, for her part, remained motionless and silent. Finally, she let out a long breath and her shoulders slouched. "Yes. Ivun wasn't just some distant ancestor. He was our father."

"Whatever just happened to me is _lenalin's _fault?" Tal blurted, still looking between Solas and Rosa, desperate for an answer.

"Tell me," Solas said, ignoring Tal's question in favor of placing his own, though he already knew the answer. "Was Ivun Falon'Din's son? Grandson?"

"No," Rosa said, glaring at him. "What does it matter? He was part of the Arlathan court, a lesser noble—a nobody."

_She does not wish to discuss the truth,_ Solas thought. And yet, the answer was written, literally, upon her face. But was she unaware of her father's blood relation to Falon'Din or merely trying to deny how strong her connection to the Evanuris was? She'd seemed particularly closed-lipped regarding this secret. Everything Solas had learned had come through his agent Zevanni working Tal over with the lure of sex. And even then, it had only been the revelation that Tal's full name was _Talassan,_ which was entirely too close to Felassan, that had finally tipped them off because Tal himself revealed so little. Rosa had revealed only that she had a relatively recent Elvhen ancestor.

What was she worried about? She'd believed in the past that Solas served Mythal and she'd let slip that she knew there were ongoing conflicts from the time of Elvhenan. Did she suspect that Fen'Harel still lived? He'd believed Felassan had sheltered her from the truth but Rosa was clever enough she might have puzzled _something _out. Did she know or suspect Felassan had served the malevolent god of her people? Did she suspect _Solas?_

"It matters because _clearly_ Ivun shared blood with Falon'Din," Solas said, letting a little irritation creep into his voice as he motioned at Tal. "This is _his_ talent."

Rosa stared at Solas, her lips parting slightly. The shock was unmistakable now. She hadn't known

"_What_ is it, exactly?" Tal demanded, exasperated as he scrubbed with both hands at his face.

"_Falon'Din,"_ Solas said the false god's name, spitting it with a bit of involuntary contempt. "Friend of the dead. The Dalish give him an inane, foolish story, fit only for children and fools. But the actual man was anything but kind or altruistic, yet he _did_ possess the talent to hear the voices of the dead." He glanced from Tal to Rosa, narrowing his eyes at the familiar whorls and dots of her vallaslin. "It is why he partnered with Dirthamen, who possessed a talent of divining the truth in others' words. Together, the two men were powerful beyond the dreams of any pretentious Orlesian or depraved Tevinter magister."

Silence descended after he'd finished as both siblings stared at him with an emotion that he wasn't certain he could name—a mixture of shock, disbelief, and awe. Finally Tal snorted, snickering in a tight, strained sound. "_Lenalin_ was Falon'Din's relative?" he asked, aiming the words at Rosa.

"You're sure about that?" Rosa asked Solas, a coy smile curling over her lips. The sight of it made Solas wary, but seemingly confirmed his suspicions. Rosa and Tal didn't know their father's full heritage. They knew only of their relation to Mythal, Elgar'nan, and Dirthamen. Falon'Din had been left out of Felassan's descriptions, possibly because Solas' old friend felt it wasn't important, but more likely because he hadn't been keen on embracing that ancestry, or any of it save Mythal.

"Yes," Solas replied with a firm nod. "You both must be Falon'Din's direct descendants, within five generations."

"Thanks, _lenalin,_" Tal muttered, shaking his head and clawing a hand through his hair. "Thanks for educating me _so_ well." He smacked Rosa's thigh, getting her attention. "Did you know? Did he ever tell you?"

She looked quickly to Solas and then back to Tal. "No," she answered. "He never told me about Falon'Din. I would have told you if he had."

"See, Rev—_Solas,"_ Tal corrected himself, scoffing. "Our father told Rosa all the secrets, but me? He just let me go running about unaware and empty-headed as a nug."

"He _did not_ tell me about this, Tal," Rosa repeated, a hard edge to her voice. She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath. "Regardless, that's unimportant right now. What _is_ important is that we learn how to help you, _isamalin._" As Tal nodded at her, still appearing unhappy but calmer for the moment, Rosa turned toward Solas and said, "Tell us what else you know about this gift. How does it work and how can he keep it under control?"

"And how come I haven't had it show up before?" Tal put in, shaking his head in consternation.

"In truth," Solas hedged, a touch hesitant. "I know little. I suspect the talent has never manifested before because it is relatively weak. Usually such talent appears at around the time of adolescence." Solas' own had appeared earlier, actually, in later childhood, when he'd discovered while conversing with a spirit that he could, while concentrating, hide his inner thoughts from the creature. "I heard tales of Falon'Din's sons and daughters awakening to the gift after emotional trauma or…" He smiled dryly at Tal. "After a period of inebriation."

"_Fenedhis,"_ Rosa said, shooting her brother a scolding look. His only reaction was to glare at her, as if offended for some reason, though it had been clear to everyone Tal had a fondness for alcohol.

To keep the siblings from devolving into bickering, Solas continued quickly, "The Fallow Mire is the worst place we could have gone for one with this talent who has no knowledge of how to harness it. The recent plague and death in this area, combined with the weakened Veil, have left the bog imprinted with restless spirits that channel the dead."

"Then it's spirits I spoke to?" Tal asked, scowling. "Not the dead." He sounded relieved. Solas was silent, considering how best to explain, but apparently his face conveyed enough of the answer that Tal groaned and said, "It wasn't just spirits then, was it? It was really the dead." He reached for Rosa, snatching her hand and squeezing as his brown eyes went wide and round. "It was _awful, asamalin._ I was sitting in one of those dank little fishing huts and I saw sick people—_dead_ people—all around me and they were all talking at once and somehow I understood every word. And I _felt_ what they felt as they died and all of them _wanted_ me to _do_ something for them and…" He broke off shuddering.

From the Fade, while asleep himself, Solas had tasted the harsh metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. It was reminiscent of the Forgotten Ones, powerful demons who had once wielded the Blight as a weapon. When Solas had investigated, expecting to find a powerful demon like the Formless One or Imshael, he'd found Tal instead, his sleeper-self obscured by crimson mist. It was not a dream he could witness, not a scene he could eavesdrop upon, so Tal's dreamlike description wasn't something Solas could verify, but he believed it. He had observed until Tal managed to wrench himself awake. He knew better than to tell Tal that Falon'Din's talent was almost…demonic. It was more akin to blood magic and Blight than Fade-based magic. Solas had not sensed it for over two thousand years.

"As far as how to control this," Solas continued. "In Arlathan those with Falon'Din's ability spent years learning how to master the talent in his temples. Clearly, that is no longer an option." At their fallen, disappointed expressions, Solas added a little more. "I do, however, know that when they wished to quell the ability, they performed a spell I can teach you. There may also be a combination of herbs that can suspend the gift."

"For someone who says he knows very little about it all, you actually know quite a lot," Rosa pointed out, the coy smile shaping her lips again.

"Yeah," Tal agreed, suddenly suspicious. "How _do_ you know? And how did you recognize what was happening to me so fast?"

Solas frowned at their suspicious stares even as his body went cold and clammy with sweat rather than the lingering wetness of the rain. "I felt your changed presence in the Fade," Solas revealed cagily, brow furrowing as he spoke to Tal. "Just as Rosa and I can sense one another as Dreamers, one with Falon'Din's ability stands out distinctive from other sleepers and spirits within the Fade while they are using the talent." He shifted in his spot on the wet grass, making it squelch and squeak. "As for why I know what I do, which I assure you both _is_ limited, I served as Mythal's general during a war between the Evanuris and Falon'Din was our opponent. As such, I had to learn as much as I could about him."

"This," Tal said, passing a hand over his face and wincing. "This _talent_ can be used in a fight? _How?"_

Solas shook his head. "That I cannot say, though I believe it was used as a form of necromancy, more powerful than any used by humans in Tevinter or Nevarra. Falon'Din was a dangerous, bloodthirsty man, and like all of the Evanuris, he guarded his secrets well." He offered Tal a wan smile. "You are likely the first to possess this talent in two-thousand years."

Tal grunted, puffing out his lips in a pout. "Too bad everyone who could tell me how to tame it and make it work is dead." His face fell as he looked toward Rosa. "Including _lenalin."_

Solas averted his own gaze, quashing the wince of sympathy that tried to work its way across his face. "I will help in any way I can," he promised and then, with a flick of his hand, let the sound bubble collapse. The shimmering veil between them and the rain disappeared. The endless wet tapping of rain on leaves and grass returned to their ears. "We should return to camp before the others worry. I will meet you in the dreaming, Tal, to teach you the spell."

Tal nodded to him. "Thank you, Rev—_Solas."_ He chuckled as he hauled himself upright. "That's going to take some time getting used to."

"Yep," Rosa agreed, smirking as she moved to take Tal's arm to help him again, but her brother shrugged her off.

"I got this, _asamalin."_ He walked with only a little wobble in his gait as he made his way through the rain puddles and mud.

Solas called magic with a small motion of one hand, blocking the rain to keep himself mostly dry, anticipating that Rosa would follow Tal quickly. Instead he felt her hand on his forearm and paused, lifting his head to look up at her. Rosa blinked against the rain as she stared at him, a solemn expression weighing down her features.

"Thank you," she said, almost blurting out the words. "For helping him. And…" She heaved a sigh, one corner of her lips quirking upward. "Thank you for trusting him enough to tell him the truth." She let go of his arm, wringing her hands together in a nervous motion. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth about Ivun. I just…"

"There is no reason to apologize," Solas told her with a hesitant smile. Considering everything she didn't know about _him, _Solas couldn't stand to have her feel guilty for her own attempts to mislead him.

She nodded her understanding, relief flitting over her face. "All right then." She drew in a quick breath and started to turn away, but now it was Solas' turn to stop her.

"Rosa," he said and tried to keep his voice and smile polite instead of strained with the anxious knot inside his chest. She whipped back around, dripping in the rain and huddled into her Keeper armor. The expression on her face was somewhere between hope and dread. "We should meet in the dreaming soon," he told her, trying to keep his voice cold and reserved. "I must speak with Rogathe."

She wrinkled her nose. "When I have time, Solas." Then, decisively, she turned and strode back toward the muddy path leading to camp. Solas saw her make the same small gesture he had a few moments ago, banishing the rain and wetness and chill with her magic. It was a trick that had not, as far as Solas had seen, survived the fall of Elvhenan. It lived on only in a few Dalish clans…and in Rosa and, probably, Tal. If things had gone differently, Solas could be allying himself with the siblings, recruiting them to serve his cause just as their father had. In another world he could be struggling with the awkwardness of seeking Felassan's blessing as he courted Rosa properly, like an Elvhen woman—and the great-granddaughter of Mythal—_should_ be romanced. Instead he could only be her guardian and guide her, denying himself and his emotions to safeguard his end goal as Fen'Harel.

Solas let out a huffing sigh, staring down at the wet grass where it glistened in the occasional moonbeam that peeked through the clouds. He summoned a bit of fire in one hand and moved it between his fingers in a calming exercise Mythal had taught him to soothe troubled emotions. He let himself concentrate on that little trick so his mind could empty. It was vital that he control his powers when he had been at full strength. Losing his temper or lashing out in an uncontrolled manner would inevitably kill innocent people, something Solas abhorred.

When he was calm once more and satisfied that enough time had passed that he could return to camp unremarked, Solas trotted onto the path. Mud squelched under his feet and lightning flickered overhead as the rainstorm intensified. The stink of the bog rose with the wind, filling his nose with its nauseating reek of rot. It made him shudder, eager to leave as a sense of foreboding pressed on him from all sides.

Entering camp, Solas made straight for his tent—but his tread faltered slightly when he saw Mahanon glaring at him from where Blackwall had previously been sitting beside the fire. In his lap, Mahanon had an arrow laid out, fletching side up. He still wore his bow slung over his shoulder, ready for use. The other elf's narrowed eyes promised punishment through the burning hate in them, orange from the firelight. Solas half-expected the other man to rise up and nock the arrow in his lap, killing him in his extreme jealousy.

Nodding in acknowledgement, Solas walked to his tent and tried not to let his stomach clench with a mutual derision for Mahanon. Rosa deserved better…

* * *

By the time Rosa had defeated the Avvar war-chief and liberated the Inquisition soldiers he held hostage, it was well after dark. The stench of the bog hung heavy in her nose and throat, a constant reek and nauseating taste. Just when she'd thought she'd gone nose-blind to it, the taste and stink of it would return like a slap to the face.

Despite the Avvar war-chief's bravado and formidable archers as backup, he hadn't been much of a challenge for them. Blackwall and Mahanon had taken the most damage, but their wounds and bruises were barely more than superficial. Mahanon had taken a punch to the face from one of the Avvar within the castle, and Blackwall had a bit of a limp from receiving a mace blow that'd knocked his shield into his knee.

Everyone was eager to leave the putrid bog and its waves of undead corpses lurking in the mists and slimy water, but Rosa wanted to investigate the remaining beacons scattered throughout the area. The others deferred to her wishes with little more than weary frowns. Only Tal complained aloud, which was typical for him.

Rosa realized, while trudging through the waterlogged remains of fishing settlements, that somewhere along the line she'd become the de facto leader. Cassandra, if she'd been present, could have still challenged her, but rarely did so. How….bizarre to have power over humans. Then again, her party on this journey was almost exclusively elves.

After activating one of the beacons that'd been off their trail to the castle and killing the resulting undead and demons summoned by its call, Rosa examined the Veilfire rune painted onto the pillar. It gleamed in the greenish light from her torch and when she laid a hand over it, Rosa could feel the magic hidden within it. While the rest of her party either scavenged the area for goodies or stood alert for more threats, Rosa pulled out a bit of parchment and sketched out the new rune.

Tal edged close to her while she worked. "Any chance we can head back to camp now?" he asked with a falsely cheery grin.

Rosa scowled at the sketch she was working on, frustrated by the constant drizzle. It smeared the charcoal, making it run like ink. She had to complete it quickly or she'd never finish it. "The path keeps going a ways, doesn't it?" she asked.

"Well," Tal said with a shrug. "Yeah, but…"

She finished the sketch and began rerolling the parchment to tuck it away. Looking to her brother, she pinched her lips together with concern as she read discomfort in his posture. "Are you feeling all right?"

He shifted, feet making wet noises on the grass and mud. The rain had plastered his hair to his skin and even clung to his eyelashes. His brown eyes were so dark in the gloom they might as well have been black, but despite his eye and hair color, Tal had always been so pale otherwise. His skin tone had been one of many things he inherited from their father. "I'm fine," he told her, but the strain in his voice seemed to suggest otherwise.

Rosa shot him a doubtful look. "Really, _da'isamalin?"_

He shrugged again, clearly evasive and uncomfortable with speaking openly about it. Rosa made a mental note to ask him what troubled him and if Solas had helped him in the Fade the previous night sufficiently. Rosa still knew so little about this strange gift Tal had inherited. Did it only work while he dreamed? Or did he hear the voices of the dead—or spirits channeling them, or whatever Solas had said—while awake as well?

"There's a rift up ahead," she said, smiling sadly. She could feel the disturbed Veil, warped and twisted and thin in the way she knew now marked the area around rifts. "We'll go far enough to close it and then we'll turn around and head straight for camp." She reached out and clasped his bicep. "Is that okay? If you're feeling sick we can—"

"No," he interrupted her with a shake of his head. "I'm fine." His voice was strong as he spoke, confident enough that Rosa believed him.

With a warm smile and a nod, Rosa circled round the pillar and replaced the Veilfire torch on the opposite side. "Let's move out," she called to where Blackwall stood downhill beside the filthy water. The Warden quickly jogged up the hill, his limp almost invisible though Rosa could see the wrap about his knee.

Solas had remained closer to the beacon, looting abandoned sacks, barrels, and the bodies of the undead they'd slain, so he moved to join her without her calling him. Mahanon was the last to move into a position flanking her because he'd been preoccupied with reclaiming and mending some of his arrows in their short downtime. His left cheekbone was puffy and red, working its way to forming a nasty bruise from the blow he'd taken from an Avvar earlier.

They walked along the muddy path toward a narrow passage between rock formations that shaped a natural amphitheater. On the other side Rosa saw a glade, sodden and elevated enough that it wasn't flooded by the bog. A few small trees and bushes grew, but otherwise the area was just a muddy, grassy field surrounded by rock walls. Ahead, shimmering in the air over a crude statue of what might have been a wolf or a dog, Rosa saw the rift.

It reacted to their presence by rippling, sending a crackling boom echoing from the circular rock walls. Tendrils shot out and where they touched the ground bubbled green-black as spirits torn from the Fade manifested as demons. Rosa tossed up barriers over Blackwall and Mahanon as they ran ahead to take better positions. Solas, lingering to Rosa's left, cast a barrier over himself, Tal, and Rosa before they spread out to attack from all sides.

The first wave of demons materialized, revealing a despair demon that wailed in its screeching, shrill voice. Most of the other demons had manifested as undead. They rose from the sodden earth, bony fingers elongated into claws and teeth warped into fangs even as they brandished swords and bows. An arrow glanced off the barrier over Blackwall as he used his grappling chain to pull in one of the corpses and hack it down. Mahanon shot one corpse that carried a sword through the head, stopping it mid-lurch. Tal hurled fireballs at the despair demon and Solas aided him, dispelling the wailing creature's barrier.

Rosa Fade-stepped through a nearby corpse that'd been aiming at Tal, freezing it solid. When she popped out of the maneuver, she whipped round and thrust with her staff to shatter the corpse. It fell in pieces of frozen flesh, clattering and squashing on the wet ground. Grinning fiercely, Rosa tossed up more barriers over Blackwall and Mahanon, then sprinted to put herself in a better position to help tackle the despair demon, which had begun hurling out freezing ice at Tal. When she had an unobstructed view of the demon, Rosa launched a lump of Fade stone off her staff that collided with the thing with a satisfying crash. Solas and Tal combined forces and flung fireballs at it in an unending barrage of flame that quickly burned the despair demon away into ash.

The rift flickered as it reacted, sending out another wave of demons. Tal tossed a barrier up over himself and Solas this time while Rosa once more covered Mahanon and Blackwall. They waited, watching as the green-black bubbling around the rift gradually revealed another two despair demons, a handful of corpses, and…something else that looked like a dark Templar.

Solas and Tal immediately began attacking the despair demons with fire. The roar of flames, guttering in the rain, filled Rosa's ears as thunder rumbled. She added her own lightning to the fray, spinning her staff and sending purple-white energy arcing between the corpses and the knight-like demon that'd risen. Blackwall grunted as he sent his grappling chain flying, pulling in one of the corpses and cutting it in half with a quick swing of his blade. Mahanon sent fiery arrows into the nearest despair demon and then pivoted about to send a shot into another of the corpses.

Rosa sent Fade stone at the strange knight-like demon, hoping to shatter any armor it might have, softening it for further blows, magic or physical alike. The creature seemed to stumble slightly at the attack but did not fall over or falter the way other demons often did. Rosa spun about and unleashed a fireball on it next and then followed it quickly with winter's grasp and chain lightning in rapid succession, trying to determine this demon's weakness.

The demon turned toward her and stabbed its blade into the earth in a move all-too reminiscent of Templars. The motion made Rosa scowl, perturbed, and then, before she could brace herself or react, the demon motioned at her and Rosa yelped as a wave of vertigo hit her. The world surged forward and Rosa felt her feet slide slick over the mud and grass, scrabbling. The Templar-like demon grew in her vision until it took up almost everything and Rosa realized it had hauled her to it the same way Blackwall did, except this demon had no grappling chain.

"Shit," she cursed, trying to fight, but her arms and legs had gone stiff and heavy. She found herself staring up into its shadowed face, seeing the red coals where its eyes would be beneath its winged helmet. The stink of putrid decay and ashes hit her powerfully, making bile rise in her throat. The sudden jolt of fear that tightened her stomach didn't help either as the demon snatched its sword from the wet earth, splattering her with mud.

The magic released her and Rosa scrambled backward, lifting her staff to parry the blow from its sword as the demon brought the blade down. The force of it made her stagger and fall with a cry. She heard the hard _shink_ of the demon's blade against her staff and heard it waft through the humid air. She landed with a splat and, gasping, tossed up a barrier in panic. It would be her only real defense against the next blow—but she stabbed up and out with her staff anyway, trying to parry, and—

She realized her staff had been split in two by his first blow. _Fenedhis!_

The demon stabbed for her then and Rosa rolled away. The blade impacted just shy of her with a wet _thwack_ in the grass. Panting, Rosa got onto all-fours, determined to get up and flee, but the demon was too fast. Rosa sensed movement, heard the blade cutting through the air, and dropped flat to roll again, hoping to avoid the blow. Something struck her side, but it seemed glancing and she felt no pain. Landing on her back, heart pounding, Rosa called her magic to fling Fade stone into the demon's face, but she stopped when she saw Solas now stood between her and the dark Templar, blocking her shot.

The demon had its blade lifted high in a downward slice, as if it wanted to cleave Solas in two, but the Elvhen mage had blocked the blow with his staff. A faint green glow emanated from Solas' staff, crackling in a way that was reminiscent of the rifts. Unlike Rosa's staff, Solas' held. Yet, Solas was shaking visibly, as if about to collapse.

With a shout, Rosa got her feet beneath her and thrust out with the ragged end of her staff, stabbing the demon through the side. It jerked backward, its blade making a slick metallic sound as it slid free of Solas' staff. Its movement was so abrupt that the staff pulled clean out of Rosa's rain-slicked hands. The demon's sword thumped wetly on the earth and it did not lift it again immediately. Seeing the opportunity, Rosa shot a small Fade stone from her left fist directly into its face to keep it unsteady. "Die!" she yelled.

Fireballs flew in around the crudely hewn Avvar statue to her left and she heard Tal shouting for her and Solas to get back from the demon. Arrows streaked in from Mahanon, landing with thumps in the demon's shoulder. Rosa gritted her teeth together and launched more Fade stone at the beast, whooping with triumph when the dark Templar demon stumbled backward yet again. Blackwall charged past her then, shouting in his deep voice, shield and sword raised.

Just as Rosa had begun to feel the euphoric pulse of triumph race through her, making her grin and laugh, she saw Solas fall onto all-fours with a splat in the wet grass. "Solas!" she shouted, heedless that she'd forgotten to use the alias everyone knew him by. With everyone else attacking the demon and keeping it distracted and on the defensive, Rosa hurried to his side, dropping onto her knees. "Solas? Are you all right? What's wrong?"

He was breathing roughly, strained with pain. Muscles in his jaw flickered as he let out a little grunt. "I believe," he said with a weak, dry chuckle, "the Revenant injured me."

"Where?" she asked, reaching for him. "Show me."

He started trying to ward her off, moving as though he intended to rise to his feet again—but with a little breathy cry he fell into the wet grass with a splash. Rosa reached for him, trying to roll him onto his back and calling his name, but he kept resisting enough that she could only manage to roll him onto his side. She was dimly aware of Blackwall and the others finishing off the knight-like demon and its greenish essence streaking toward the rift overhead. The rift convulsed and let out a crackling boom, diminishing and raining down warm Fade ether over her and Solas.

"Close the rift," Solas told her through clenched teeth.

Nodding, Rosa thrust her marked hand up at the sky. The fine bones in her hand flared red hot with pain as the Anchor activated and grabbed hold of the rift. She trembled as the pain mounted and the rift shrank in on itself, dribbling out more ether. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she sensed the rift was ready to close and clenched her hand, yanking the ethereal threads closed. The rift disappeared with a slick boom-pop, leaving the sodden glade lit only with the natural light from the moon.

Breathing hard, she looked down at Solas again and felt her stomach clench and leap up into her throat. He had gone pale as snow and dark circles stood out beneath his eyes. His breathing was too shallow and fast. "Solas!" she yelled and tapped his cheek roughly. "Stay awake! Do you hear me, flat-ear?"

He flinched at her touch, blinking a few times against the patter of the rain, but said nothing. Rosa had seen this before—shock. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed his shoulder and pulled, rolling him the rest of the way over.

That was when she saw the red-black stains all over the left side of his tunic and down his thigh. Her mouth fell open with horror as she saw the blood on her hands, warm and crimson and _everywhere._ Frenzied, Rosa pulled at his clothing, desperate to expose the wound and heal it. She tugged his tunic out of his belt, rolling it up and then pulling his breeches down slightly to see his hip. The demon had sliced him cleanly from hip to shoulder, crossing from his flank to more of his back. At its deepest along his back, Rosa could see blood dibbling out rather than oozing. That meant the demon had struck vital organs or a sizeable artery.

"Rosa?" Tal called out, jogging toward her around the crude Avvar statue. "Are you…" He broke off as he registered Solas and hurried forward with new urgency. "Let me help."

She sensed rather than saw both Blackwall and Mahanon lingering nearby, watching as they tried to save Solas. The glade had gone deathly silent now except for the ongoing hiss of the rain and the gentle rustle of a soft breeze moving through the tree branches. In that relative quiet, Rosa could easily hear Solas' too-fast breathing and knew he would die if they couldn't heal him and do it quickly. But a serious injury like this one might be more than they could heal…

She tried not to think about that as she placed her hands over the bloody slice in his back and willed her mana into the strongest healing spell she knew. Her hands glowed gold-white, the magic sinking into his flesh to knit skin, viscera, muscle, and vital organs alike. Even though she knew the Creators weren't gods and couldn't answer her prayers, she made them anyway. _Please Mythal,_ she thought. _Show us mercy. Dirthamen, grant us the wisdom and knowledge to save him. Sylaise, guide our magic and let him heal. _

But even as some of the magic sank into him, Rosa could feel much of it leaking away, dissipating like light thrown from a campfire. The wound was _resisting_ her attempts to heal it. Precious time and mana passed as she cursed under her breath and looked to Tal with desperation. "It's resisting," she blurted, shaking her head. "I don't know what's wrong."

Tal pressed his hands to the wound along Solas' back, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow with concentration as he too cast a powerful healing spell. Rosa saw the light glowing at his fingers, sinking into Solas' skin, but the wound did not close the way it should have with that much mana. The blood continued to flow and Solas had begun shaking, another sign of his increasing shock from blood loss. He murmured something incoherent that wasn't in Common or elven but something guttural and ugly and utterly foreign that made Rosa's skin crawl.

Tal let out a growl of frustration. "I don't know what to do," he said, fear making his voice sharp and shrill. "If we can't close it he'll die!"

Heart pounding, Rosa met Tal's eye for a moment and then, her mouth going dry, she made a decision as she reached for the talisman hanging about her neck. Her brother's eyes followed the motion and widened with surprise before he nodded with understanding. Turning her head slightly, Rosa shouted at Blackwall and Mahanon. "Run back to camp," she ordered. "As fast as you can. I need healing potions and poultices and bandages—anything. Go!"

Blackwall moved without hesitation, running for the narrow gap in the circular rock wall, booted feet sloshing and splattering in the grass and mud. Mahanon, however, stayed in his spot. "Let the Warden go," he said. "You both need someone to watch your back."

"I gave you an order!" Rosa yelled at him, spitting in the rain as her heart lurched into her throat all over again.

"And I won't leave you both," Mahanon insisted, a note of anger hardening his voice. "You're preoccupied with saving him but a corpse could come walking up on you and—"

"I don't have time for this," Rosa snapped, turning her full attention back to Solas as soon as she saw Blackwall had disappeared from sight. Mahanon would bear witness to Rogathe after all, it seemed. She hoped he could handle knowing the full truth about her…or, rather, one of her secrets anyway.

Tugging the talisman off and tossing it to Tal, she swayed in her spot as the blood magic spell disappeared and she felt Rogathe surge forward. Her head seemed swollen and the world swam around her. Her breath shuddered as she laid her hands over Solas' wound again and touched her mana core. This time Rogathe would work with her, increasing the potency of her spell and lending its considerable knowledge to her.

Rogathe spun inside her, seeing the world and reacting with urgency. She knew, with sudden dreamlike clarity, what had been preventing her spell. "The Revenant used magic of its own," she said, dimly aware that her voice was too deep and had an odd echo to it. "It resists most healing spells, but there's one that should work…"

But she didn't quite have enough mana to cast it, even with Rogathe enhancing her strength.

Glancing to Tal, she said, "Give me your mana."

His eyes were wide and dark as he stared at her but he acted at once, reaching across Solas' body to let her clasp one of his hands in her own while she laid the other over the still-bleeding wound. She felt Tal's mana open to her as he bowed his head and closed his eyes, letting Rosa draw from him like sipping from a cup.

She shaped the new spell, murmuring under her breath in elven to aid herself in casting. She felt the heat on her palms and her head went hollow and then heavy. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. Tal's mana flowed through her and into Solas until she felt her brother begin shaking just as she was. Even with Rogathe to bolster her reserves, this spell was so powerful it would push them both to the edge of burnout.

Finally the spell ended. The gold-white light faded, sinking into Solas' body. The ugly wound closed neatly, leaving only a small ridge of scar tissue amidst the crimson blood. Rosa let go of Tal and felt quickly over the length of the wound, ensuring the spell had worked completely. She blew out a long breath of relief, shoulders sinking, as she realized she'd succeeded. Solas was still deathly pale, but his breathing had slowed and his shaking had lessened.

As she stared down at him, Solas's eyes opened blearily and his brow furrowed as his gaze met hers. His voice was croaky and quiet as he said, "_Vhenan…"_

Rogathe twisted inside her, hot with rage. Rosa winced and cringed back from Solas, her hands curling into fists. "No," she snarled, then swallowed hard, trying to rationalize the rage away. At least some of it was Rogathe because the spirit despised Solas on principle, but her own pain lay beneath the spirit's reaction. She tried to quash it, to push it down, to tell herself Solas' memory and thinking was probably scattered and confused with blood loss. He didn't mean it—even though this was now the second time he'd reverted to calling her by that term of endearment.

Behind her, Mahanon muttered something nasty and Rosa turned at the waist to glare at him. "Can you stop being jealous for _two seconds?_" she demanded.

Oddly, Mahanon reacted to her comment by stumbling backward, as if she'd launched a fireball at him or something. He lifted both hands in a defensive motion and his eyes were wide and round. His mouth hung open, gawking on the air, while his features twisted with something akin to horror.

She didn't stop to consider his reaction. It seemed far more important to lecture him on his misbehavior in this moment. "Jealousy is unbecoming and beneath you. Solas' life was just at risk and your selfishness and jealousy cloud your mind so much you—"

"Rosa," Tal shouted from behind her. "Rosa, stop." She felt him paw at her shoulder and turned to frown at him.

"Don't interrupt me, _isamalin,"_ she scolded, though she saw he held something out to her, clenched in his fist—and suddenly realization dawned. _"Fenedhis,"_ she said as she snatched the raven talisman away from him and pulled it over her head. She was dizzy for a moment before the righteous anger faded and became heavy exhaustion instead, along with the ache of nearly hitting mana burnout.

"You were glowing," Tal told her with a strained smirk.

"Rosa?" Mahanon asked from behind her, his voice croaking. "What…?"

Sighing, Rosa powered through her fatigue and rose to her feet, swaying enough that she lurched for the Avvar statue and clutched it to keep from falling over. Mahanon made no move to try and catch her, the way he would have before. She stared down at the sodden grass at the base of the statue and tried not to feel a sad resignation building inside that she had been right about Mahanon, right to hide Rogathe from him. Still, she had no choice but to come clean now.

"I'm possessed," she said, blunt and to the point, not bothering to look at him. "There's a spirit of bravery inside me."

"_Possessed?"_ Mahanon repeated, almost spitting the word. He had gone motionless, stiff. The deadly tenseness in the air told her he might be about to draw a weapon or possibly flee. Fight or flight, as though she was a wild animal that might attack him and not the same person she'd been the previous night when he'd tried to invite her to his tent.

"Yes," she said, finally looking at him. She saw he'd gone nearly as pale as Solas, staring at her and continuing to gawk as though she were still glowing. "The spirit is a friend of mine. I've known it since childhood. Sometime during the Conclave it…possessed me." She shook her head. "I don't remember when or how, exactly."

"You must get it out of you," Mahanon stammered, snarling. "It's bound to become a demon!"

"Solas was helping me," she said, motioning toward his prone body.

Now Mahanon's posture changed again as he seemed to flinch and then bristle. "_Solas?"_ he repeated. "His name isn't Revas? And you helped hide that from the _shemlen?_ From _me?"_

She cursed inwardly and rubbed her face with one hand. "Forget that. It's not important. He has another name, that's all."

"Yeah," Tal added. "Big deal. Let's stay focused on the real issue—like how you _cannot. Tell. Anyone._ You understand, Han? The _shemlen_ will kill her."

Mahanon's expression seemed to indicate he wasn't certain that wasn't the solution. His features flitted between wariness, anger, pain, and outright raw fear. Finally, after a long moment of silence as the rain hissed and pattered around them in the glade, Mahanon said, "You tried to tell me. Last night."

She nodded. "Yeah, but I chickened out. Now you know anyway." She shrugged and pushed off the Avvar statue, motioning again at Solas. "We need to get him back to camp to keep him warm and dry."

"You're sure you aren't possessed by a demon?" Mahanon blurted, staying motionless and a safe distance from her.

Rosa scoffed. "Would a demon help heal him?"

Mahanon eyed her doubtfully. "No…"

"Then you can be sure it's a spirit," she said. "Now, would you mind carrying him? Tal and I are both drained from the healing."

Mahanon hesitated another few moments and then, walking stiffly, he moved forward and knelt to scoop Solas into his arms. When he rose to his feet again, hiking Solas up as best he could—though the Elvhen mage was more thickly built than Mahanon—the archer glared at Rosa. "You have my word I won't tell the _shemlen_ about this."

"Thank you," Rosa said, smiling tightly. "We can talk about this more later when—"

"No," Mahanon cut her off, still frowning. "I don't want to talk about this. I'll need some time alone."

_I need some time alone,_ he'd said, but his tone and the look on his face made it clear he meant to say: _I need some time away from _you. Rosa stared at him, tense and feeling something burning in her chest despite the fact she'd never been all that attracted to Mahanon. It hurt to have him repulsed by her now when he had always been, for the most part, supportive before.

"Just…" She broke off, turning away more than necessary to motion at the gap in the rock formations. "Let's all get back to camp."

"You lead," Mahanon told her and Rosa wondered if he feared she would stab him in the back or something.

Huffing, Rosa turned and began trotting away. Behind her she heard both Tal and Mahanon following, but she was glad they couldn't see her face as she let herself cry. Rain and tears mixed together on her cheeks until the chill of the air at last left her numb.

_At least we're leaving this wretched bog now,_ she thought. And at least she'd managed to save Solas, with Rogathe's help.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Enough," Cassandra snapped, slashing one hand through the air in his direction, clearly losing patience with him. "Just tell him, Leliana."

The other woman wrinkled her nose, irritated with Cassandra, but what she said was, "Very well." Looking to Solas again, she said, "Your name isn't Revas, is it?"

Now Solas drew in a slight breath, steeling himself for whatever was coming. "No," he said, freely admitting it. "My given name is Solas."


	10. A True Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa struggles to make a choice between recruiting the mages or templars. And, frustratingly, Mahanon is causing trouble.

As gold-orange sunshine bathed the outside of his cabin, Solas admired the view of the snowy village of Haven. It was barely an hour after dawn and Solas had only been up a few minutes, though that was long enough to feel the bitter chill settling into him. He'd moved his small wooden chair out from his desk in the cabin to sit in the sunshine to try and find some energy for the day—as well as some light to see by while he mended his armor.

This particular hole in his armor was due to the Revenant attack that had nearly killed him in the Fallow Mire. He ran over his memories of it as he threaded the needle and knotted the line to begin sewing the patch in place. He recalled very little of what had happened, just flashes and snatches of words. He knew from Tal that Rosa had healed him with Rogathe's aid and with some of Tal's mana.

He'd also learned, after visiting with Tal in the Fade the day after the attack, that Mahanon had learned of Rogathe during the healing and had not handled it well. Indeed, Solas had noticed a growing iciness between the two as Mahanon suddenly seemed willing to give Rosa her space. He'd been unfazed when Rosa and Blackwall spent much of the first few days of their journey back to Haven riding side by side and chatting. Solas, for his part, was too exhausted from the apparent near-death experience to do much more than groggily observe his surroundings and companions from horseback.

Now, a day after arriving back at Haven, Solas was still fatigued but the bright sunshine helped, as did the cold and the chore of mending his armor. He made the first few stitches with slow, careful movements. Sewing was something he'd learned as a child, raised by his middle class parents. The Elvhen had magic to aid their creations, just as they used magic to enhance their learning and writing and food, but there was no substitute for the raw manual labor of tailoring. And harvesting. Seeding. Scrubbing cobblestones.

That was why they'd had slaves.

Solas had nearly completed securing the patch to the tear in his coat when he saw the sun glinting off armor as Inquisition soldiers marched past the tavern. Their armor glittered silver in the sunshine, like light reflected from water or glass. Solas tugged the latest stitch through his coat and watched the soldiers with only minor interest—until they started marching up the stairs to his little corner by the apothecary. He lowered his sewing into his lap and stared with a mixture of amusement and wariness as the Inquisition soldiers—five of them—stopped in front of him.

"Can I help you?" Solas asked the woman who seemed to be their leader: a pallid woman with blond hair and freckled cheeks. He expected they had come to nab the Tevinter, Dorian, who slept in the cabin across from Solas'. Dorian wasn't awake yet, however, and Solas doubted the flashy Tevinter mage would wake up before noon.

"Revas," the woman addressed him, sounding stern. Her body language was stiff as well. "I need you to come with us, ser."

Solas' brows both arched with surprise. Something flushed cold inside him, though he paid it no mind. "Of course," he answered calmly, falling into his role as obedient, polite apostate. "I must put this away first," he said, lifting the armor he'd been mending.

The woman hesitated a moment and then nodded at him.

Solas rose from his seat and walked casually back to his cabin. Inside he set his coat down on his desk, carefully stabbing the needle into a few thick folds to keep it from falling or pricking anyone. As he returned to the soldiers, he paused in his cabin's doorway and asked, "May I ask what this is regarding?"

"Lady Nightingale and Seeker Cassandra have called for you," the woman replied.

"Surely a summons by Cassandra and Leliana hardly requires an armed escort," Solas hedged, eyeing the five soldiers with a tight smile. Were they summoning him or arresting him? And why? What had they found?

"Will you be coming or not?" the woman asked, curt now with annoyance.

"Of courses," Solas said and forced another polite smile over his lips as he closed the door behind himself and took a spot between the soldiers with two in front and three behind. Out of nervous habit he stroked his mana core, feeling over it and finding it easily strong enough to burn all five soldiers into a crisp with but a gesture. A staff would have helped focus his power, but he hardly needed one to kill these humans who appeared to be relatively relaxed around him.

The soldiers led him to the Chantry and escorted him inside. The stone underfoot was somehow colder than the ground outside had been as he marched toward the meeting room at the far end where he knew Rosa met with the humans running the Inquisition to make decisions. As one of his soldier escorts opened the heavy wood door, Solas tried to keep himself from tensing with fear and prevent his mind from running wild with worry.

Entering the space, Solas saw Leliana in her usual hooded chainmail, sitting at the left edge of the enormous wood table that dominated the center of this small room. On the opposite side of the table and closer to the center, Cassandra stood erect and with her arms behinds her back. Her militant pose, combined with the deadly gleam in Leliana's blue eyes, set Solas' heart pounding. This was not some ordinary summons, as he'd suspected from the start. They hadn't asked him to come here, under soldier escort, to act as a consultant on something archaic and arcane.

The soldiers closed the heavy door behind him with a thump, and it was all Solas could do to keep himself from flinching. All five soldiers had remained inside the room, standing behind him to bar access to the door. Solas did his best to smile politely, though he was sure it'd look closer to a grimace. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes," Cassandra said, brown eyes narrowed at him. She turned her head and jerked her chin toward Leliana, signaling the other woman.

Leliana shifted in her spot sitting on the table, pushing off. "It has come to our attention that we know remarkably little about you."

Solas' skin dimpled in gooseflesh, but his polite smile—or his attempt at one, anyway—stayed firmly in place. "That is because there is little to know of me, Spymaster." He dipped his chin slightly, trying to appear docile and humble rather than guarded and tense. "But I am happy to share whatever you wish to know."

"Good," Leliana said in her crisp, pretty voice. "Then perhaps we should start with the basics." She shot Cassandra a knowing look. "Wouldn't you agree, Cassandra?"

"Yes," the Seeker said and left it at that as she crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at Solas.

"Very well," Leliana said, a coy little smile spreading over her lips that reminded Solas painfully of Rosa. He forced himself not to look away despite the little stab through his ribs. "Your name is Revas, yes?" the spymaster asked.

Solas nodded. "Yes. "

Suddenly Cassandra pounded her fist onto the table, on the map right over Tevinter. "Don't lie to us!"

Solas flinched at the loud, unexpected thump, blinking at the Seeker. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, his voice steady despite his surprise.

It was Leliana who answered, her voice cool and gentle despite the hard glint in her steely blue eyes. "We received a tip that you are not who you claim to be."

Solas stared at the spymaster, his muscles taut and his heart racing. His hands were sweaty and his knees felt weak, though he locked them to ensure he remained steady. Leliana returned his stare, like a cat watching a rodent and waiting for it to flee. "I am afraid I—"

"Enough," Cassandra snapped, slashing one hand through the air in his direction, clearly losing patience with him. "Just tell him, Leliana."

The other woman wrinkled her nose, irritated with Cassandra, but what she said was, "Very well." Looking to Solas again, she said, "Your name isn't Revas, is it?"

Now Solas drew in a slight breath, steeling himself for whatever was coming. "No," he said, freely admitting it. "My given name is Solas."

"Why lie to us?" Cassandra shook her head, clearly affronted on a personal level that he had misled them.

"It is hardly a lie," Solas said, remaining calm as he wove the half-truth. "I chose the name Revas when I was captured and taken to the Hasmal Circle."

"Why did you not want the Templars to know your true name?" Leliana asked.

"I chose a new name as a symbol of rebirth," Solas explained. "The name means _freedom_ in the elven tongue. It was the memory of what I wished to hold onto, even when I was trapped in the Circle."

"So," Leliana said, drawing the single word out a little more than necessary. "When I send my agents out into the field to ask after an elven apostate named _Solas_ instead of _Revas_, they aren't going to find any skeletons you'd rather remained buried?"

_What a humorous turn of phrase, Spymaster, _Solas thought, but kept himself from smiling with the bitterness churning within. Just. Barely. In reality Leliana's agents would unknowingly stumble upon his victims every time they spoke with an elf or saw elven ruins.

"Of course not, Lady Nightingale," Solas said, managing to give a real smile, as if the very idea she thought him capable of intrigue or deception was humorous. As if she wasn't speaking to a man who'd been falsely labeled a god and then accidentally destroyed his own people and all of Thedas, using heavy doses of intrigue and deception.

Leliana made a humming sound in the back of her throat as she nodded. Her blue eyes narrowed as she asked, "What happened when you escaped the Hasmal Circle, _Solas?"_

_This _would be their point of greatest interest, Solas knew. It was the one part of his life they could corroborate with others—like Rosa and Tal. Otherwise Solas could tell them anything and they'd never truly be able to prove it fact or fiction. Because this would be of such great interest to them, Solas also knew he'd have to be very careful what he said. It would have to match Cassandra's memories, Rosa and Tal's account, and it had to include a narrative that fit somewhat with what any surviving mages and Templars from the Hasmal Circle would say. That left little other option than a mildly cagey version of the truth, but sanitized to omit such nasty details as he and Rosa being the sole reason the tower had fallen to violence.

So he explained it: the Knight-Commander's death after the lockdown of the mages in the tower and the resulting witch-hunt by the Templars to find a killer. He answered questions easily until Cassandra suddenly asked, "Whatever happened to the artifact the Templars found you with?"

_In other words, _Solas thought, _the orb._ Solas' stomach clenched with dread as he felt himself break out in a sudden sweat. He could feel Leliana's eyes on him, her gaze as intense as dragon fire. Solas smiled politely as he shrugged. "I cannot say. I suspect it was looted from the tower after the rebellion. It may have been sold to Tevinter, or it may have burned into ash. There is no way to know."

Cassandra nodded and gave a slight grunt of interest, but seemed satisfied with that answer. Leliana was more difficult to read, however. Her lips stayed curled in that coy smile that so reminded him of Rosa. Yet a moment later she motioned to the of the soldiers who'd escorted Solas in and made a tsking noise with her tongue. "Go and find the Herald," she instructed. "And bring her here."

The soldier nodded and turned on her heel, marching out to do as she'd been bidden. Solas remained where he was, stiff and wary yet trying to appear relatively unbothered by all this as he waited. Cassandra picked at her leather gloves and sleeves, then her sword and belt. Leliana seemed content to watch Solas, no doubt trying to ferret something out by his reactions as they waited. Solas remained as stoic as possible to give nothing away and he stifled the frantic, clawing thoughts that scrabbled in the back of his skull, worrying that Rosa had betrayed him. It would hardly be undeserved, considering all the sins he had committed against her, but he couldn't stop the twinge of pain at just the slightest thought that it could be a possibility.

Finally the door behind him opened with a screech and groan of its hinges. The soldier passed through and stepped aside, letting Rosa stride in, wearing a small frown on her face. She sighed as she surveyed the room, then walked past Solas and toward the far right side of the table. "I'm guessing there's some meaningful reason why you two called me here?" she asked.

"Why yes," Leliana said, smiling a little fiendishly. "I received a report last night after you arrived back at Haven regarding _Revas_."

Rosa sighed, shoulders slumping. She had a tired look about her, as though the Fallow Mire had drained her as much as it had Solas, but without the blood loss. Solas tore his gaze from her when her violet eyes flicked toward his, unable to watch her in this moment for fear of what Leliana and Cassandra—and Rosa herself—would see on his face.

"Let me guess," she said, clasping her hip with one hand and cocking her leg out as she leaned against the table. "Han came to you saying Revas is an alias."

"Yes," Cassandra said. "And he has admitted it."

"You knew," Leliana said. It wasn't a question and she didn't sound surprised or as if she disapproved.

"Yeah," Rosa replied with a shrug and a quick glance at Solas that he pretended to ignore while tugging at his sleeves as if trying to pluck off loose strings. "Having multiple names isn't that unusual, is it? Especially among my people." She snorted then, smirking in a way that was both dry and pained at once. "Take my father for example. He had so many names I could barely keep track of them."

Solas restrained a wince at the reminder of his old friend even as he also wrestled with the desire to smile. It was true Felassan had been especially good at collecting and choosing new names. Even Solas, as it turned out, hadn't known them all. Of course, even Felassan didn't have as many as Solas' alter ego as Fen'Harel.

"And take _you_, for example, Cassandra," Rosa said, grinning now. "How many names do you have, again?"

Now Leliana laughed, short but genuine, and Cassandra shot the spymaster a glare. When she looked back at Rosa, she scowled. "Who told you my full name?"

"Varric," Rosa said, smirking.

Cassandra's scowl turned into a snarl as her hands curled into fists. "That little…"

"Calm yourself, Cassandra," Leliana cautioned, though she looked and sounded as though she might start chuckling again at any moment. "You know this man better than anyone else in Haven," Leliana said to Rosa, and again Solas noted it wasn't a question. She had surmised the nature of their former relationship easily enough. Solas stiffened and fought the heat of irritation and humiliation at having that brought up…even this subtly. "You vouch for him?" the spymaster asked, getting to the point.

This was, of course, why they'd summoned Rosa. She was, apparently, completely in their circle of trust and respect. It was interesting to note. Humans rarely afforded elves such respect and authority.

Rosa scoffed. "This flat-ear?" she asked, gesturing at Solas dismissively. "Of course I vouch for him. Why all this fuss just because he decided he didn't want to hear Templars calling him by his birth name? Names have power," she reminded them. "Did you know my name means _to stand tall?_ It's defined me from birth."

Solas ducked his head slightly, clearing his throat gently and murmuring, _"Ma serannas."_

She waved his thanks away, still staring at the humans. "Are we done here?"

"Yes," Leliana said with a small nod, though her blue eyes flicked to Solas and narrowed slightly, scrutinizing him. "I will, of course, conduct a thorough background on you…_Solas."_

"If names are so important to you," Cassandra blurted then. "What does _Solas_ mean?"

"Pride," Solas answered quickly, though he didn't smile.

Cassandra made a noise in her throat of interest, but otherwise said nothing.

"Which name do you prefer?" Leliana asked, her tone easygoing now and conversational, as if she hadn't just moments ago reminded him that she would be investigating him, trying to dig up skeletons. But of course, the skeletons he had buried lay under a few thousand years worth of sediment. Leliana's investigation into his background would be a dead end even before she began it.

"Solas," he replied after a moment's hesitation when he actually wasn't certain of the answer to that question. "I chose Revas as a reminder of what I had lost by entering the Circle. The name means _freedom. _I wanted to remember it every time it was spoken. However, now I do not require such a reminder and I am content to use my given name again."

"Very well," Leliana said, motioning to Solas. "You're free to go." Solas had little doubt this wasn't the end of Leliana's suspicions, of course. She would have him followed and watched discreetly until she was satisfied he had no ulterior motives or dark, hidden secrets. She'd be wrong when she made that conclusion, but Solas would be cautious regardless.

With a smile, Solas gave both human women a little bow and a smile before turning on his heel and striding clear of their war room. He felt Rosa's eyes on him as he went but didn't dare give in to the desire to look at her. But as he left the room, he heard Rosa's bare feet slap on the floor, moving after him—and then Cassandra's voice.

"Herald," she said. "Stay with us, if you would. We must discuss our options with allying with the Templars."

"Or the rebel mages," Leliana added.

Rosa huffed, though the sound was muffled as the door at last swung shut. "All right."

Solas let out a sigh of both relief and regret as he continued walking out of the Chantry. It was probably for the best that Rosa was too busy to speak with him just now. He wasn't sure he'd be able to resist the desire to be…less than platonic. He had to thank her for saving him in the Fallow Mire, despite it meaning she exposed herself and Rogathe and earned Mahanon's spite. But it was more than just that: he wanted to comfort her, rather than just express his gratitude. If he had been in her position, he wasn't certain he would have exposed his own secrets, and the thought shamed him. Rosa deserved better—better than Mahanon. Better than Solas. Better than her lot caught as the Inquisition's Herald.

* * *

After a few hours of planning with Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen, Rosa was ready to get drunk or sleep for a month. She wasn't sure which would be more helpful, but her stomach was empty so she chose the tavern and alcohol. The place was packed, loud and raucous with song and banter. The jovial mood helped ease the knot of tension on her spine that'd grown as she argued with the humans about whether they allied with the rebel mages or the Templars.

Rosa saw Sera and Varric sitting at one table with her newest recruit, a Qunari mercenary by the name of Iron Bull, and hesitated. The sight of his pallid, grayish skin and enormous horns immediately reminded her of Kaaras and the other Valo-Kas mercs who hadn't survived the Conclave. Her heart tightened in her chest and she swallowed to try and ease it before striding forward to take a seat next to Sera and across from Varric.

"Morning," she greeted them all, smiling.

The Iron Bull, who sat at the end of the table, turned his head to regard her with one blue eye. The other had a patch over it. He smiled at her and lifted his large mug toward her in a gesture of salute. "Hey there, Boss."

She snorted. "I'm hardly your boss. Cassandra's the one who recruited you and your men."

"Yeah," Iron Bull agreed, motioning still with the mug. "But let's be honest. This isn't her show. _You_ are the Herald."

Rosa wrinkled her nose with disgust. "Don't remind me."

Varric laughed, though his eyes held a look that Rosa read as something akin to sympathy. "Rough day, Violet?"

"You have no idea," she said, smiling dryly before she twisted round to catch the tavern keeper's eye and, when she had the other woman's attention, she called out: "Can I get some wine?"

"Wine," Sera complained, scoffing. "Weak stuff, that." She held her own ale in front of her in a mug that was the same size as Iron Bull's—a mistake, Rosa thought, though she didn't voice it. Then the rogue elbowed her in the side and said in a hissed voice that somehow wasn't any quieter than her usual speaking volume, "Heard you had to save frigging droopy ears' arse in the bog. That true, yeah?"

"He was injured fighting a Revenant," she explained blankly and then cleared her throat, eager to switch topics before Sera or any of the others could probe further. "So, let's pretend you guys are me and the _shem—_I mean, the humans want you to be the one who decides whether the Inquisition allies with the rebel mages or the Templars and—"

"Why's that even a question?" Sera interrupted, curling her upper lip with disgust. "Honestly. You really want a bunch _more_ weirdies round here, what with all the demons and shite?"

Rosa heaved a long sigh as she saw Iron Bull's inquisitive look and Varric's mildly amused one and realized she had no idea what they were thinking. At least Sera, for all her crudeness, was _obvious._ "I get it, Sera," she grumbled. "You hate mages. But you have to admit they're probably exactly what we need to close the Breach. What's scarier? A bunch of mages or the Breach expanding until it's pouring out demons again?"

Sera shook her head, scoffing. "Both, duh."

"Templars could get the job done, too," Iron Bull said, his tone conversational.

"The last time I dealt with them," Rosa said, shooting the Qunari an irritable look. "I exposed their leader as a demon. And that _still_ wasn't enough to make them ally with us right away. They marched right off to Therinfal Redoubt, apparently, unbothered by the fact their Lord Seeker is a _fucking demon."_

Now Iron Bull grunted, making a face of distaste. "Yeah," he said, his voice dropping even deeper. "You got a point there, Boss."

"I don't envy you," Varric said after taking a long swallow of his own ale. "That's a tough choice, really. I've talked with Commander Cullen and he seems to think the Templars could weaken the magic sustaining the Breach and let the mages we already have, combined with your mark, close it. But, then again, this isn't like any kind of magic I've seen before, so maybe we need _more_ magic to get the job done."

The tavern keeper came over then and set a wine bottle in front of Rosa, along with a crude glass. Rosa broke the seal and quickly poured herself a glass, downing it in a few swallows. After catching her breath, she poured another. The alcohol left a pleasant burn in her mouth and throat, even if it wasn't as flavorful or sweet as she'd have liked. She nodded to Varric's points, even as she knew the real opinion she needed to seek was Solas', and he seemed to be avoiding her. As usual. Though, really, she had been doing the same to him.

"What does our resident expert think?" Iron Bull asked, as if he'd been reading her mind.

She glanced at him and saw he wore an unnerving…_knowing_ expression. She repressed a shudder and downed another glass before finally answering. "I haven't asked Revas yet."

Iron Bull grunted again, taking a drink from his mug and then wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. His knuckles rasped against his facial hair. "I gotta wonder why you're asking us, Boss, when you have an expert on this crap."

"Because I'm pretty sure he'll tell me _both_ solutions could work," she said, grimacing at the growing aftertaste from the wine. Yuck. And she'd thought the wine at the Hasmal Circle was bad. The Inquisition's brew was _far_ worse. She hoped Iron Bull wouldn't read anything deeper in her reaction. Had he heard gossip about her and Solas? Was it too much to hope that even just _one_ of her unusual retinue of quasi-friends through the Inquisition wouldn't eventually learn she'd been sleeping with Solas?

"I get it," Varric said. "It's political as much as practical. Go with the Templars, you're validating them and the traditional way of doing things. Go with the mages, you're calling for change."

"When you put it that way," Rosa said, smirking. "The answer's obvious."

"Yeah," Varric said, shrugging. "Maybe so." He smiled at her, warm and friendly. They had spent weeks sharing meals and commiserating together as mutual "prisoners" in the Hasmal Circle a year ago. Varric had been Cassandra's hostage, while Rosa, Tal, and Solas were prisoners in the Circle itself because they had the audacity to have been born mages. Varric would know better than anyone else, aside from Tal and Solas, exactly Rosa's motivations regarding the Andrastian viewpoint on mages.

"Ugh," Sera said, rolling her eyes. "Wrong."

"Oh relax," Rosa chided the other elf gently. "I'm a mage and I haven't hurt you or weirded out on you, have I?"

"No…" Sera admitted, sounding suspicious, as if this was a trick question.

"Then stop worrying about it," Rosa said and tossed back yet another glass of wine with a satisfied sigh afterward, despite the nasty aftertaste.

"Careful, Violet," Varric cautioned, lifting his own mug in gesture. "Soon you'll be as bad as me."

"Or Tal," Rosa added, with a dry chuckle. Since returning to Haven, Tal had done little except drink and sleep. Whatever the reason—the journey, the stress of saving Solas' life, or dealing with Mahanon's perpetual aloofness since then, and of course discovering his strange new talent for necromancy or whatever it was—Tal seemed incapable of putting the bottle down. Rosa hadn't tried to curtail his drinking yet, but it was definitely on her list of things to do.

"Something's troubling Stoic," Varric said, shifting in his seat and leaning closer over the table with fresh interest.

"The trip to the bog was hard on him especially," Rosa said, though she didn't explain why and lied, "The bog made him sick."

"No," Varric said. "I mean something's been bothering him basically since the start." He shot her a look of concern, brows furrowing. "He's not the same easygoing, careless kid I met in the Circle."

"No," Rosa agreed, fingering her glass. "He joined a clan and became First. He's tasted true responsibility now."

Varric's doubtful expression made something tighten in Rosa's guts. "I don't know if it's that, Violet, or something else…"

"Who cares?" Sera interjected, apparently bored of this topic.

Rosa frowned at her, disapproving. "_I_ care," she reminded the other elf. "He's my little brother."

"Yeah," Sera agreed, shrugging. "I get it, and Tal's not so bad, yeah. Just—why talk about how something's wrong with him when you could talk with _him_ about it? Yeah?"

"I've tried," Rosa muttered, shaking her head. She _had_ tried, too. During their trip to Val Royeaux, she'd tried to chastise her brother for his excessive drinking, only to earn his censure and to realize something _was_ bothering him. But he'd been mum when she asked in private, evading it and distracting her. "Tal will talk when he's ready." _I hope._

"Well," Iron Bull said then, swiveling his head to look out the tavern's side door. "I'll be a nug's uncle. There's the man of the hour himself."

Rosa glanced that way and saw Tal walk into the tavern, followed by a rather bleary-eyed Dorian. She wondered, irritably, for a moment if maybe her brother and this Tevinter mage were already sleeping together, but Tal's body language didn't suggest he'd been recently frolicking in bed with the other mage. More likely, Dorian's slightly-disheveled look was because he apparently wasn't an early riser. He'd only been in Haven for a few weeks, since Rosa had met him in Redcliffe during her first brush with the rebel mages, and he already had quite the reputation as a haughty, spoiled brat with a witty tongue.

Tal made a bee line straight for Rosa, smiling politely at the others sitting with her, though it was obvious he'd come specifically for her. "Hey, _asamalin,"_ he greeted her in his usual way and then jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Dorian standing behind him a ways and looking slightly bored. "Cassandra sent me to find you and Dorian. And get you to the war room."

"Again?" Rosa asked, barely managing to bite back her groan. "I was just in there talking with them for _hours."_

Before Tal could reply, Dorian stepped forward a tad and said, "Yes, well, it seems they're in a bit of a hurry. As rude as it is, I have to agree. The sooner we stop Alexius, the better."

"You could still go with the Templars, Boss," Iron Bull put in.

Dorian scoffed, clearly offended. "I'm sorry," he said in a falsely cheery voice. "I see you only have one eye. Perhaps you missed the giant green hole in the sky, then, but let me assure you, it was caused by magic. It can only be stopped by magic. And, fortunately, we have countless mages relatively nearby with nothing better to do—assuming we first remove their new master, of course."

Iron Bull shrugged. "If you say so, mage."

Dorian sniffed. "I do, Qunari."

"All right," Rosa said, heaving a longsuffering sigh as she rose to her feet. "Tell them I'll be right there," she said to Tal.

"What's the delay?" he asked, hesitating. "Cassandra's really in a hurry."

"Can she wait long enough for me to go take a piss?" Rosa rejoined, smirking as Tal chuckled and nodded in the affirmative. Sera giggled and Dorian's eyes narrowed with amusement, though he didn't say anything.

"I think she'll make do," Tal said and turned to lead Dorian back out the door.

"Off to the latrines I go," Rosa said then, nodding in farewell to Varric, Iron Bull, and Sera. The room felt a little too warm and swam slightly as she made her way to the door, but the chilly mountain air outside quickly snapped her to attention. She huddled into herself, tucking her hands under her armpits for warmth as she walked toward her cabin. Haven did have a communal latrine and a small bathhouse a short jaunt down the road, but Rosa's own chamber pot inside her cabin was a lot closer than that.

As she rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs toward her cabin, a familiar voice tickled her ears. Glancing down the path toward the gates, Rosa saw Solas haggling with the vendor there. She hesitated, torn between continuing on her path, pretending she hadn't noticed him, or moving to chat with him. Seeing him pale and weak during their journey home had reminded her painfully of her own illness in the spring and, for the first time, she didn't feel the overwhelming bitterness and grief she usually experienced. Instead, she wondered what he would say if he knew and heard again his groggy, throaty voice as he called her _vhenan._

Her feet seemed to make the choice for her as she pivoted and changed direction. Sidestepping her way down the stairs, she strolled up to the vendor stall next to Solas and leaned over the wares. He lifted his head, cutting himself off mid-sentence from his haggling, and looked at her with an expression of surprise. Lips parted, he blurted her name a little too breathily, "Rosa…"

The vendor grunted and dipped his head. "Herald," he said. "Always a pleasure."

Rosa smiled at the vendor, as if what he'd said had been true when in actuality she'd only done business once or twice with this man. "Are you overcharging my Fade expert?" she asked in a teasing voice.

"No," the vendor spluttered. "I would never overcharge for my wares!" His eyes narrowed. "But this isn't a charity I'm running, either." His eyes flicked to Solas now. "Your _Fade expert_ is asking to walk away with some high-quality fabric for virtually nothing!"

Rosa took in the items on the table and saw that the vendor actually had a bit of a point. Solas was trying to acquire infused Vyrantium samite and had only offered about half of what it was worth. She hesitated a moment, wondering if maybe he didn't know the worth of this cloth, but Solas heaved a sigh a moment later and showed he _did_ know as he counted out a few more coins. "Will that suffice?" he asked.

The vendor nodded and snatched up the coins. "Samite's yours."

Solas took up the cloth and folded it neatly, then tucked it beneath one arm as he stepped back from the stall. Rosa moved with him, though she hadn't missed the way Solas almost sheepishly didn't make eye contact with her. Still, he didn't try to break away from her or excuse himself. They fell into a steady pace at one another's sides, two sets of bare feet crunching against the dirt and gravel beneath them.

"Thank you," Solas told her after a long moment of silence. "For your support regarding my real name. And…for saving my life, of course." He flashed her a small, almost shy smile.

She shrugged. "Don't mention it. I mean, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't let you die."

"You could have," Solas told her matter-of-factly. "But you chose to save me, and I understand you paid an unfortunate cost." He stopped then as they reached the foot of the stairs where the path led off to her cabin. His blue eyes were dark and somber. "_Ir abelas,_ for Mahanon's less than pleasant reaction."

She snorted, smirking with both annoyance and amusement. "You're apologizing to me for Han? Shouldn't I be apologizing?" She shook her head. "I blurted your name after Tal and I healed you. Han took note and turned you in first thing."

Solas' smile was warm with affection. "I far prefer explaining myself and why I had a second name to dying in the Fallow Mire. I do regret, however, that saving me caused you grief."

"Honestly," she said, averting her eyes and snarling down at the ground. "I'm about ready to kick Han's ass for this…for all of it."

Solas opened his mouth to reply and then seemed to think better of it. His blue eyes were heavy and opaque, difficult to read. Rosa edged slightly closer, ready to ask him if he remembered calling her _vhenan_, but she hesitated. Even with the mild inebriation of the wine dulling her senses and inhibitions, Rosa still found that caution bridled that traitorous desire and affection that still lurked inside her. It seemed so obvious that Solas still _felt_ something for her, but like her father, something held him back or drove him away…

It would be beyond foolish to let herself fall down this path again. Better to be with a man like Mahanon who she knew would be trustworthy and devoted, despite his faults. Solas was just too much like her father.

"Well," Solas said then, still smiling. "I have taken up more than enough of your time—but I am glad I had the chance to thank you properly."

"Well," Rosa countered, also smiling fondly. "You're welcome." Remembering her bladder, she motioned in the direction of her cabin. "I should really be going…"

"Of course," Solas said and, with a last dip of his head, he turned and began walking toward his own cabin, clear on the other side of Haven.

Rosa watched him go for a moment, allowing herself a second to admire his annoyingly attractive ass and the catlike grace of his walk. Her father had had a graceful gait as well, but of course Rosa had given that little thought. Lots of elves and more than a few humans possessed grace, though usually not in quantities like Solas and her father. Now she couldn't help but wonder if it was a side-effect of being raised in Elvhenan, a sort of extra spring in their step that came from having once been the sole rulers of Thedas, the dominant race at every corner of the known world.

_Pride. _

Rubbing her face with frustration at her own foolish interest in that dangerous man, Rosa turned round and hurried to her cabin to finally relieve herself. But when she opened the door, pausing only briefly in the foyer to scrape her bare feet along the floor to clean them, she immediately realized she wasn't alone. Staring through the foyer and into the bedroom, Rosa saw Mahanon standing in front of the small fireplace, his back to her.

Hearing her enter, Mahanon pivoted to face her. His body language was tense and stiff, but his smile still managed to be warm and genuine. "Rosa," he said. "Good to see you."

"Is it?" she retorted, frowning at him.

"Of course it is," Mahanon said, his voice soft and a touch chagrined.

"Sure," Rosa grumbled. "It's good to see me now that you're ready to forget what happened in the Mire, right? Like it never happened. Is that it?"

"No," Mahanon protested, shaking his head and with a stricken look crossing his face. "I'm sorry for the way I acted. Truly, I am. I…" He stared down at the floor and let out a quick breath, his shoulders sinking with it. "I've always been a little terrified of demons and spirits. One tried to tempt me when I was just a boy, you know."

"But you survived it," Rosa said, trying to sound supportive rather than dismissive, though if she were being honest with herself, she knew she was still a little too irritated with him to pull it off. "So don't feed me some line about how that one minor negative experience made you treat me like I'm some kind of…" She made a sort of flapping motion with her hands in frustration. "Abomination."

"I was frightened, Rosa," Mahanon said, a note of defensiveness now creeping into his voice. "I'm sorry."

She stared at him, trying to decide if she believed him. It wasn't that she suspected this was a lie—it was whether she believed he had _accepted_ her as she truly was or had instead decided to ignore and deny the parts of her he didn't like. For all his devotion to her prior to this point, Rosa saw only the rejection now and couldn't stop herself from thinking of Solas and how quickly he had accepted Rogathe. She pushed those thoughts away, knowing it was unfair to compare Mahanon and Solas in this aspect as their backgrounds were so vastly different. It wasn't as though Mahanon hadn't been _extremely_ good to her in accepting her..._unusual_ circumstances that spring. She didn't want to think about that though and shoved it down deep into the back of her mind. Even if she wasn't being entirely fair to him by forgetting it...considering it was just...

_Stop. Thinking. About. It. _

"Please," Mahanon said, taking a few steps closer to her. "How can I make it up to you?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, not immediately running out to the _shemlen_ and betraying Revas would have been a great start."

Now Mahanon scowled and looked away. "The _shemlen_ weren't going to hurt him, but they needed to know. He shouldn't be hiding things like that." He cast a sideways glance at Rosa through the corners of his eyes. "He's dangerous, Rosa. You should stay away from him."

"Dangerous?" Rosa repeated and let out a small, dry laugh. "Sure, whatever. He's dangerous. So am I. So are you. So is Cassandra." She flung both arms up to encompass all of Haven. "We're all dangerous people, Han! How many Avvar did we kill in the Mire again? I lost count."

"That's not what I meant," Mahanon retorted, irritably. "Anyone who keeps their name a secret like that has something to hide. Something big."

The way he scrutinized her, Rosa suddenly felt herself flush hot. _He thinks I know something more._ He was right to think that, of course, but she was quick to adopt her coy smile and to scoff dismissively. "Now you're just being paranoid." She laid a hand over her chest. "_I_ had a big secret to hide, but you don't see me wandering around with multiple names. Your theory doesn't hold up well."

"He could have told the humans when he first joined," Mahanon argued. "But he didn't."

Rosa shrugged. "So? I could go out right now and tell the humans about Rogathe, but I'd rather not wind up in a cell. He used the name the humans knew him by, that's all."

"And neglected to mention his true name," Mahanon pointed out, stubbornly sticking to his point.

"You know what the truth is, Han?" she said after rolling her eyes at him. "The truth is you hoped the humans would toss him out. Because the one he's truly dangerous to is _you."_ She stabbed a finger toward the door of the cabin. "Now, get out. I have to piss and then I have to go argue with the humans for the next six hours about recruiting the mages."

Mahanon's shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to accepting her dismissal. "All right," he said, "but I know there's something he's hiding—and you're helping him. Just like you helped hide his real name." He frowned at her as he stomped toward the door, pausing for an instant to say, "You still love him."

"Yeah," Rosa retorted angrily, "I love that stupid flat-ear like I love frostbite. Now, get out of my cabin, Han."

He sighed with an answering anger but obeyed, slamming the door behind him.

Alone, Rosa groaned to herself and scrubbed at her face with frustration. She was intensely grateful for the raven talisman now, keeping Rogathe asleep and dormant. Without it she was sure the spirit would have erupted with violent rage and demanded Mahanon fight her in a duel—or something equally foolish that wouldn't really solve the issue.

Thinking about the spirit made her quash her emotions and head into the bedroom to find her chamber pot. The sooner she finished relieving her bladder, the sooner she could set out to finish planning with the humans on how to ally with the rebel mages. And the sooner she allied with the mages, the sooner she'd be able to close the Breach.

Then, maybe, she could finally get Rogathe to leave her and focus on the Tevinter cultists who Solas said possessed his orb—which was the key to saving her hand, apparently.

_One step at a time,_ she thought, comforting herself. And the first step was that chamber pot for now.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

He swallowed, throat bobbing, and turned slightly to look at Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric a heartbeat before speaking in elven so only Rosa would understand him. _"Please, there is something you must do for me if your plan succeeds."_

Rosa hesitated a moment before nodding, aware of the others watching and listening. _"Of course, Solas."_

Solas' jaw clenched and he gripped the lacquered jawbone that hung at his neck. With a decisive jerk, he pulled it over his head and extended it out to her. _"Take this to me in your present," _he said, voice cracking. _"And tell me I was wrong. Tell me to let it go."_

Rosa reached out and accepted the jawbone, gingerly. She fingered the shape, pressing her index finger to the pointy canine tooth and considering it a moment. Her brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out his meaning. _I was wrong. Let it go._ What was _it?_

* * *


	11. In Hushed Whispers (Part 1): Birthright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa rides with the Inquisition to Redcliffe to deal with Alexius and his captive rebel mages. But when Alexius springs his trap, sending Rosa and Dorian a year into the future, Rosa makes a startling discovery about herself. And when she meets a dying Solas, he asks her for an unusual favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I am a bit unpredictable with uploads! I'm 6 weeks pregnant with my first child and obviously that has been a huge distraction!

It was gray and drizzling the day the Inquisition reached Redcliffe to meet with Magister Alexius. The journey had been uneventful, if a tad slow because so many left with them from Haven. Leliana and Cullen had supplied a small force of soldiers and agents who would sneak into Redcliffe castle while Rosa distracted Alexius—and hopefully did not wind up dead before her backup could arrive.

Solas had insisted on accompanying Rosa during the week it took everyone to prepare. Outwardly he claimed he wanted to see the time magic affecting Redcliffe as much as anything else, but he doubted his comments seemed genuine to Rosa. They both knew he had other motives and that some_thing_ still lay between them, despite their pretending to the contrary around one another and with everyone else. Still, Solas hadn't expected Rosa to actually agree to let him join her "negotiation" party into Redcliffe castle.

What was more surprising, however, was who she wanted to leave behind: Tal.

"You're not going, _isamalin,_" she told him, voice firm and hard. "And that's final."

"Who named you Inquisitor, again?" Tal shot back at her, frowning. "Oh, yeah, that's right: No one. You're not in charge here. Cassandra is."

Rosa glared at him. "I'm the _bait._ This plan doesn't work without me. So actually, right now, I _am_ in charge." With her hands on her hips, she struck a pose of authority and confidence, even if the slight hunch of her shoulders revealed her tension. Tal was lanky and defensive in contrast with his arms crossed over his chest.

They were just outside Redcliffe village, waiting for Rosa to say she was ready before they would head to the castle with a small party. Solas had been chosen before they left Haven as one of Rosa's companions, along with the Iron Bull and Varric. Tal, Mahanon, and Cassandra had made the journey to Redcliffe as backups and to further aid Leliana's scouts. Both Mahanon and Tal had bickered with her choices, however, and wanted to be included in her entourage. Rosa had steadfastly refused and Mahanon had seemed to accept her pronouncement by now.

But Tal was another story.

"I should be there with you," Tal insisted, brows furrowing with determination and stubbornness. "We're a team."

"It's too dangerous," Rosa said, dropping her volume slightly. They were standing off the road from the others, trying to settle the matter once and for all before the mission truly began.

"Then that's all the more reason I should be with you," Tal said.

Rosa leaned closer to him and said, "If I don't make it out of this, I want you to live."

Solas had seated himself on a large stone near the road and pretended to busy himself with looking over his staff, to ensure it was ready for battle. Iron Bull and Varric were chatting amiably together about spies and spy networks, while Cassandra and Dorian were working with the scouts to make sure everything was in place. Mahanon, meanwhile, had settled on the opposite side of the road from Solas and seemed absorbed with making arrows. Like Dorian and Cassandra, Mahanon would go with the scouts when the time came.

"I'm going," Tal told her, obstinate. "And that's final."

"You're _not,"_ Rosa repeated, reaching forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be safer, actually, if I don't have to worry about you while I'm chatting up Alexius, _da'isamalin."_

Tal scoffed, knocking her hand away. "Don't _da'isamalin_ me, Rosa." He turned away from her and stomped off, his staff thumping on his back as he passed Solas and Mahanon without looking at them.

Solas covertly watched as Rosa sighed and covered her face with her hands, taking the moment to recompose herself before she squared her shoulders and followed after Tal. Like her brother, she didn't glance at either Solas or Mahanon and instead addressed Iron Bull, Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, and the scouts. The drizzle made her skin pallid, her Dalish Keeper armor slick with the rain and her hair dripping. "All right," she called to them. "Is everyone ready?"

Cassandra walked away from Dorian and the scouts, her booted feet crunching on the gravel. "We're ready, Herald."

"Good," Rosa said, nodding. "Then let's get this over with."

Solas spied Tal scowling at his sister from where he now stood beside Dorian, sulking in the rain and with his arms still crossed defensively over his chest. The Tevinter nudged the young elf with his elbow and murmured something to him, a smug smirk over his lips. Tal's expression softened as he listened, transforming into amusement. Solas suspected they were flirting, but he quickly lost interest as he joined Iron Bull and Varric in following Rosa down the muddy road to Redcliffe.

The city was somber and ominous under the brooding gray ceiling of the clouds as they made their way through Redcliffe. The castle looked dreary and depressing, extra dark now that the stones were wet from the rain. The old wood of the drawbridge felt slimy, though oddly it wasn't slick.

They encountered no resistance or guards until they were inside. Solas was tense, his arms and legs feeling heavy with the anticipation that at any moment the Magister would spring his trap and attack them. But the Venatori and Tevinters standing guard inside merely watched them with mild fascination. There weren't all that many of them, a positive sign for their plan. Most of the Arl's men and women must have been evicted. It was a wise move on Alexius' part, as the Redcliffe natives were unlikely to be loyal. However, ditching the Arl's people meant he had a limited force of his own.

Rosa led them through the castle until they reached the main hall where, at long last, Venatori guards and a steward appeared to greet them. Solas eyed the Venatori agents and their bizarre choice of armor and clothing, comparing it with his memory of the first human cultures he'd ever met, back in Elvhenan. It was an interesting distraction from the tension as the steward confronted Rosa and tried to separate her from her companions.

"The Magister's invitation was for Mistress Lavellan alone," he said, eyes sliding over the group haughtily. "The rest will remain here."

Rosa snorted and shook her head. "You wouldn't turn them back out into the rain, would you?" She gestured with one hand at Iron Bull. "My Qunari doesn't even have a shirt on. Surely Alexius isn't that cruel."

The steward seemed uneasy as he scanned them again, hesitating. The guards in full Tevinter—or was it Venatori?—dress seemed unfazed. Finally, after a stare down, the steward nodded, giving way. He did not smile, however. Solas wondered if he was a native who'd been conscripted into this role or if he was a Venatori agent merely dressed like a Fereldener. Regardless, he yielded and turned to lead Rosa and her party up the stairs to meet with Alexius.

Solas noted that the Venatori guards moved after them, hands behind their backs and masks still firmly in place. They moved with casual confidence, as if this meeting wasn't actually a poorly disguised trap. As they walked further into the main hall, Solas noted more Venatori guards along the hall at regular intervals. This was where Alexius had staged most of his men, it seemed. The rest of the castle was virtually empty.

Alexius sat in a wooden chair—the Arl's throne, no doubt—in front of a large fire. Felix stood to the old Magister's right, his eyes tight at the corners as his gaze followed Rosa on her approach to the throne. Enormous, exaggerated carvings of what Solas guessed were dogs projected out on either side of the fire. Off to the far right, standing unobtrusively on the sidelines, Solas noticed Grand Enchanter Fiona.

"My lord Magister," the steward said then, announcing them. "The agents of the Inquisition have arrived."

Alexius rose from his throne and took a few steps toward Rosa without leaving his little elevated dais. "My friend," he said. "It's so good to see you again." With a little hesitation, he added, "And your associates, of course." His gesture took in Solas, Iron Bull, and Varric. "I'm sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties."

Quiet footsteps preceded Fiona's sudden interruption as she brushed past Iron Bull. "Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?" she demanded, a wrinkle in her nose the only sign of the anger she must feel. Solas guessed she had run from another part of the castle when she heard rumor that Rosa had at last arrived.

"Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives," Alexius said, politely dismissing any concerns or arguments Fiona had. Solas had heard that Alexius had indentured the mages, but the way he treated them…it was all but slavery in name. The idea of it made Solas' blood flush hot.

"Yes," Rosa said under her breath wearing a dry smirk. "Because you simply ooze trust." Iron Bull and Varric both restrained their chuckling at her sarcastic comment, but Solas clenched his jaw, determined to give nothing away.

Alexius looked at her, brow furrowing slightly. "Pardon me?" he asked.

Rosa's smirk became a polite smile as she smoothly lied. "I was saying that if the Grand Enchanter wishes to be a part of these discussions, then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition."

Now Solas smiled with approval. Rosa had outplayed the Magister there. If Alexius wanted to exclude Fiona, he could do so. But Rosa had extended an invitation out to Fiona, giving the Grand Enchanter a way around Alexius' dismissal.

Fiona nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you."

Alexius apparently decided not to further antagonize either Rosa or Fiona and turned round to walk back to his throne without further comment. Felix watched his father a moment before his gaze flicked back to Rosa and the others. Solas admired the young man for his bravery in defying his father, but he tried not to let his attention linger on the youth for fear he'd give away the game.

He felt the edges of his tunic, trying not to fidget as Alexius sat down and began the "negotiation" proper. "The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?"

It was difficult to pay full attention to Alexius now that the ruse seemed to be stretching so thin. How much longer would the Magister pretend he actually intended to help? Solas' clothing was damp from the rain outside, but the chill as it began to dry had passed into a clammy sweat of tension. Any moment now the trap must spring…

Rosa must have grown tired of the ruse as well, because when Alexius had finished speaking, she said, "Well, I make a _fantastic_ flatbread and I'm sure I could even get you a little halla butter to spread on it." When Alexius frowned at her, Rosa quickly added, "And if Dalish food isn't to your liking, I could sing you a little song, perhaps?"

Before Alexius or anyone could react to Rosa's comments, Felix turned and blurted, "She knows everything, father."

"Felix," Alexius said, a warning note in his voice. "What have you done?"

"He's done the right thing," Rosa interjected with an appreciative nod toward Felix. "He knows you're involved in something terrible and he's trying to stop it."

"So says the thief," Alexius rejoined, irritation now coloring his tone. "You think you can turn my son against me?" He glanced toward Feliz as he spoke this, as if to reassure himself that Felix couldn't possibly have already exposed him. When Felix didn't move or speak immediately, Alexius rose out of his throne again and walked toward Rosa and the end of the dais. "You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark—a gift you don't even understand—and think you're in control?"

"Actually," Varric piped up. "I think this is supposed to be Arl Teagan's stronghold."

Iron Bull smirked at the dwarf, but Rosa didn't react. Solas, for his part, continued to remain motionless, keeping his hands as still as possible. Inwardly, however, he prodded his mana core repeatedly, imagining the first spell he would use when the fighting started: a barrier for Rosa and their other companions.

"You're nothing but a mistake," Alexius taunted from atop his dais.

"Oh really?" Rosa said, cocking her head to one side. "Tell me more, oh great Magister." She lifted her left hand and wiggled the fingers. "Tell me about this mark."

"It belongs to your betters." Alexius shifted on the dais, as if uncomfortable. He probably was, actually. This was not, most likely, how he'd wanted the trap to spring. Had he actually intended to negotiate a mock deal and then have Rosa and her companions stay the night so he could slaughter them in their sleep? Or maybe stab them in the back as they left the great hall?

"You wouldn't even begin to understand its purpose," Alexius went on, earning a disdainful snort from Rosa. Solas managed to remain motionless, as if he didn't know _exactly_ the purpose of his own orb and the Anchor. As if he hadn't indirectly caused all this…

"Father," Felix interrupted. "Listen to yourself." He stepped forward, likely ready to plead with Alexius. "Do you know what you sound like?"

The answer came from behind the group in a rustle of silken clothes as Dorian walked out from beneath the pillars lining the hall. "He sounds like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be," the altus quipped.

Alexius' eyes narrowed with dislike and recognition. "Dorian."

Solas shifted his weight from one foot to the other as Dorian strode by him, moving closer to Rosa and the dais. The altus' arrival meant that Leliana's scouts and the rest of their backup had to be in place now. He probed his mana again, testing it as his stomach clenched with anticipation.

"I gave you a chance to be a part of this," Alexius said to Dorian. "You turned me down."

From somewhere behind him, Solas sensed familiar magic—an old spell from Elvhenan that made his skin tingle. He resisted the desire to turn round, knowing that would give away the trap, but he saw Rosa's head jerk slightly as she sensed it too. That had to be Tal, drawing close and using the invisibility spell the siblings had learned from Felassan.

"The Elder One has power you would not believe," Alexius went on; seguing into a sales pitch for Corypheus, as if he still hoped to recruit Dorian. "He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes."

Now Rosa seemed to straighten, taking new interest. "That's who you serve? The one who blew up the Conclave?"

"Soon he will become a god," Alexius said, not truly answering Rosa's question. It was all Solas could do not to frown or reveal his own disgust at Corypheus' divine aspirations. Why was it that everything he became part of revolved around false gods? Alexius yammered on about how his "Elder One" would elevate mages once more and Fiona, having been stoically silent until now, reacted with horror.

"You can't involve my people in this!"

Behind him, Solas heard the soft grunts and scuff of discreet struggling and pinched his lips together to keep from glancing back or revealing anything. The sense of magic continued behind him as well, meaning Tal was close by.

"Alexius," Dorian said, stepping even closer. "This is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen." The note of pleading in Dorian's voice was slight but unmistakable. "Why would you support this?"

"Stop this, father," Felix added as Alexius turned away from everyone and stared at the fire. "Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach and let's go home."

Alexius whipped around to regard his son, an expression of anguish twisting his features. "No," he said. "It's the only way, Felix. He can save you."

"Save me?" Felix asked.

"There _is_ a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the temple…" He almost sounded as though he was trying to convince himself that his path was still correct. Solas relaxed slightly, wondering if Alexius might decide to do the right thing after all…

"I'm going to die," Felix said, fearless and blank. "You need to accept that."

The words fell on deaf ears as Alexius pointed at Rosa and her party. "Seize them, Venatori. The Elder One demands this woman's life."

As if those words had been the cue everyone hidden behind them was waiting for, the Inquisition agents struck with abandon. Solas allowed himself to glance over his shoulder in time to see a Venatori agent collapse with a sword through his chest, blood splattering from the fatal wound. Cassandra stood behind him, a battle-hardened snarl over her face. The steward flinched at the sight of the blood and death taking place all around the room. His body language suggested he was ready to run for the hills.

The Venatori agent closest to them on the right side fell to the floor, clutching at his neck as blood gushed from a slice that seemed to have opened spontaneously. But, an instant later, the air in front of the man shimmered and Tal appeared, holding a small knife stained with the Venatori agent's blood. Rosa had turned to look at the carnage unfolding behind them and Solas saw her catch her brother's eye, smiling at him. The youth nodded back and then stepped forward to be closer.

Further down the length of the hall, Solas saw Mahanon with the other Inquisition scouts. His own dagger had a respectable amount of blood on the blade and a dead Venatori lay at his feet.

"Your men are dead, Alexius," Rosa said, edging closer.

"You are a mistake," Alexius repeated, glaring at her. Lifting one hand, he exposed a squarish talisman that began to glow greenish in color. Solas felt his skin prickle with the Magister's growing mana expenditure and his heart began to pound. _This_ magic was entirely unfamiliar to him…and _that_ was quite an achievement considering his vast age.

"You should never have existed," Alexius snarled as the magic continued to build.

Solas grabbed his staff, reaching inside himself for mana to cast a barrier and a powerful dispel—but Dorian reacted faster. The Tevinter flung a wild bit of green spirit magic out as raw force. It was blunted, shaped to disrupt Alexius' spell and disorient the Magister rather than actually harm him. Alexius stumbled at the impact of it and the talisman flew out and upward through the air…

With a _whump-pop_ a greenish ball of light and something that could almost have been Fade ether appeared in the space where Rosa and Dorian had stood. It rippled and spun like a whirlpool, dazzling and beautiful—and deadly. Despite thousands of years of experience, Solas had never seen its like before. He found himself equally parts horrified and fascinated as he stared, dumbfounded.

And then, suddenly, the spell failed and vanished with a flicker. In the aftermath, horror replaced any intellectual curiosity as Solas realized both Rosa and Dorian had vanished. There was a scorch mark on the floor and maybe a bit of dust but there was no trace of either mage.

His stomach twisted and fell through the floor. His body went icy cold with dread. _No, no, no…_

"Rosa!" Tal screamed, his sister's name shrill with emotion. He had drawn his staff and was the first to recover, rushing toward Alexius. He flung fireballs at the Magister as he ran, pushing past the stunned Cassandra, Iron Bull, Varric, and Solas. The fireballs would have hit Alexius, who was still stunned from Dorian's counter spell, but instead they impacted a barrier, making it shimmer with blue energy.

"Please," Felix shouted and all eyes flew to him—especially Tal's—as they realized who had cast the barrier that saved Alexius from Tal's onslaught. "Don't—"

Whatever Felix had been about to say they'd never know as an arrow thwacked into his shoulder. Felix stumbled backward into the wooden dog statues, clutching at the shaft protruding from his shoulder.

The sight of his son being attacked finally drew the Magister out of his stupor. He shouted Felix's name and tossed a barrier up over himself and his son before turning to face what was left of Rosa's entourage. _"You_," he spat—his gaze was focused not on Tal, but beyond him. Solas dimly realized the arrow that struck Felix had been from Mahanon.

The doors behind them in the main hall burst open then and more Venatori ran in, wielding blades and staves. From the dais, protected by his barrier, Alexius shouted, "Kill the archer! Kill the intruders!"

Chaos erupted as the Venatori clashed with the Inquisition scouts. Mahanon fought beside the scouts, but a Venatori agent with a sword rushed in before the archer could dodge or switch from his bow to his dagger. The Venatori's blade slashed him across the back as he dropped and rolled away—leaving a trail of blood.

Iron Bull shouted in Qunlat and charged into the fray. Varric moved after him, lifting his crossbow and loading the first bolt. Cassandra was slower to react, staring at the scorch mark where Dorian and Rosa had stood. Tears glistened in her eyes. Solas noticed her reaction and everyone else's with a detached, cold horror of his own that kept him rooted to the spot near the Seeker.

"What did you do to her?" Tal shrieked, sending fireball after fireball at Alexius' barrier. "Tell me, you piece of shit! What did you do?!"

_It wasn't him,_ Solas thought, but couldn't have spoken it if he wanted to. His throat had closed up, his breath wheezing. _It was me. I destroyed this world, just as my actions destroyed Elvhenan. Rosa was the only one who could stop what is coming, and I couldn't save her. _

Now the world would descend into madness and torture for both physical beings and spirits as the Veil slowly fell apart enough to unleash the Evanuris. Before then Corypheus would conquer Thedas, sowing destruction and death and terror. The Blight would spread with him in red lyrium, like fertilizer for the coming disaster of the Evanuris, who would emerge from their long, torturous sleep and use the Blight as a weapon. They would war against Corypheus and, inevitably, defeat him. Then they would rule Thedas again: immortal, immoral, and invulnerable. And, without Mythal, they had no conscience, no mediating influence…

The Inquisition scouts had all fallen to the Venatori by the time Solas wrenched himself from staring at the scorch marks on the floor. Alexius called on them to surrender from the safety behind his barrier. He stood beside Felix, probably itching to begin healing his son, but unable to expend the mana while Tal continued to lob seemingly endless fireballs at him. For his part, Felix appeared weak and gray as he clutched at his shoulder.

"Surrender, Inquisition," Alexius shouted at them. "Surrender and I will spare your lives."

What point was there to living on when all hope had died with Rosa? Surrounded, outnumbered, and demoralized, a dazed Cassandra surrendered. Solas found himself being restrained as well and had no motivation to stop it. He watched as Iron Bull and Mahanon were both slain, refusing to surrender, while Varric was knocked unconscious.

Somewhere, however, amidst the confusion, Tal summoned the invisibility spell and slipped away. Tal's escape offered some thin hope, but ultimately Solas knew no one could escape what was coming. That was why he hadn't tried. When he dreamt that night and many nights after, Solas communed with Tal and pleaded with the young elf to stay far, far away. And, through Tal, he heard of the horrors that passed outside his cell in Redcliffe castle. That is, until Tal vanished from his dreams and Solas assumed the young elf had been killed. By the time his captors fed him red lyrium to study its effects on elves—and to better serve Alexis' unending quest to cure Blight—he'd begun to look forward to death.

In fact, he often thought it couldn't come soon enough once the red lyrium started whispering in his head with Dirthamen's voice. It grew so loud eventually that he could no longer sleep deep enough to enter the Fade. He knew what would be waiting for him if he did manage to dream, however. The Veil was virtually gone and the Evanuris were awakening, their minds able to wander the Fade now. If they found him they would easily be able to kill him from the Fade. It would be a merciful death, far more than he deserved for killing not one but _two_ worlds.

Not to mention Felassan and Rosa.

When the whispers quieted on occasion long enough for him to think, Solas would hold his head in his hands and weep, wishing he could change his own past. Time and time again he went over what he would have done differently. He would have stopped himself from putting up the Veil. He would have found a way to save Mythal. He would have spared Felassan. He would have kept his orb close to him and never let Corypheus have it.

But most of all, he realized he would have chosen to stay with Rosa last winter. He would have given up Fen'Harel and chosen to embrace some measure of happiness with her. It was a fool's dream he had aspired to, trying to return Thedas to the way it was. Why hadn't he been able to see that? Arrogance and pride had blinded him. That day in the Hasmal Circle when he'd chosen a new name—Revas for freedom—he _should_ have left _Solas_ behind. If he had, none of this would have happened. He would be living somewhere in peace with Rosa, coming to terms with his new life as a mortal.

Even in his red lyrium stupor, Solas knew it was a pipedream. He knew himself too well to truly believe it, but it was pleasant and so he clung to it the way a drowning man would cling to a raft. It was the only thing he had.

…Until Rosa showed up outside his cell.

* * *

After splashing down into some cold, slimy water, Rosa stood upright and grimaced with disgust. She shook off her hands fastidiously. "Yuck!"

Beside her Dorian fell with a splash and the greenish light of the…whatever it was…winked out. She shook her head, recoiling from the splashes as Dorian landed and simultaneously swaying with vertigo. This…felt like a dream. But not. Her magic swelled in her core, boundless and energetic. Something tingled at the edges of her senses and her blood seemed to burn with…_pleasure. _She had to clench her jaw to keep from laughing. Her body shivered involuntarily with delight.

From the doorway she heard booted feet splashing and turned to see two Venatori with swords staring at her and the Tevinter. One of them called out, "Blood of the Elder One!"

"What in the great Beyond…?" Rosa asked even as she snatched her staff and hurled Fade stone at the closest of the Venatori. The mana used to create the stone was barely enough for her to feel, making her blink with bafflement. Normally this spell was a bit heftier than that at full strength. Had she miscalculated?

But the Venatori she'd lobbed the stone at fell with a hard splash into the filthy water. He didn't rise again. A red haze lingered in the air and Rosa realized dimly she'd cracked his skull. That wasn't all that unusual for this spell when she aimed correctly, but the Venatori had been wearing a serious helmet and she'd barely registered the mana use…

She grimaced, feeling dizzy again, euphoric. Everyhting here seemed both dreamlike and nightmarish at once. The red crystals growing from the walls—red lyrium, like what had been under the Temple of Sacred Ashes after the explosion—crackled and hissed as the water splashed them. Water dribbled in a constant stream that reminded her she had to piss. And why _the fuck_ did she feel as though she'd just had an earth-shattering orgasm?

Dorian at her side seemed unaffected as he hurled fire at the other Venatori. Focusing past the strangeness within and without, Rosa aided him with barriers and then spun her staff to summon chain lightning. It crackled, flickering as it lit up the room and danced along the water, arcing between the floor, the water, and the last Venatori. The man shrieked and then collapsed, dying. As relative silence descended, Rosa and Dorian caught their breath and waited for more sounds of attackers. None came.

Finally Dorian dropped his battle ready pose and began walking about the cell, his feet sloshing in the water. "Displacement," he said, his clear, precise voice ringing with curiosity. "Interesting. It's probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us...to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?" He walked over to the base of one of the crystals and knelt, examining the stone beneath it.

He sounded as though he was thinking aloud mostly, but Rosa followed him and added her own input. "The last thing I remember we were in the castle hall."

Dorian stood once more, apparently finding nothing of note around the stone or in the water. "Let's see," he mused. "If we're still in the castle it isn't…Oh! Of course. It's not simply where, it's _when._ Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time."

"Why do you sound so happy about that?" Rosa blurted, shaking her head as her hands curled into fists. She thought of her brother, Solas, Mahanon, and all the others still in the throne room. Were they all dead now and she'd been unable to help them? She sucked in a deep breath, frowning at the sour stink of the dank cell and the odd pleasure still dancing through her blood. "Do you think we went forward in time or back? And how far?"

"Excellent questions," Dorian told her, like a parent patting his child on the head. It irritated Rosa, but simultaneously she couldn't bring herself to be truly angry with him as it was obvious he wasn't trying to patronize her but to explain. He _had_ said he was familiar with this sort of magic and had worked with Alexius on it in Tevinter. "We'll have to find out, won't we?" Dorian went on, sobering now. "Let's look around, see where the rift took us—then we can figure out how to get back…if we can."

"The others in the hall," Rosa said, wringing her hands together. "Could they have been drawn through the rift?"

"I doubt it was large enough to bring the whole room through," Dorian said. "Alexius wouldn't risk catching himself or Felix in it. They're probably still where and when we left them." He shrugged. "In some sense, anyway."

Rosa nodded, agreeing with that logic and then decided she had to ask him about…whatever she'd been feeling since the rift spat them out. "Are you…feeling all right?"

"Well enough, considering," Dorian told her, motioning to the flooded space around them and the crackling crystals, radiating heat. "Are you injured?" he asked, eyes roving over her.

"No," Rosa said, shaking her head only to stop the motion and try to resettle her core, bubbling and heaving inside her. "Just…"

"Don't worry," Dorian said, "I'll protect you."

She shot him dry look before deciding that whatever she was feeling must be unique to herself. It'd been a mistake trying to explain it to this Tevinter. "Well," she said, sighing. "Let's get moving." _Please,_ she prayed, though she didn't know to whom or what. _Let us find a way to get back…_

She and Dorian set off through the dungeons, finding flooded rooms and cells infested with red lyrium. The air stank of decay, putrid and rank, making Rosa swallow bile constantly. She adjusted to the strange bliss in her blood and her mana core settled as the minutes passed, giving her some semblance of normalcy again. But if she concentrated, Rosa could still feel that weird pleasure.

Water dribbled and sloshed around their feet before they finally ascended into a different area of the dungeon. The area seemed abandoned, with most of the cells they passed empty except for corpses and red lyrium. Every half-decomposed body they passed filled Rosa with a cold dread as she worried she'd recognize it. And each time she felt confident the body didn't belong to someone she'd known, Rosa breathed a little sigh of relief.

Eventually they found a cell overrun with red lyrium—and an elven woman trapped inside some of the crystals. It took a few moments as Rosa and Dorian drew closer to the poor woman to recognize her as none other than Grand Enchanter Fiona. The Grand Enchanter, however, recognized them immediately. Through the ominous red glow around her and _in_ her, Fiona struggled to speak. "You're alive? How? I saw you disappear into the rift."

"Is that red lyrium growing from your body?" Rosa blurted, something in her chest tightening with sympathy for the other woman. This was a _terrible_ fate. She had respected Varric's hatred for red lyrium previously, but actually _seeing_ what it could do…

"The longer you're near it…eventually you become this," Fiona told her, the words breathy as she struggled to give them voice. "Then they mine your corpse for more."

"Can you tell us the date," Dorian pressed. "It's very important."

When Fiona replied, the world seemed to spin about Rosa. She closed her eyes and turned away from the Grand Enchanter, ashamed that she hadn't been able to stop this. "We have to get out of here," she said, trying not to let her voice quake on the words. "We have to go back in time and stop this."

"Yes," Fiona agreed. "Please. Stop this from happening." She took in a shaky breath resting her head against her arm and the stone wall in front of her. "Alexius serves the Elder One, more powerful than the Maker. No one challenges him and lives."

"We'll see about that," Rosa snarled, hands clenching into fists. She took a step closer to the cell, forcing herself not to wince when she felt the heat thrown from the crystals. "I promise you, Fiona, if I get back I will stop all this from happening and I will save your people."

A weak smile played over Fiona's lips. "Good," she said and then added a last tip to help them: "Your spymaster, Leliana, she is here. Find her. Quickly. Before the Elder One learns you're here. "

"We will," Rosa promised her. Backing away from the cell, leaving the woman to her awful fate…it felt cruel and cowardly, even if she knew it was the only thing she could do. Fiona couldn't escape from the crystals, couldn't walk or run or fight. The only greater mercy would have been to kill Fiona. Rosa touched her mana core, finding it swollen to several times what she was accustomed to with a start. _What is happening to me? _It was as if she'd consumed some sort of raw, potent lyrium.

As she followed Dorian out of that wing of the dungeon, she pushed thoughts of Fiona away. They didn't have time right now. Maybe later she could return to the trapped Grand Enchanter and ask her if she wanted a swift death—but for now she had to focus on escaping this nightmare.

They entered another wing of the dungeon, also partly flooded and in disarray with debris and mold and filth everywhere. Rosa's heart ached as she recognized another woman's voice, echoing unnaturally in the dank space. "The light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next," Cassandra was saying, reciting part of the Chant. "For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water."

Rounding the corner, Rosa saw the Seeker sitting in her cell, slumped and tired. She still wore her armor and hadn't begun to grow red lyrium the way the Grand Enchanter had, but a grim red glow enveloped her. When she lifted her head a moment later, responding to the noise of Rosa's feet whisking over the stone, the red gleam in her pupils made Rosa feel nauseous with pity.

"You've returned to us," Cassandra said, breathily. "Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?" Rosa hurriedly used the prison key she'd picked up from the guards they killed earlier to open the door even before Cassandra had finished speaking. The Seeker didn't rise right away, however. Instead, an aggrieved expression spread over her face. "Maker forgive me. I failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life."

Rosa stayed outside the Seeker's cell, knowing that she shouldn't get too close to the other woman even though she wanted to hug her, console her in some way. "It's all right, Cassandra," she said and the words felt so hollow, so inadequate. She frowned, frustrated, and tried to speak around the growing lump in her throat. "I wasn't dead. I didn't die. I was—" She glanced to Dorian and started over. "This is hard to explain, but we were—"

"I was there," Cassandra interrupted her, still not having risen or made a move to escape her cell yet, despite the door being wide open. "The Magister obliterated you with a gesture."

Dorian was better at explaining it. "Alexius sent us forward in time. If we find him and the amulet he used, we may be able to return to the present."

"Go back in time?" Cassandra asked as she got up at last, apparently trusting that Rosa and Dorian weren't ghosts or demons or some sign of the end times after all. She strode forward and, despite the ominous red glow about her, Rosa felt a little of the painful knot in her throat loosen at the sight. Despite her infection with red lyrium, she seemed able bodied and fairly sound of mind. "Then…can you make it so that none of this ever took place?"

"Yes," Rosa told her, firmly. "And I'm going to make Alexius pay for all this."

"Alexius has a master," Cassandra said and began to explain what had transpired in the year Rosa and Dorian had missed. Empress Celene of Orlais had been murdered, which threw that empire into chaos. Then an army of demons had followed. The Inquisition had crumbled under such a force.

When the Seeker had finished, Rosa forced herself to ask the question burning in the forefront of her mind, though her throat tried to close up on her. "Cassandra…did anyone else survive the day you thought I died?" Her breath hitched a little. "Anyone at all?"

Cassandra's brow furrowed and her lips twisted downward. "Iron Bull was killed." She dropped her red eyes to the floor. "As was your companion, Mahanon."

Rosa felt her heart leap into her throat along with bile. She swallowed, hard. _None of this will happen,_ she reminded herself, hoping it would blunt the news she dreaded most of all.

"Your brother escaped," Cassandra told her, but her features didn't indicate this was a good thing. "I don't know what became of him." She let out a little breath. "Varric and…_Solas_ were both captured as I was." She shook her head regretfully. "I have not seen them in some time. I do not know if they're still alive."

"Thank you," Rosa told her, smiling wanly. _Tal is alive._ He had to be. She didn't let herself think much about Mahanon's death and Solas' most likely infection with red lyrium—another death sentence. "We should get moving."

"Maker guide you," Cassandra said as something like relief swept over her face. "Maker guide us all."

"My thoughts exactly," Dorian quipped. "Let's hope He guides us right out of this nightmare and back to our time."

They found Cassandra's sword and shield in a moldy bag beside her cell. The Seeker equipped them with all the professionalism of long experience, despite the glow of red lyrium and the waves of heat flowing off her body. Her skin looked damp with perspiration, gray with a sickly pallor. It must be a terrible fever, cooking her from within and yet not felling her the way a true illness would. _What in the great Beyond is red lyrium?_ She wondered and shuddered.

They left the wing where they'd found Cassandra and searched the other areas for additional cells, hoping to come across more able-bodied prisoners. They found Varric in a wing of the dungeon without any flooding, though there was plenty of straw and other garbage strewn about. The dwarf sat in his barren cell, much as Cassandra had, and looked up at them with eyes glowing crimson with red lyrium infection, the same as Cassandra and Fiona. That didn't bode well for any other survivors, Rosa thought with a twist of dread in her guts.

Something solemn crossed Varric's face as he shook his head. "Andraste's sacred nickers. You're alive."

Cassandra, lagging a little behind Rosa and Dorian, apparently still had the wherewithal to scowl at the dwarf's blaspheming curse.

As Rosa unlocked and opened Varric's cell the dwarf shot to his feet and spoke almost enthusiastically. "Where were you? How did you escape?"

"We didn't escape," Dorian explained yet again. "Alexius sent us into the future."

"Everything that happens to you is weird," Varric said, sounding almost normal as he looked at Rosa. If not for the haze of red and the crimson glow in his pupils…

Rosa couldn't help but smirk at his comment. "You might be right about that."

"I'm always right," Varric said, shrugging. "And when I'm not, I lie about it."

"You were certainly right about red lyrium," Rosa said, mournfully.

"Yeah," Varric said with a sigh. "Unfortunately. But, what did you come here for? It wasn't just to trade quips with me, was it?"

Once again Dorian explained their plan to return to the past and change this future. Rosa added, "Will you help us?"

"You want to take on Alexius?" he asked with a nod to Rosa. "Count me in, Violet. I can die happy if I take that bastard Alexius down."

Once more they found that Varric's belongings hadn't been dismantled or sold, but lay propped up in a corner near the door outside his cell. Varric reclaimed Bianca with gusto, though he cursed when he saw that some of the bolts had begun to rust and no one had cleaned or oiled the crossbow.

They waited a few minutes as he quickly brought the crossbow back into working order again and fired the rustiest bolt at the far wall of his cell as a test. After the crossbow _clacked_ and reset itself, leaving the bolt embedded in the stone, Varric grunted with satisfaction. "Good enough for me. Let's go."

In yet another wing of the dungeon, this one flooded but otherwise relatively clean, they found Solas pacing slowly about his small cell, the same crimson glow emanating from him. When he heard their footsteps sloshing in the water outside his cell he called out, "Who's there?"

Rosa let Dorian take the lead slightly, bracing herself for the inevitable grimness of seeing the man she had once loved—and, on some level she didn't want to think about, still loved—dying of red lyrium infection. Yet she couldn't manage to stop herself from flinching as he turned round and recognized her, jerking back with shock. "Rosa," he breathed her name. "You're alive…?" He shook his head, seeming to wince with pain. "We saw you die."

"The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time," Dorian explained yet again as Rosa hurried forward to unlock and open the cell. "We just got here, so to speak."

After glancing briefly at Dorian, Solas' red-eyed gaze remained on Rosa, his features twisting with anguish and something like….remorse. "You intend to reverse the process and obviate the events of the last year."

Despite how ill he appeared—the red haze seemed somehow worse around him than it had on Cassandra and Varric—Rosa smiled a little. "You catch on quick."

Oddly, her compliment only made his shoulders slump and his expression warp with a new, unmistakable emotion: grief. "Not regarding what matters most." He swallowed, throat bobbing, and turned slightly to look at Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric a heartbeat before speaking in elven so only Rosa would understand him. _"Please, there is something you must do for me if your plan succeeds."_

Rosa hesitated a moment before nodding, aware of the others watching and listening. _"Of course, Solas."_

Solas' jaw clenched and he gripped the lacquered jawbone that hung at his neck. With a decisive jerk, he pulled it over his head and extended it out to her. _"Take this to me in your present," _he said, voice cracking. _"And tell me I was wrong. Tell me to let it go."_

Rosa reached out and accepted the jawbone, gingerly. She fingered the shape, pressing her index finger to the pointy canine tooth and considering it a moment. Her brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out his meaning. _I was wrong. Let it go._ What was _it?_

"We should be going," Dorian reminded her. "Before this Elder One we've heard so much about decides to pay us a visit."

"Yes," Solas said, shooting the other mage a look of something akin to relief. "We must hurry. This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass."

Rosa tucked the jawbone into one of the small satchels about her waist and cinched it shut. If she could catch a moment of peace and relative privacy with Solas she knew she had to question him further. And if there never was a moment with _this_ Solas, Rosa promised herself she would get the full story from the Solas of the past.

_This is why he abandoned me,_ she thought. She tried to quash the queasy feeling tightening her stomach and pressurizing her chest, drawing in several deep, calming breaths as the rest of their party began searching the dungeon for Solas' staff and armor. While they equipped Solas once more, Rosa stared into his now empty cell, wondering what tortures he'd endured. There were some red-brown marks along the walls and on the floor. Old blood?

She shuddered as sympathy and impotent rage coursed through her. Solas, Cassandra, Varric, Fiona, and Leliana had apparently spent a year in this dungeon while she was away. There was nothing she could've done differently to help them, and yet guilt still pressed her. It was difficult to meet her friends' stares as they at last finished searching this area of the dungeons and headed upward now, through the keep.

As they entered an open space, walking over a grate extending over a belowground cavern, metal clanked and ground as the drawbridge that had been raised previously now lowered. Venatori on the opposite side waited, both warriors and mages. The warriors charged forward, heaving their blades high. The mages tossed up barriers over themselves and their warrior brethren, then prepared offensive spells.

Dorian had been leading the way and now halted to fight, tossing barriers up over Rosa, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas with a wave of his hand. Gritting her teeth, Rosa surged around the Tevinter and into the middle of the grating to take out some of her rage on the warriors. She passed through the nearest one with a short, precise Fade-step, freezing him solid. Stopping on the lip of the grating, she whipped around to face the second warrior and, shouting, punched downward to unleash a Veilstrike.

The Venatori warrior smashed hard into the grating and the frozen man shattered. Rosa had expected to shatter one enemy and flatten the other—but what she hadn't anticipated was that her Veilstrike would prove extraordinarily lethal to the second warrior. He slammed into the ground so hard that blood sprayed from the holes in his helmet and Rosa heard the wet crunch of bones fracturing.

"Maker," Cassandra gasped, coming up short to avoid tripping on the suddenly very dead warrior she'd been trying to flank. Her eyes, crimson with red lyrium, glowed out at Rosa with shock.

The Venatori mages had continued fending off long range attacks from Dorian, Varric, and Solas, but seeing their fallen comrades and just _who_ had felled them, both men switched targets. One lobbed fireballs at Rosa while the other sent chain lighting arcing her way. Rosa erected a barrier over herself and Cassandra, protecting against both the lightning and the fire easily. The spells broke over their barriers with a ripple of blue, but the barriers didn't weaken or dissipate the way Rosa expected. They were much stronger than she'd anticipated.

"My turn," she shouted at the mages and then spun her staff, summoning winter's grasp for one. Winter magic was her least favorite school, and therefore weakest. That hardly seemed to matter as one Venatori mage froze solid and then shattered spontaneously, spraying his partner with chunks of reddish ice. Rosa's winter grasp was usually not enough to break through a strong barrier with anything more than frosted skin. Now it had cut straight through this mage's barrier and then still managed to freeze him solid. On top of it, these were _mages from Tevinter._ Countering and fighting with magic were their specialties above all else. It shouldn't have been this easy to kill them with her own magic.

Rosa gawked, her heart pounding with both triumph and surprise. The joyful tingle, the song, still throbbed inside her.

"Way to go, Violet!" Varric praised as his crossbow clacked, impacting the last mage's barrier but failing to break it.

The Venatori's motions seemed panicked as he pressed back into the open doorway behind him and cast three ice mines along the gangway to block their approach. Dorian scrambled closer, ready to disarm the mines and shouting: "He's going to raise the drawbridge!"

"Stop him, Rosa!" Solas yelled to her, jogging around Dorian.

"What do you expect me to do? Fly?" she shot back, frustrated as she saw that Dorian had been right. The gangway groaned and the chains rattled as they began to retract. Dorian had disarmed one of the mines with a dispelling, but the other two remained active, blocking her path.

Solas replied by shouting in elven: _"You are a Dreamer!"_ He sounded exasperated, desperate. _"Shape the Fade!"_

_The Fade…? _The joyful song, the euphoria, the vertigo, and her ridiculously overpowered magic…this did feel like a nightmare. Like the Fade, dreamlike and surreal, but it was definitely reality, too. Yet, somehow, there was something just at the edges of her senses, as if her fingers had brushed over a weapon as she floundered in the dark. She had only to _grab_ it and…

Rosa extended her hand, reaching with those inner senses. Something clicked in her head, the same way it did in dreams when she willed the Fade to change. Her eyes narrowed on the gangway as it lifted higher, now out of reach from their group. Mana bubbled inside her, connecting with _something. _Clenching her fist, Rosa jerked downward and commanded it the way she would her magic. _Fall, return to your lowered position and stay that way. Allow us to pass. _

The gangway froze and then began to drop once more.

"Andraste's ass!" Varric exclaimed in shock.

Even Dorian had stopped to stare with surprise now that the last ice mine had been disarmed. _"Vishante kaffas!"_ He looked to Rosa. "How did you _do_ that?"

"Herald of Andraste," Rosa quipped, quickly raising her marked left hand as a reminder. "Now, let's move."

She let Dorian and Cassandra rush ahead over the gangway. Both walked over it with a little trepidation, as if they expected it to disappear underfoot. If this had been a dream, Rosa knew she could have done exactly that with but a thought. But this wasn't a dream, and yet she'd managed to alter reality and bend it to her will the same way she did with magic. As Varric darted by her, nodding his appreciation, Rosa turned and looked to Solas, brow furrowed. _"What was that?"_ she asked in elven.

"Your birthright," he replied somberly, a wan smile over his lips.

"That is quite literally the worst explanation, Solas," she grumbled at him.

"There is no time for a better one," he told her, the weak and tired smile still in place.

She opened her mouth to dispute that, but Dorian shouted for her from up ahead. "Hurry along, Herald!"

Turning round, she charged over the gangway, her head still swimming with the shock of what she'd been able to do. Solas' voice repeated in her head: _You're a Dreamer._

Dreamers shaped the Fade and entered it at will. But this wasn't the Fade. It couldn't be…

* * *

**Next chapter:**

Tal's outstretched arms fell and his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, _asamalin,"_ he said. "I did what I had to do. For you, for me, and for our people." He snorted, shrugging as he added, "For this world."

"_What_ did you do?" Rosa repeated, shrill now. _"Tal,"_ she said, choking on his name and taking another few steps back from him. "_No, da'isamalin…"_

* * *

Endnote: I've always had some unanswered questions from In Hushed Whispers' dark future. Solas tells you the Veil is shattered if you bring him but you see rifts pop open and they look identical to what you fight throughout the game...when the Veil is intact. The only way I can make sense of the world without the Veil is if it is all one and the same. Spirits are there and the world is malleable like it is in a dream...to those with the power, anyway. So that's what I envision and write. But in game...either Solas is lying and there's some Veil left to account for rifts, which are tears in the Veil by definition, or I guess my interpretation of the Fade and the real world overlaying each other must be wrong...? But all the stuff you find in the Elvhen Library in Trespasser was what I formed my thoughts on, and how Solas describes it when you wax poetic with him in Haven. So...Ugh. Damn you Bioware for your constant red herrings!

I don't know, but the fact that Solas seems horrified by what he sees and calls it an abomination even though_ **that is exactly what he wants to do**_** himself**...I have to think his vision is different somehow and there's something else going on in Cory's messed up version of things. I also think that, when you ask him in Trespasser, if his plans will just bring back the Evanuris he just shrugs and says, "I had plans." Some people came away thinking he wants to free the Evanuris somehow but I think that is NOT his goal at all. He literally says, in negative conversations, that he wishes he could just reshape reality like it was the Fade, which I think is very *literally* his plan. I mean, this guy was mistaken for a GOD. He created the mother humping Veil! That would be like someone here on Earth like saying they created the moon or something. It's just unfathomably powerful! And we know he hates the other "gods" so I think his plans were to eliminate them somehow in the process of tearing the Veil down and reshaping reality. So I like to think that, in addition to the red lyrium nightmare, Solas is facing a reality in the dark future that is darker than anyone can guess. As in, when the Veil really does fail 100%, the Evanuris are going to be free and probably like gut him and flay him alive. That's my canon-breaking take anyway.

Thoughts?


	12. In Hushed Whispers (Part 2): Tal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the time traveling duo makes their way through what remains of Redcliffe castle, Rosa has an unexpected and dark reunion. Is a slow lingering death by red-lyrium poisoning preferable to allying with a demon? What if joining the demon also happened to be your only chance to save the world?

They found Leliana in an upper level of the dungeon, being interrogated and tortured. When Rosa swept in, knocking the door open, Leliana trapped the man interrogating her with her legs. Solas was second to last to enter the room, taking in the torture tools on the table beside Leliana and seeing the spymaster's withered, corpse-like face. He knew he must look no better, just a different side of the same coin: Blight.

While Dorian and Rosa spoke together with Leliana, explaining the situation as they knew it—time travelers who were only visiting in this moment—Solas scanned over documents the Venatori had left about. They had been conducting experiments on Blight using Leliana, who they found to be highly resistant to it. Solas wasn't certain how long she had been held captive. His guards and torturers had taunted him months ago—though it felt like years—that the Inquisition had smashed itself on the castle's defenses and been routed by Corypheus' demon army. Perhaps she had been captured then?

Solas let himself rest against the wall near the exit as the group ransacked the room for anything useful. He watched Rosa as she looted a bag in one corner and tried to ignore the constant murmur in the back of his head from the red lyrium. The Blight taint in his blood had long since shriveled his mana core, weakening him immensely. At one point, early in his captivity, he'd hoped he could outlast his captors and use his magic to escape as the Veil weakened. But then they had force fed him red lyrium and all hope died.

The taint was much like blood magic. It made accessing the Fade difficult at first and then impossible outright. Now Solas was as weak as he'd been in his first few weeks after waking from uthenera. He became clammy and shaky, flirting with mana burnout with some of the simplest spells. There was a time he would have been humiliated by that, but now…death was the only solution. The only reprieve. He didn't have the energy to feel humiliated at his weakness.

But he would do everything he could to ensure Rosa survived her encounter with this nightmarish world. Seeing her unexpectedly discovering her true potential as one of the People made whole, with the power of the Fade at her back, was a blessing he did not deserve.

_I thought you were dead,_ he said to her in the privacy of his own mind. _I mourned you. I mourned this world and my part in its death—and yours._ But she wasn't dead. He'd never been so thrilled to be wrong before.

His fingers brushed absently over the spot on his chest where the lacquered wolf jawbone had rested as a constant reminder of who he truly was. Now it was gone and there was a chance his message to himself in the past would be heeded. It was more hope, more relief than he deserved, but he was happy for it regardless. He could _almost_ feel the blissful song of the Fade whispering through the discordant red lyrium chorus, almost believe there was yet hope.

When they'd finished searching the room, Solas followed their expanding group of survivors and escaped prisoners through the dungeons and upward. Eventually they reached a gloomy cavern where a small dock extended out into the darkness. Waterfalls roared in the distance and boats along the small piers bobbed, thumping and making hollow, wooden noises as they shifted with the water.

An alter had been erected before the flight of stairs leading up to the next doorway. Blood covered it, red-black and gory. Summoning circles had been drawn using the blood and corpses lay strewn about, flies buzzing. The scent of decay rose up in Solas' nose, threatening to make him gag. He covered his mouth and nose with one arm, trying to filter the foul air.

"Blood magic," Dorian pronounced, sneering the words. "Of course. As if all this weren't bad enough."

Cassandra and Varric walked in a wide arc around the defiled alter and the corpses. Solas moved with them, as distracted by the blood and filth as everyone else—except Rosa. Unlike everyone else in the party, Rosa had only given the alter a casual glance of disgust before walking in a stilted stride out toward the pier. Solas thought she intended to loot the crates, boxes, and sacks still sitting on the quay, but she walked by the first few—as if the boats were what interested her instead.

Solas was about to call out to her when, suddenly, something shimmered at the end of the pier. A shadow moved, taking shape, and Solas' heart leapt into his throat as dread swept over him. The rush of his blood overpowered the whisper of voices from the red lyrium as ancient memories reared in his mind. For an instant he was back in Falon'Din's temple, standing with the other Evanuris as they faced off with their "brother." A harsh, metallic taste exploded in his mouth, salty and with a tang of iron: the taste of death.

"Rosa!" he shouted. "Look out!"

But then, even as he'd shouted, the shape resolved out of darkness into none other than Tal. The young elven man looked hollow and gray in the gloom, leaner than Solas remembered him. And dark, brooding in a way Solas had never seen before in the otherwise easygoing and carefree youth.

"Rosa…" Tal called to her, his voice raspy with emotion.

"Tal?" she blurted, rooted to her spot with what had to be shock. The others, still closer to the stairs, the door, and the bloodied alter, had all turned round to see what was happening at Solas' shout. Now they gawked, apparently just as stunned by Tal's sudden appearance as Rosa.

"_Asamalin,"_ Tal said, his voice cracking. He stepped forward and Solas' stomach went cold with horror as he saw the way the shadow clung to Tal.

Instead of embracing her brother, Rosa lifted her hands palms out. It was a defensive position, trying to ward him away. She shook her head and backpedaled several steps. "Tal," she said, her own voice hitching. "What's _happened_ to you?"

"That doesn't matter," Tal told her. "All that matters is you're alive. It was _right._" He laughed, a touch of hysteria in the sound, and reached out for her again, only to halt as Rosa recoiled.

"Tal," she said, voice strained as though with pain. "What have you done…?"

Solas could see her hands shaking, her body taut as a bowstring. This wasn't just emotional distress. Turning inward, Solas tried to confirm his suspicions with his own senses, tried to connect with the Fade and his own core—but his reaction was mum, dulled by the red lyrium. The only sense he had was from memory, in Elvhenan when he had seen Falon'Din and Dirthamen and Elgar'nan use Blight magic. The shadow—the _Void_—had clung to them, too.

Tal's outstretched arms fell and his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, _asamalin,"_ he said. "I did what I had to do. For you, for me, and for our people." He snorted, shrugging as he added, "For this world."

"_What_ did you do?" Rosa repeated, shrill now. _"Tal,"_ she said, choking on his name and taking another few steps back from him. "_No, da'isamalin…"_

"I'm sorry," Tal told her, quiet enough now that Solas almost missed the words. "Everything will be okay. There's just…" As he spoke, Tal lifted his hands and gripped something small at his throat—a pendant. "One last thing I have to do..."

"No, Tal," Rosa pleaded, recoiling further. "Whatever it is, don't—"

But then a red glow issued from Tal's palm and his eyes flashed a deep crimson and Solas cursed as he felt his body go rigid and numb. _Fenedhis! _He _had_ been right after all. Solas had seen this before, fought it before—but he had never been infected before or so weak. He reached for mana, trying to shape the counter spell even though he knew it would leave him in mana burnout.

Cassandra and Varric at his side suddenly went stiff as well. They were motionless for only a heartbeat before they sprang into action. Solas caught sight of Cassandra's face twisted with what might have been pain. Her eyes glowed red as she snarled, lifting her sword to cut him down. Varric grunted as he leapt away, dexterous and acrobatic despite the red lyrium infection. Bianca clacked as the dwarf fired her, but Varric missed, his aim poor. Solas suspected he was resisting the grip of the puppeteer directing him. Cassandra was much the same, her sword glinting in the dull light of the cavern, suspended there. Her arms shook with the strain.

Before her sword could drop or Varric managed to fire again, Solas finished the counter spell. Sensation returned, along with control. Heart pounding, he dropped into a roll to dodge as Cassandra's blade fell. The Seeker grunted through her gnashed teeth as her sword clanged on the stone underfoot, sending a few sparks flying.

"What's the meaning of this?" Dorian demanded, finally reacting. He tossed barriers up over all three of them. Solas felt the friendly magic tickle his skin. It was comforting, like salve for a burn. Still, the roar of the red lyrium voices inside his head had grown so loud it was all he could do to focus. The world spun and he staggered as he tried to rise to his feet. Behind him Varric and Cassandra shadowed him, moving to attack once more.

From on the pier, Rosa shouted, "Tal! Stop this! What are you doing?!"

"Saving you," Tal yelled back at her, the hysteric note still in his voice. Then, in elven, he added, _"You don't know the truth, _asamalin._ You don't know who he truly is."_

"Stop this, Tal!" Rosa repeated, shrill with desperation.

"_Fasta vass,"_ Dorian swore and flung out one hand in a flourish, laying a low-grade ice mine beneath both Varric and Cassandra. "We don't have _time_ for this."

The ice mines activated, freezing Varric and Cassandra in place before they could close on Solas. Panting and shaking with mana burnout, Solas winced and tried to use this pause in the attack to his advantage—but his knees shook and gave out. He landed on all fours, groaning. Dorian scrambled to him, kneeling to help him up. "Come along now, Revas—or whatever you're calling yourself these days. I've got you."

Solas clung to the Tevinter, flushed hot with exertion as pain scalded his blood. His mana core was empty and throbbing. He gnashed his teeth and tried to quiet the roaring voices of the red lyrium in his head—only to notice, finally, that the voices had changed. It was no longer Dirthamen or Falon'Din whispering in the back of his skull, but the scratchy, hideous speech of the Forgotten Ones. They were the ancient demons that had first used the Blight as a simple biological plague to preen physical beings the way a gardener manages his crops. But Dirthamen and Falon'Din had spearheaded the war against those beings, taking the Blight from them. The red lyrium's taint had always spoken with the leaderless voice of the Evanuris until now. The red lyrium, and the taint within it, had heard the call of a new leader, a puppet master who couldn't truly be Tal.

And that meant Tal had not come by his newfound, dangerous talent by communing with the collective consciousness of the Evanuris. It also meant he had not come alone.

"_Tell me where the Black Mirror is,"_ Tal's voice shouted to him from the pier. The sound of it was almost unfamiliar, warped into someone else's voice. It took Solas a moment to realize, through the cacophony in his skull, that Tal had slipped into the ugly, guttural tongue of the Forgotten Ones. _"Tell me, Pride, and I won't reveal you."_

"Tal," Rosa yelled again. "Please, don't do this…" Solas could just see her as Dorian helped turn him toward the pier. She had hunched over and one hand lay over her stomach, as if she was about to retch.

That only reconfirmed Solas' suspicions and he managed to croak out a warning to Dorian and Leliana nearby. "He is possessed."

"Andraste have mercy," Leliana murmured, her ghoulish face twisting.

"He's _controlling_ them," Dorian put in, motioning with his arm that wasn't supporting Solas toward Cassandra and Varric, who were still caught in the ice mines. "But not you. How?"

Solas pretended not to hear that question because he knew he could never answer it without some clever lie and he completely lacked the wherewithal to come up with one currently.

Out on the pier Tal ignored his sister's pleas. His eyes were still glowing that deep, somber red and his voice emerged in the Forgotten Ones' harsh tongue again so that only Solas would understand. _"Where is the Black Mirror? Tell me and I will purify you." _

"What is he _saying?"_ Dorian asked, baffled. "Do either of you know the language?"

Leliana shook her head once and then, slow and decisive, snatched an arrow from the quiver on her back. Solas didn't bother answering, though he continued clinging helplessly to the Tevinter. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the ice mines around Cassandra and Varric had begun to fail, slowly releasing them. They were running out of time.

"_Join with us and regain your power, Wolf,"_ Tal went on in a voice and a language that didn't belong to him. _"The false gods are wakening. They will burst from the sky at any time. You know what will happen when they do."_

Oh, he knew. But he also knew what would happen if he agreed to this demon's offer. It _might_ cure him, but only at a price he could not afford to pay. It would demand his blood to unlock the Black Mirror, the prison construct that kept the Forgotten Ones bound, locked away inside the Crossroads. And it would probably find a way to enslave him to its will so that Solas would be forced to fight for these demons against the Evanuris.

And it had even found the perfect way to try and strong-arm him by using Tal and Rosa. Solas hung his head, letting the pain of mana burnout distract him as he wished he had died in his cell rather than live into this moment. How much longer would it take for the demon to decide to start threatening Rosa's life? It had undoubtedly lured Tal into its service with a promise to save Rosa, but Solas had little hope that it would be honorable. He didn't know which demon had control of Tal, but it had to be one of the Forgotten Ones' greater generals: Imshael, the Formless One, Gaxkang, or Xebenkeck. It was also possible that Fear and Deceit, two demons that'd been captured and bound by Dirthamen, could have orchestrated this in their bid to become generals once again for the Forgotten Ones. Most other garden variety demons would be too simpleminded for this scheme.

Then, suddenly, as the ice mines on Varric and Cassandra released, letting the two stagger toward Solas and Dorian, Tal shouted with alarm. "Don't—_asamalin!"_

Rosa had lobbed a small object at Tal and Solas recognized it immediately—a knockout bomb. It landed at Tal's feet, exploding into a spray of fine dust. Tal coughed and stumbled to his knees, pawing at his face with one hand while the other clutched at his throat. He collapsed onto the pier, wheezing, one arm outstretched in a beseeching motion, as if pleading Rosa silently for aid.

Cassandra and Varric both gasped as one. The Seeker's sword clattered as she dropped it and Varric let Bianca droop in his arms. Their shoulders heaved with exhaustion and the red glow over them seemed to have intensified. Leliana lowered her bow and went to help Cassandra up from the floor. Dorian, however, stayed with Solas, continuing to support him.

Rosa stumbled away from her collapsed brother, breathing hard and fast, still clutching her stomach. She looked ashen and sickly, coated in sweat. "He's possessed," she said, barely croaking the words. She sniffed loudly and rubbed at her eyes. "He's _possessed,"_ she repeated and then, glancing at Solas, added, "I think it's Raselan."

"What's this?" Dorian asked, brow furrowing. "Are you saying you know this demon that's possessing him on a first name basis?"

"That's not important now," Rosa told him dismissively, still wiping at her cheeks. "I just had to knock my brother out because he's turned into a stark-raving mad lunatic." Twisting at the waist, she looked back at her brother's prone form and sighed. "I'd like to take him with us, make sure no one finds him and kills him…"

"That sounds like a lovely idea," Dorian said in a lighthearted tone, clearly mocking. "I do so love having to stop my own companions from killing each other."

"No," Cassandra said, straightening and regaining some of her composure. "Absolutely not. It's too risky."

"He is not himself," Solas managed to say, wheezing.

This earned him a glare from Rosa. "Trust me, no one knows that better than me." She sighed, eyes closing and hands shaking at her sides. "Let's get going. He'll be out for—"

"We should kill him," Leliana interrupted.

Rosa stared at the spymaster, anguish twisting her features. "I _will not_ kill my brother, no matter what he's become."

"Then restrain him," Dorian suggested. "Buy us a little time."

Rosa nodded, sullen and somber. "I…can't argue against that." Grimacing, she motioned to Varric, Cassandra, and Leliana. "Can you three bind him with something? I…can't stomach being close to him."

"Whatever you say, Violet," Varric said and, limping slightly, stalked toward the pier. Cassandra followed him.

Leliana, however, hesitated. "You know the demon possessing him? What manner of demon is it? Pride? Rage?"

"I don't really know," Rosa said with a half-shrug. He eyes flicked to Solas' once and then away again. He let his own gaze drop to the floor, feigning greater weakness than he actually felt to avoid exposing what was probably a lie from Rosa. "And I can't say I really want to find out. I just want to get back to my time and keep _this_ from happening. All of it."

Leliana nodded. "As do we."

* * *

As they set off again, Rosa deliberately fell behind to walk beside Solas. She spoke to him quietly, using elven. _"What did the thing inside my brother say to you?"_

"_Forgive me,"_ Solas said, his breath puffing as they ascended a long flight of dingy, gray stone stairs. _"I did not catch it over the noise of red lyrium."_ He motioned at his head and Rosa couldn't help but grimace as she felt again the unnatural heat thrown from his skin. He was moving sluggishly, trailing behind the others in a way that gave them the illusion of privacy, though Rosa suspected it wasn't deliberate. He was simply too weak to do much better. It was as if he had regressed back to the way he'd been upon first waking and arriving at the Hasmal Circle.

Focusing on her truthsaying gift, Rosa adopted her coy smile as she asked, _"You didn't catch any of it?"_

He shook his head in the negative. _"The demon tongue was difficult for me to comprehend even when I was of sound body and mind."_

The buzz in her head came, loud and clear. This was a lie. She nodded, giving nothing away. She felt the pouch at her waist where she'd stored the lacquered jawbone he'd given her and wondered if this was all connected. She had to get the truth from him, somehow…some_time._

But as they opened the broad double doors ahead and entered the courtyard, all of Rosa's thoughts evaporated as horror and awe washed over her, prickling her skin with gooseflesh. Overhead she saw the sky was the bright green of the Fade. The sky swirled, entirely consumed by the Breach. Fade ether coiled around floating chunks of statues and broken bits of tower. Lightning cracked and danced over clouds of Fade ether. It was a vortex in the sky, seemingly sucking their world into it. She felt both nauseous and amazed as she spun in a circle, taking it in as the others continued to walk.

"Mythal have mercy," she whispered, head craning back as she stared into the sky.

"The Veil is shattered," Solas murmured behind her, grave. "There is no boundary now between the world and the Fade."

With gooseflesh dimpling her skin, Rosa charged up the stairs of the courtyard, passing graying stalks of grass, decaying corpses, and crackling red lyrium. A rift opened up as they reached the top, with a crack-boom. Demons and Fade ether spewed out, revealing wraiths and shades that moved to attack them.

Dorian tossed a barrier up over their group and Rosa hurled fireballs and then lightning. The shades collapsed after a single hit, greenish essence streaking back to the glimmering ripple of the rift. Rosa watched it in dismay, remembering Solas' comment about the Veil being shattered. How could there still be rifts if the Veil was truly gone? And yet she saw Fade ether coiling about the courtyard well away from the rift.

A wraith hurled caustic spirit magic at her and Rosa jerked herself from her thoughts as she dove to the ground, rolling. On her feet again she launched Fade stone and the rock obliterated the wraith without shattering. It sailed clean through the little demon and toward the far side of courtyard where it smashed against red lyrium. The power of her own attacks still startled her, making Rosa shake her head.

With the last of the demons dealt with, Rosa thrust her hand up and closed the rift with a slick boom that echoed through the courtyard. The sky flickered with a strange lightning, as if reacting to her return. Rosa winced at the pain in her hand, shaking it out as their group continued on through the carnage of the demolished courtyard. She fell back to walk beside Solas and spoke again in elven.

"_You said the Veil was shattered. How are there still rifts and demons?"_ She focused her truthsaying gift again, smiling as she stared at him.

Solas puffed with exertion and didn't meet her eye. He walked using his stave now as a cane, leaning on it. His knuckles flushed bone white, though his skin wasn't much darker. _"A glass that is shattered does not cease to exist,"_ he told her in a tone like a teacher to a student that reminded Rosa powerfully of her father.

Grimacing, she snorted and switched to common. "So the Veil is just so weak now it can't really hold the Fade back?"

"Essentially yes," Solas told her.

"And that's why I could do what I did earlier?" she asked, lowering her voice into a hush. "Reshape reality?"

His blue eyes, tainted by the red glow, flicked to her as he nodded once.

"And how did you know I'd be able to do that?" Rosa asked, narrowing her eyes. She hadn't felt this way around rifts or the breach, where the Veil allowed demons and Fade ether to leak through. Why was this so different? What _experience_ did Solas have with this? "You couldn't do it?" she asked, though she felt certain she already knew the answer.

His smile was wan. "I can barely fight, Rosa. I am dying."

She swallowed hard, feeling the tightness of emotional pain in her throat at the reminder of how horrible this world was. But she pinched her lips together as she realized he hadn't answered her first question. "But how did you know I—"

Another rift tore open overhead then, crackling and booming. It sent tendrils of green ether out and more shades manifested, along with wraiths. Rosa flung fireballs at three shades before Dorian could even finish casting a barrier over her and the rest of the group. When she felt the comforting tingle of his barrier over her, Rosa Fade-stepped through a wraith, freezing and killing it immediately. As three shades moved to surround Cassandra, Rosa punched down with her fist in a Veilstrike that instantly crushed all of the shades as well as a wraith that'd been floating too close.

The entire battle had taken mere seconds from start to finish. Rosa stood beneath the rift as the next wave of demons slipped out from the rift, breathing hard more with shock and exhilaration than exertion. The bliss pounding in her blood was like wine, intoxicating and delicious, sweet and warm. She saw Dorian and the others, aside from Solas, shooting her quizzical looks. They'd barely managed to land a few blows, bolts, and spells between them before Rosa had obliterated their enemies with minimal effort.

The next wave of demons was much the same as a flock of wraiths materialized, but this time Rosa deliberately reached inside herself for more mana as she unleashed a large mindblast with a boom-pop and a green shockwave. The wraiths shuddered and evaporated as it hit them. The one spell was strong enough to kill them and make the rift shudder, collapsing as it dripped Fade ether. Rosa was about to close it when she realized her mindburst hadn't stopped when it washed over the demons. It crossed the courtyard on all sides, making barrels shatter and stone groan. A red lyrium crystal cracked and fell, making Cassandra, Varric, and Leliana cry out as they scrambled to get away from the falling chunks.

Rosa stared a moment, then thrust her hand up to close this rift. As soon as she'd sealed it, rubbing out the sharp pain in her hand that came with it, she looked to Cassandra and Varric sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

"Have you been swallowing buckets of lyrium when we're not looking?" Dorian quipped, eyeing her in a way that was both critical and curious at once. "Or is this another side effect of being the Herald of Andraste, hmm?"

She hesitated, unsure how to answer or if she _should_ answer. Dorian hadn't seemed especially religious that she could tell, so she didn't know if he'd believe her if she claimed it was a divine gift. Honestly, she didn't know for sure how similar the Andrastian religion was in Tevinter anyway since she'd not spent all that much time with Dorian yet. Tal probably knew, but she couldn't let herself think about her brother without feeling nauseous and shaky with grief. Tal wasn't dead in this world, but it might have been easier if he had been.

"We don't have time for this," Solas chimed in then, still breathing hard. "We must focus on reaching Alexius."

"He's right," Leliana said as she slung her bow over her shoulder. "Let's move."

Dorian sighed as he threw her a last look. "Just be careful. _Herald."_

That was fair. She nodded and turned round to continue through the courtyard, hoping they'd seen the last of those surprise rifts even though her blood roared with excitement and pleasure at the thought of fighting again. No, not fighting. Shaping magic and channeling mana. It just felt so _damn wonderful!_

They made their way to the grand hall, which held the entrance to Alexius' throne room, where the old magister had barricaded himself. Entering the hall, they found it in disarray as Venatori fought shades and wraiths that'd issued from a rift in the center of the room. Being the first one in beside Dorian, Rosa erected barriers over herself and the others and then Fade-stepped to rush into the thick of the fighting.

"Die!" she shouted as she Fade-stepped through two Venatori and a shade. All three shattered into ruddy ice chunks or dissolved into green ether. A fireball at another shade slithering its way to her down a short set of stairs burned the demon up into ash. A Venatori archer's arrow made her barrier buzz and fluctuate, but it didn't break. In fact, it didn't even decay as stray magic in the room—or leaking from the rift—kept fueling it. Spinning her staff, Rosa targeted the archer with her favorite school: storm magic. The lightning made the archer's body seize up as it gripped him, but the spell didn't pass as quickly as Rosa expected and seemed to linger until she saw it had singed his skin and scorched his armor. He fell to the floor, dead with the single spell.

And all of it with barely a dent in Rosa's mana reserves. She laughed with delight and, seeing another shade slithering about along the other side of the room, Fade-stepped to catch it. She used winter's grasp, freezing the demon solid. She continued on like that, annihilating demons and Venatori alike until the rift rippled and collapsed, letting her at last close it.

In the relative silence of the hall, Rosa and the others made their way to the entrance of Alexius' throne room. Their footsteps seemed too loud, echoing from the stone walls. When they found the unusual, magic-sealed door blocking their way, Rosa cursed. _"Fenedhis!_ Why can't we just catch a break?"

"Hmm…" Dorian said as he laid a palm over the smooth stone of the door, feeling the magic within it just as Rosa had earlier. "There must be a way in. The servants have to come and go. Alexius has to eat. We should have a look around."

He turned round to begin searching the bodies around the room. Leliana, Cassandra, and Varric walked with him. Rosa hesitated, staring at the door and Solas moved to her side, diminished and slumped, still using his staff as a walking stick. After a momentary pause, during which he seemed to be catching his breath, Solas said, "Dorian is correct. There must be a way through. However, I see no reason why _you_ must waste time seeking entry by conventional methods."

She shot him a sidelong glance and saw dry amusement coloring his features, red lyrium marring them or not. Again, it reminded her of her father. She scowled and faced forward. "This is like the gangway, isn't it?" she asked quietly. "I can reshape reality."

Solas dipped his head in a half nod. "This will require more effort, I suspect, but yes."

Clenching her jaw with determination, Rosa strode forward. Laying her hand over the door, she closed her eyes and reached outward the same way she would in a dream. Again, she felt the _snap_ of something outside resonating inside her, connecting to her mana core. She had a grip on…whatever it was. The Fade? The magic in the door thrummed, pulsating as it reacted to her, feeling her just as she felt it—and it spoke in an ugly whisper.

"_We are here. We have waited. We have slept. We are sundered. We are crippled. We are polluted. We endure. We wait. We have found the dreams again. We will awaken." _

The voice changed then, warping from a chorus of men and women's voices to a single man's. _"We will awaken,"_ he repeated and Rosa could almost feel this man's gaze on her, assessing her. The magic crawled through her right hand, up into her arm, probing her. Dread opened its maw wide inside her and Rosa tried to pull away, only to feel that she'd gone numb with a magic paralysis.

"No," she managed to say, barely whispering.

"_We. Will. Awaken,"_ the man repeated, his voice even louder now, echoing inside her brain. _"We. _Are._ Awakening!"_

Drawing a little of her own mana, Rosa managed to break the paralysis enough that she could lift her left palm to the door, gnashing her teeth as she tried to push herself free. When her left palm contacted the door, the mark flared. Pain streaked through her, hot and agonizing, but she felt the foreign magic and the male speaker retract, repulsed. She felt rage scald her, not her own or Rogathe's, but from the presence lurking inside the door...or wherever it was.

"_Fen'Harel!" _the male voice roared.

And then Rosa stumbled backward from the door, shaking and stunned. Solas held her by the shoulders and she realized she'd stumbled backward and fallen on her ass. The room spun and her heart pounded. "Rosa," Solas called, giving her a gentle shake. "Rosa, are you well?"

Breathing hard, she shook her head. "It spoke to me…"

From out in the hall behind them, Rosa dimly heard Varric call out, "Hey, Sparkler! I think I found something that might work on that door."

Cassandra started to ask, "Is that…?"

"Yep," Varric replied dryly. "A red lyrium shard."

"_Fenedhis,"_ Solas cursed and was suddenly snatching her hands, looking them over. "You cannot allow yourself to be infected."

"I think I'm fine," she told him, though she wasn't as confident of that as she wished she was. She let Solas brush his fingers over her hands, searching for signs of infection and took comfort when she saw his expression begin to ease with relief. "Told you," she said after a second, trying to be lighthearted as she dredged up a smile and gently tugged her hands free of his. "But it seems like I can't get around this door easily after all."

"I would suggest parting the walls," Solas told her blankly.

She stared at him, stunned all over again. _Parting the walls…?_ Solas peered back at her, his expression suggesting he was entirely serious. This wasn't a joke. He actually expected her to part the walls.

"All right," Dorian called from the hall, and Rosa registered the others' footsteps drawing closer. "Let's try this."

Rising to her feet, she helped Solas do the same as Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, and Leliana appeared to try the red lyrium shard in the door. The shard worked, activating one of the five slots at the top of the door. "There we are," Dorian said with a sniff. "Only four more to go and we'll—"

"I need to try something," Rosa said, interrupting him. Stepping to the left of the door, she lifted both hands and laid them on the stone. Breathing out, she closed her eyes and again reached with those inner senses that she used to reshape the Fade. When she felt the connection snap into place, Rosa's brow furrowed with concentration as she felt her mana bubble and froth. _Part,_ she commanded. _Give way. Open for us._

She felt the mana pour out of her, much more than any of the spells had taken. A moment of dizziness washed over her and then she heard her companions—save Solas—gasp with shock. The cold stone moved under her palms, groaning slightly as it changed shape. It was slower than in a dream, messier. Bits of stone fell away, landing at her feet with a clatter. Dust and Fade ether thickened the air as some of the stone blocks simply disappeared, evaporating the same way wraiths did when destroyed. The rest of the wall curled inward, away from Rosa until it formed the shape of a door, rounded at the top in an archway.

When it was finished, Rosa dropped her hands to her side and drew in a shaky breath. Through the dust and Fade ether she could see the orange-gold glow of Alexius' fire. She could see his shape, silhouetted on the dais, facing away from her. Sitting off to Alexius' right was a ghoulish, withered figure she didn't recognize.

"_Fasta vass,"_ Dorian cursed behind her. "How did you—"

"There is no time for an explanation," Solas chastised.

Dorian glared at him but didn't disagree. Rosa headed through the gap she'd created and into the throne room. Cassandra, Varric, Dorian, Leliana, and Solas followed. Alexius showed no sign he'd noticed them as they approached the stairs and then the dais where his throne sat. The withered figure at his side, huddled and crouched pathetically, also showed no interest, though it faced them.

Rosa's hands curled into fists and her mana bubbled, ready to fight as she approached, but she held herself in check and stopped a safe distance back from the magister. They weren't here to fight him as much as to reclaim the amulet he'd used to send them forward in time. Defeating him _here _was a waste of energy.

"Alexius," she snarled his name and the magister lifted his head but didn't turn to look at her, just continued staring at the fire. "Look what you've done: all the death and suffering. Was it worth it? Destroying the Veil? Destroying the _world?_"

"I knew you would appear again," the magister said. "Not that it would be now, but I knew that I hadn't destroyed you." He stared at the fire, his back to them, and Rosa shifted from foot to foot as she debated lashing out at him now. "My final failure," Alexius whined.

"Was it worth it?" Dorian asked from her side. "Everything you did to the world? To yourself?"

Head hanging, Alexius spoke in a defeated voice, "It doesn't matter now. All we can do is wait. For the end."

Rosa heard Leliana's feet scrape softly against the stone and shot the spymaster a brief glance, noticing that she had taken to the sides of the room. She was sneaking closer in the shadows, angling toward the dais. She had shouldered her bow, but Rosa saw a dagger in her hand, still sheathed to keep it from glinting in the orange firelight.

"It _does_ matter," Dorian insisted, passion and pleading in his voice. "We can undo this."

"How many times have I tried?" Alexius asked, bleak and weary. "The past cannot be undone. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed—what have I wrought?" He paused a moment, still regarding the fire. "Ruin and death. There is nothing else. The Elder One comes for you. For me. For us all."

And then, suddenly, Leliana made her move, lurching from the shadows and snatching the crouched, withered figure. As she drew her dagger from its sheath with a metallic ringing, Rosa flinched as pain prickled up her neck. Dread clutched at her throat and she whipped around to look at the gap in the wall she'd opened up. On the dais behind her she heard Alexius cry out, "Felix!" but she barely registered it as she saw the inky shadow spilling through the doorway she'd created.

"_Fenedhis,"_ she said and Solas, standing a few meters behind her beside Varric and Cassandra, caught her eye.

As Alexius pleaded with Leliana for Felix's life, Rosa saw Cassandra, Varric, and Solas all grimace with pain and go stiff. All three lifted their weapons. Bianca clacked first and the bolt slammed into Alexius, impacting him in the shoulder. Solas' staff shot bursts of ice next, coating the magister in frost and slowing him. Cassandra rushed past Rosa and Dorian, scrambling to reach the dais and attack Alexius for herself—though her motion was stiff, just another puppet.

"Stop this madness," Dorian shouted, reaching for Cassandra to try and hold her back.

Nausea churned Rosa's stomach as she whipped around, searching the back of the room for that telltale shadow. "Tal!" she yelled, hands clenching into fists as her sides. "Stop what you're doing!"

Almost too late she saw the blue-white streak of her brother's Fade-step, rushing forward from the back of the room. Tal wasn't coming for her, but for Solas. Rosa lunged in a Fade-step of her own, intercepting her brother and tossing a barrier over Solas. Tal came visible before her, swerving his path to evade her and still get a clear shot of Solas. "Move!" he shouted at her, fire burning in his fists.

"Stop this, Tal," Rosa yelled, her voice strained. "This isn't right! This isn't you!" Her skin crawled with thousands of pinpricks, stinging over every inch of her. She saw the pendant at his chest, glowing a dark red-black, mimicking the ugly shadow that clung to him.

"I need his blood," Tal growled back at her. His voice had warped, dropping into an unnaturally deep, guttural tone. "If he will not serve, he must _die."_

Behind her, Rosa heard Alexius screaming his son's name in anguish and was dimly aware that Cassandra, Varric, Leliana, and Solas had all continued attacking the magister—as if blind to the other confrontation. Dorian was sandwiched in the middle, aiding their companions with barriers even as he withheld offensive attacks against his old mentor.

Rosa, however, found herself incapable of looking away from her brother as her heart twisted in her chest and her body writhed with growing revulsion and pain. Tal's brown eyes looked black, like charcoal, glowering out at her from sunken sockets—but he showed no sign of red lyrium infection, though the pendant at his chest certainly made her think of it. How much of this was her brother and how much was the demon? What had happened to him in the awful year she'd been gone? Why did he want to kill Solas? Was it just for his blood, to satisfy the demon?

The Formless One, Raselan, had wanted Solas' blood, too—back in the Hasmal tower. It had tried to coerce Rosa into collecting it, but she'd refused. The cost of refusing had been losing her brother as the Formless One exposed their relationship as blood relatives to the Templars. Rosa had feared the Formless One would find a way to use Tal against her again someday. Now it seemed that was exactly what it had done while she was away.

Tal lurched sideways and launched a fireball at Solas' back. With a shout, Rosa dispelled it with a mindblast. The fireball deflected and struck the stone column and then the floor, scorching it. Still under whatever dark spell Tal held over the red lyrium infection, Solas had no reaction to the attempted attack. He made no move to defend himself or brace for it as Tal launched more fireballs, determined to overwhelm Rosa and get around her. Rosa countered, unleashing countless mindblasts and then freezing his fireballs in mid-air with a jerk of her other fist.

After the first few big spells it should have been draining. Instead, it was effortless. Solas was slow-moving in his own attacks to Alexius, strapped for energy and mana. But Tal seemed comfortable with the sustained barrage of fire and Rosa wished she could have stopped to chat about the bizarreness of this world and their newfound mana reserves—but she knew at least some of Tal's had to come from the demon.

The thought of that set bile rising in her throat. "Tal," she called to him, begging, heedless of how pathetic it sounded. "Please—stop this!" She froze his next three fireballs, then sent out another mindblast to deflect the next barrage.

"They're coming, _asamalin,"_ Tal told her in his growling voice. "The false-gods and the Forgotten Ones." He stopped his attacks for a moment, though fire still burned in his fist. He stalked off to the right, toward the far wall.

Dimly, Rosa realized the others had gone mostly silent. Alexius had fallen and Cassandra, Solas, and Varric had gone weak as Tal's spell released them. Why had Tal helped her defeat the magister? Hoping to keep him talking, Rosa focused through the haze of pain building over her skin and tightening her scalp. "What about the Elder One I keep hearing about?" she retorted, smiling through gritted teeth as she matched Tal's movements with her own, keeping herself deliberately between Tal and the half-collapsed, shaking Solas.

Tal let out a cackling laugh that made her shudder. "The Elder One is a joke, _asamalin._" Switching to elven as he went on, he snorted and made a dismissive gesture at the throne room around them. _"He is a puppet, and I can teach you to make him dance."_

He let out another harsh cackle. _"I made the deal to save you—to save us both. I'll be free as soon as Pride dies, _asamalin._ As soon as Raselan has his blood and his knowledge. And in return, Raselan told me when and where to find you again, and it gave me the strength and the knowledge I needed to fight to keep you safe. That was the deal."_ He licked his lips, a nervous flick of his eyes toward Dorian and the others revealing he was far from comfortable with his current situation. _"Stop trying to save him!"_

"No," Rosa answered in a growl of her own and, decisively, tossed a barrier over herself and Solas. "I don't know what happened to you while I was away, Tal, but I can _undo_ it. I can change it all and—"

Tal froze and made a ragged choking noise as he grabbed for his chest. The pendant had begun to glow more fiercely, pulsating. Tal's eyes bugged out, wide with horror. "No," he told her, voice strangled. "You can't…" He made a small motion with one hand and the fire he'd had burning there in his fist winked out. He had switched from Fade-based magic to…something else.

Rosa realized Varric and Cassandra had gone stiff again where they stood on the dais, close to where Alexius' body had fallen. Both started toward the magister's corpse and Rosa knew with sudden cold horror that they intended to snatch the amulet and destroy it. "No!" she shouted. "Dorian! They're going after the amulet! Stop them!"

"The one we need to stop is that lunatic brother of yours," Dorian rejoined even as he Fade-stepped to intercept both Cassandra and Varric. The warrior swung her sword at him and her shield caught his barrier, making it crackle. Varric sprang away, limber despite his red lyrium infection. Bianca clacked but Dorian had his barrier refreshed before the bolts fired, dropping them harmlessly to the floor.

"_You can't undo it,"_ Tal yelled, a note of despair in his voice. _"You can't leave me alone again! I can't face the false-gods without you. I need you, _asamalin. _I've heard them in my dreams, taunting me. When they come, they will make me a slave for my blood, for my power. I'm too weak to stop them—but with you and with Raselan and Rogathe…"_

Torn between watching Dorian's combat with Cassandra and Varric, Rosa fidgeted and shifted from one foot to another, mana bubbling inside her and her head spinning as pain throbbed through her. Sweat made her feel alternatively hot and then cold with both tension and horror. "What are you talking about, Tal?" she asked, shaking her head. "Please—just stop! I won't—I _can't_ fight you, but I _must_ go back!"

"_We will finish what Fen'Harel started,"_ Tal went on, madness coloring his voice, making it breathy as if with hysteria. _"We have no choice, Rosa. The false-gods will see us for what we are—traitors. But they will be weak when they come, and that is when we must strike."_

"You're insane," Rosa said, eyes burning with unshed tears. "Tal…"

"_No," _Tal said with a harsh wave of one hand while the other still clutched the pendant at his chest, glowing its sickly red-black. _"I know the truth."_ He stabbed a finger at Solas. _"He is—"_

But whatever Tal had been about to say was lost as Leliana's arrow flew in and hit Tal in the chest—right through his hand clutching the pendant. He stumbled backward and fell to his knees with a cry of surprise and pain. The pendant made a shrieking noise, halfway between the scream of a terror demon and the sharp clink of breaking glass.

"Tal!" Rosa exclaimed and lurched toward him, only to stop short at the sharp stab of pain in her chest. She winced, realizing she was sensing the demon again, stronger now. Solas had laid a restraining hand on her shoulder, holding her back, and she heeded it, though her eyes stayed glued to where Tal had half-collapsed. Her brother had erected a barrier over himself now, preventing another arrow from striking him. Rosa saw the arrow shaft protruding from his chest and heard his labored breathing. The sound set her writhing with sympathy. She locked her knees, shaking with the desire to run to him, but she held herself in check. That pain in her chest and her head continued its slow, burning pulsation.

"The demon will overtake him," Solas said in a grave tone. "It will do anything to stop you from leaving." His hand on her shoulder squeezed. "You must cast a spirit trap around him—quickly."

"And then what?" Rosa snapped, her voice catching on the words. Her throat burned with emotion. "Kill him? I _can't…"_

"I've got it!" Dorian announced behind them, bright with triumph.

Glancing toward the dais but keeping one eye still turned to her brother, Rosa saw Dorian holding up a small, bright amulet, dangling from his palm. Varric and Cassandra stood nearby, slumped and wearing dazed expressions. The spell Tal had used on them had clearly ceased again—but for how long?

The spirit trap made sense and so she formed the spell and used the mana, motioning with one hand to cast it in a circle around Tal. The runes activated with a glow and a crackle, green-yellow.

"Cage him," Solas told her. "Create a wall between him and us."

She hesitated as she heard Dorian speak to Leliana and the others on the dais: "Give me an hour and I can—"

"You must go now," Leliana interrupted him with a shout. Trotting to Rosa and Solas, she gestured frantically toward Dorian. "There's no time. The Elder One is coming." Rosa noticed the spymaster still held her bow, an arrow nocked that would have probably wound up in Tal had he not reacted so quickly with the protective barrier.

"Then let him come," Rosa snarled, shooting the spymaster a quick side glare. Her head pounded and her body was flushed with a scalding heat. Her mana boiled over inside her, overflowing. She felt like a dam about to burst as it tried to hold back a flood. She felt no fear even as she heard a screech somewhere outside and felt a shudder ripple through the floor. What was left of the Veil twisted and prickled her skin anew. A fight sounded like just what she needed right now—a target other than Tal. Her brother had helped her defeat Alexius, maybe he and the demon would do the same to face off against the Elder One.

"You must go," Solas pleaded at her side.

"No," Tal growled, struggling to rise to his feet. His dark eyes swept over the spirit trap, taking it in though he made no move to test it. His hand remained pinned to his chest and his barrier shimmered, blue and unwavering. The red-black glow still emanated from him, a sure sign the demon lurked just beneath his skin. His face was twisted with anguish and pain as he stared at Rosa, his breath wheezing. Blood had soaked into the little swath of tunic she could see around his armor, staining it crimson. "You can't go…don't leave me!"

"Cage him," Solas told her again, a note of desperation in his voice. "There is no more time!"

Gritting her teeth, Rosa reached out and sensed the Fade, latching onto her. Tears stung her eyes as she shouted, _"Ir abelas, da'isamalin!"_

He shook his head, frantic, but Rosa jerked her fist and stone rose up from the floor, forming a wall that, before it solidified, gave her a final few seconds to see Tal's despair and rage. "Rosa!" he screamed. "You should have just killed me! The false-gods will make me a slave! Please! I can't save this world by myself!"

Rosa almost stopped the wall at his words, flinching and choking on the emotion burning in her throat. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, swallowing hard. Rogathe would have called her a coward had it not been bound to sleep inside her. This was not facing the problem, only avoiding it. This was the coward's path.

She stared at the stone wall, hard and gray and formed from large gray bricks, once it had finished solidifying. Dimly, she heard Dorian trying to activate the amulet and felt the foreign magic crawling over her skin. Another shudder ran through the room and the same screech she'd heard earlier came again.

"They're coming," Solas murmured behind her.

"We will hold them off," Cassandra announced suddenly, striding off the dais and toward the hole Rosa had created beside the red lyrium shard door. Varric followed behind the Seeker, shooting Rosa a tight smile as he clutched Bianca close. Rosa stared at them, numb and stunned from dealing with Tal. Her head pounded and her skin burned in a way she realized wasn't just in reaction to the demon possessing her brother. The Elder One's demon army must be nearby and closing in—fast.

Solas and Leliana started to walk after the Seeker and Varric, heading for the door. Rosa snatched Solas' arm before he could get far. Through gnashed teeth she said, "No—I can't let you all sacrifice yourselves like this."

"Look at us," Leliana said, motioning at the four of them—three infected with red lyrium and then herself with Blight. "We're already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes."

Still gritting her teeth, Rosa reached out and connected to the Fade again, letting it tap into her mana. _Close,_ she commanded the doorway she'd created in the wall. _Shut and admit no one._ The wall groaned as dust and Fade ether fell, shrouding the arched doorway. Cassandra stopped short of the door, backing away cautiously and looking toward Rosa with bemusement. The arched door shuddered as the two sides of the wall stretched to reconnect and then solidified. As the dust settled and the Fade ether cleared away, revealing a smooth wall with no openings now, Rosa let her arm fall back to her side. "_That_ should buy us some time," she said. "Let _them_ dig up those red lyrium shards."

Leliana shook her head. "There is still little time," she insisted. "You can't waste time trying to save us."

"She's right," Solas told her and, deliberate but gentle, he tugged his arm out of her grasp. Behind him Rosa saw Varric, Cassandra, and Leliana taking up positions around the red lyrium door, weapons at the ready. Dorian on the dais had activated the amulet, levitating it in the air between his palms, light sparking from it as he tried to find the right spell.

"Solas," Rosa said, her voice tight with emotion as she narrowed her eyes. "Why are ancient demons obsessed with your blood? And…" She broke off, swallowing hard. "Was anything that Tal said right?" She tried to hide her shaking hands, curling them into fists at her sides. "_Please_ tell me the truth…"

Solas' eyes were sad, his brow furrowed. "Ask me those questions after you have passed along my message to my past self." His jaw clenched. "Then all will be made clear."

"Will you at least tell me why you didn't come back last year?" Rosa asked, shaking her head as a few bitter tears fell from her eyes. She sniffed and flicked them away, gritting her teeth.

He drew in a shaky breath and shut his eyes, an exhausted look on his face laced heavily with grief. _"_Because I was a fool," he told her and then turned away. "_Ar lath ma, vhenan,"_ he murmured, glancing at her over his shoulder as he strode away.

"Dread Wolf take you," she cursed, watching him walk away as more tears pricked her eyes. How _dare _he tell her he loved her _now, _right when she knew there was no chance of saving him. She felt nauseous, aware of the building presence of the demons outside the throne room. Another shudder passed through the floor and she felt the Veil twisting, making her stomach even loopier. The mixture of joy from the Fade, still singing in her blood, and the _wrongness_ of the demons and the dying Veil made her dizzy. Or maybe it was just her heart, aching with the grief and horror of this devastated world.

On the dais, Dorian shouted for her. "Over here, Herald! I think I almost have it!"

With a last glare at where Solas stood with Leliana, Cassandra, and Varric, Rosa trotted over to join the Tevinter mage. A few long minutes passed as Dorian continued to adjust the spell and soon Rosa heard the pounding on the door as the demons tried to beat their way inside. Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw the first cracks in the stone forming around the red lyrium door and heard the shrieks of terror demons, the roar of pride demons.

"Almost there," Dorian murmured, eyes glued to the crackling magic about the amulet. "Almost there…any moment now…"

And then the stone bricks around the red lyrium door cracked and gave way. A terror demon strode in, shrieking and slashing. Cassandra absorbed the blow on her shield and struck with her sword. Varric fired Bianca with a clacking sound and Solas unleashed ice from his staff. But the terror demon kept coming and there were more behind it, pushing forward through the breach in the wall. Leliana fired arrows with deadly precision, catching the demons in the eyes and the necks, but her attacks only served to irritate them.

Then, one of the newly arrived terror demons caught Varric with its claws, tossing him carelessly across the throne room. The dwarf hit a wall with a wet crack and did not rise again. Rosa cried out for him, horror and desperation gripping her, but Dorian grabbed her arm to keep her from rushing to help them. "If you move, we all die!"

"Then I won't move," she shot back and, reaching out with one hand, latched onto the Fade again. _Solid,_ she commanded the wall and it shuddered, reshaping to suit her desires. The demons still trying to fit through the narrow gap shrieked and fell back, alarmed or confused as the wall closed around them. The wall trapped a terror demon inside itself, leaving the green-skinned monster squirming and slashing with its one free arm, frantic to escape.

Cassandra and Solas moved closer to attack it once they'd killed the other terror demon still in the room with them. Rosa's eyes, however, were on Varric. He still showed no sign of life. "Too late," she muttered to herself, shaking with both rage and loss.

"And that's done it!" Dorian exclaimed. The spell had expanded, bright white and yellow and tinged with green. Crackling and buzzing, it loomed wide like a mouth, ready to swallow them. "Off we go now," Dorian told her, motioning. "Hurry, before it destabilizes."

Shooting a last look to where Leliana, Cassandra, and Solas stood, she motioned to the floor and, feeling the Fade connect to her with but a thought, she willed the floor to open, giving her friends a way out into a lower level of the castle where, hopefully, the demons hadn't reached yet. "Go!" she shouted to them.

They didn't hesitate at her order. Leliana led them, but hesitated at the hole as she waited on the others. Cassandra ran for Varric, lifting the dwarf with a grunt and running to leap into the hole, even though none of them knew where it led. Solas came next, pausing to look up at Rosa with a somber, miserable expression. "I will return," he called to her. "To save Tal."

She forced herself to nod, even as she thought: _I'm not sure Tal can be saved…_

And then Solas was gone and only Leliana remained, her ghoulish face grave as the demons pounded on the wall again, steadily weakening it. "Go!" she shouted. "Now!"

"Yes," Dorian chimed in, sounding a touch panicky. "We should go _now._"

Sucking in a last breath, Rosa whipped around and moved with Dorian. She closed her eyes and stepped into the portal, hoping and praying that this would work.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

He closed his eyes, feeling nauseous as he tried to show no reaction. He could not dare to speak now or it would all come spilling out. _You were wrong. Let it go._ His hands opened and closed on his thighs as he fought back the growing need to reach out for her, to hold her.

"There's something…" She sounded as though she were just a fingerbreadth from crying, sobbing outright. "Something you should know."

* * *

Oh, Tal. My heart! Basically here I wanted everyone to feel like this dark world is real and nuanced. And, somewhere, it does exist. Bioware closed it off for us, killing everyone when you leave, but I deliberately wanted to leave it open so we can wonder what's happening in that dark world. And, in case anyone has doubts, Tal is *not* crazy here! He's trying to mount a resistance, to survive when Cory has taken over. You need a Dreamer to reshape reality, so he and the demon would fight to keep Rosa there because she's now "Fen'Harel" for all intents and purposes. The only one who can have a remote chance of fighting the Evanuris. Anyway, I always envisioned that in this alternate world, dying Solas keeps his promise and goes to save Tal and they strike up a bargain (along with Raselan). And maybe they manage to save the dark world...to a certain extent. Or maybe Raselan and Tal just back-stab Solas and everyone dies and the Evanuris destroy the world (after squishing Cory like a puny insect under their heels).

Anyway...


	13. Closing the Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa confronts Solas about his dying self's request in the dark future. For a moment, she's ready to open up to him about something she's been keeping secret for months...but Solas isn't ready just yet to hear it. 
> 
> With the aid of the rebel mages, Rosa and the Inquisition march to close the Breach...with unexpected results for Rosa in the form of a strange vision. Sometimes, you really *don't* want to catch the eye of a god, let alone NINE.

Solas squinted at the text in front of him, a small tension headache starting up around his temples. The old tome was an ancient Tevinter record, transcribed from parchment scrolls well over two thousand years old. It had been translated at some point from ancient Tevene to common and Solas kept making notations in his private ledger, trying to get the text back to the ancient Tevene and then into elven to achieve the purest translation for his own purposes. Some of his agents still preferred elven and, bercause almost no one knew the written language now, it made for an excellent cipher.

This was laborious and painstaking work, but necessary drudgery. He suspected this record included the location of another foci, recovered from ruins on the outskirts of Arlathan. It probably wasn't fully charged, or even half-charged, but _any_ foci could help him if Rosa's Anchor destabilized. He needed to be ready to save her.

Because if she died, all of Thedas died with her.

Solas had experienced a powerful reminder of that fact when Rosa and Dorian had momentarily disappeared in Alexius' throne room. For a heartbeat he had felt the crushing grip of despair at his throat, knowing he had brought doom upon not just Rosa but all of Thedas _again_. He had sworn to protect her and Tal, as penance for failing to find a way to save one of his oldest and closest friends—their father, Felassan—and he had failed. Just as he had failed in so many things.

And when she'd reappeared a few seconds later, miraculously, he had been weak with the relief that washed over him. Although he'd wanted to hurry to her after Alexius' surrender and the alliance with the mages, Solas had held himself in check. He watched from a distance on their journey home as Rosa kept to herself and spoke little. He heard from Tal, the only one she seemed close to her currently, that she'd undergone a harrowing experience involving time travel. He didn't know the details yet, though he had learned the gist of it from Varric and Cassandra.

He planned to try and question Dorian for the full story soon, distasteful as that thought was, but hadn't had a chance yet since arriving back at Haven early that morning. Instead of speaking with the Tevinter mage, Solas had instead immediately set his sights on seeking another orb—thus the ancient manuscript from the Imperium that currently occupied his time.

A knock sounded on his door then. Solas lifted his head and sighed, irritated at the disturbance. It was just after dusk and Haven was the kind of town that went to bed with the sun. That meant whoever was at his door was either a drunken friend trying to convince him to go to the tavern, or someone in authority with an urgent message. Shifting his books to cover the manuscript and closing his personal ledger, Solas rose to his feet and left his little desk. Sliding open the slat over the viewport on his door, he saw a gray hood that _could _have belonged to one of Leliana's scouts.

Sighing again, Solas slid the viewport shut and opened the door. "What can I do for—" he cut himself off as he registered that this was not actually a scout. It was Rosa, standing on his doorstep with an unreadable, somber expression. She wore a grayish battlemage hood that covered her dark hair and her ears, leaving her face in shadow. Her violet eyes looked almost black in the gloom of dusk.

"Rosa?" he asked, taken aback.

Her lips twitched. "Can I come in?"

He hesitated a moment as something twisted inside him with both dread and excitement. His strategy to try and defuse the lingering tension of their relationship had been to avoid her, but that didn't work very well when she didn't play along. He knew she must catch him watching her periodically, locking eyes with him across campfires during their journey back from Redcliffe, but they both pretended it meant nothing. Was that about to change?

…or was this about the dark future she'd witnessed? He'd heard _he_ had been in it. What had she heard from his other self?

"Of course," Solas told her, stepping aside and opening the door wider for her to pass through. His heart galloped in his chest.

Rosa crossed the threshold and strode to his small fireplace, warming her hands. After a moment she pulled back the hood, exposing her dark brown hair in its slight curl that clung to her neck and shoulders. As the moments of silence stretched out to become minutes, Solas retreated to his desk and sat on the chair there with a slight creak from the wood. Brushing his hands over his breeches to sweep away imaginary crumbs, he asked, "What brings you here, Herald?"

"Don't call me that," she snapped without turning away from the fire.

"Apologies," Solas said, but he didn't correct it. He refused to say her name now that they were indoors. It was too intimate, too dangerous. His heart thumped too fast in his chest, but he was pleased that his voice emerged calm and polite. "How can I help you?"

She let out a little huff, shoulders sinking. Then, finally, she began digging at a pouch at her waist. "I don't know what you've heard about what happened in Redcliffe, but I met you there. Another you." She continued fidgeting with something in her hands, facing away from him so that he couldn't see it.

Solas was rigid with apprehension. Clearing his throat, he hedged, "I had not heard that." A lie, but hiding how much he truly knew regarding dangerous topics was always the safest route.

"Well," she said, letting out another breath. "Now you have." She turned round, facing him at last and stalked closer. Her expression was grave, brow furrowed and lips pursed. "The other you made me promise to give you this." She extended her hand out to him and Solas' eyes widened as he realized what it was: the lacquered wolf jawbone he wore. He stared at it, making no move to take it from her.

"You told me to tell you that you were wrong." She wrinkled her nose. "Maybe it's _are_ wrong. You are wrong about something or you _will be_ wrong about something." She sighed, jostling the jawbone as if impatient for him to take it. "You also told me to tell you to let it go. Whatever _it_ is."

Solas stared at the jawbone, unmoving. His mind was blank. He felt cold and then hot and then cold again. _You were wrong. Let it go._ Eyes flying up to meet Rosa's gaze, he swallowed hard, trying to wet his throat. "Thank you," he said, breathy and quiet.

Rosa motioned with the jawbone again. "Aren't you going to take it?"

Solas lifted one hand to touch the jawbone he already wore. It was identical to the one Rosa held. _You were wrong. Let it go._ "I…"

"You want to know what else you told me?" Rosa asked him and now there was a hard note in her voice that made Solas want to cringe. He snuck a glimpse of her face and saw her eyes were dark and too wet. "You told me you would explain _this_ to me," she said, gesturing with the jawbone. "You told me all would be made clear."

She let out a bitter laugh. "And then you told me you loved me."

Now Solas did wince, turning his head away with shame that burned his cheeks all the way to his ears. What had happened to him in that alternate future? What did that other Solas know?

"Nothing?" Rosa asked him, spitting the word. "Figures. I guess you have to be dying of red lyrium infection to admit even a hint of what's going on behind that mask of yours. Or maybe you just like lying even more then, just to toy with me?"

He closed his eyes at her words, shoulders sagging. He wanted to refute her, to look her in the eye and tell her _I never stopped loving you, Rosa._ But doing that would be a grave error and would only cause her—and him—more grief.

"Fine," Rosa grumbled, taking back the proffered jawbone. "If you won't take it, I'll keep it. I guess." She pulled the thin leather cords wider and slipped the jawbone over her head, letting it rest on the outside of her Keeper armor. The bone clinked against the metal adorning her breastplate. She started to lurch toward the door, as if about to stomp out of his cabin, but she paused and then whipped back to him. "If you won't talk to me about that, perhaps you can explain the other crazy shit I saw in the future."

Solas dared to make eye contact with her, waiting expectantly. He didn't trust himself to speak yet, not with his stomach still twisting in anxious knots and his heart pounding. Speak now and he was certain to confess…something. _I never stopped loving you. I never should have left you in the Free Marches last year, but I had no choice. I am the great adversary of your people and this world._

_I killed your father. _

"The breach had expanded so much in the future I saw that the Fade nearly overlaid the world," she said, jaw clenched. "And I could alter reality as if it was a dream." She paused again, eyes narrowing. "You were the one who told me I could. I parted the _blighting walls._" Lifting both hands, she stared down at them, shaking slightly. "I had so much mana, Solas, and everyone was surprised by it—except you." She shook her head. "Why is that, huh?"

Now he had to say something or she'd figure out the truth of Elvhenan. But what could he tell her? What was he supposed to say? The truth seemed so obvious…

"The Veil was…more permeable in the distant past," Solas said, evading her stare. "Allowing the Elvhen to draw more mana from the Fade. Elvhenan relied on magic in all things. Dreamers such as myself could reshape reality in those days."

Her brow furrowed. "All right," she said, though her tone suggested she didn't believe him. "How about you try explaining why the demon that had possessed Tal—the Formless One—wanted your blood, or, I guess, it was also just happy enough to kill you."

Now Solas' lips parted with shock from both her comment regarding the demon and the casual mention of her brother being possessed. _That _was something neither Cassandra nor Varric had mentioned. "I'm sorry?"

"I ran into Tal in that dark future," Rosa explained. "He had let the Formless One possess him so he could find me and save me, he said. But the price was that he kill you or collect your blood." She shrugged. "Maybe both. He kept telling me he knew the truth and I would want to kill you if I knew it, apparently." She snorted. "Any great big secrets you'd like to tell me about now? Like, maybe why the Formless One has a personal vendetta against you and a fetish for your blood?" She glared at him, accusingly. "It's not like this is the first time it's come after you."

Heart racing, Solas shook his head. "I served Mythal," he reminded her and it wasn't really a lie, which made it much easier to say. "During the war with the Forgotten Ones I helped lock them away to keep the People safe. The Formless One falsely believes it can free them using my blood."

Rosa frowned, shaking her head. "Mythal locked them away? _You_ locked them away?" she asked.

"I was one of many generals," Solas quickly said, his voice tight with the anxiety stabbing through his gut. This was…_too_ close to the truth for comfort.

"The legends say it was Fen'Harel," she said, making a face. _That_ was the connection he'd so feared she'd make.

"Dalish legends also say that Elgar'nan slew the sun," Solas said, sneering. "And that dwarves were born of elves living beneath the earth, transformed by Mythal.* Legends are _wrong."_ She was entirely too close to the truth. It made it hard for him to breathe, wondering if she could put the pieces together.

"All right," Rosa said, more neutral now. "Speaking of the so-called Creators, maybe you can explain to me why my possessed brother kept telling me about the false-gods coming to enslave him? What false-gods? The Creators? The Old Gods?"

Solas shook his head, ignoring the flutter of panic in the back of his mind and deep within his chest. "I suspect the Formless One told Tal whatever it needed to motivate him. It had no reason to limit itself to the truth."

She dipped her head. "Fair enough, but…" She frowned. "He seemed so certain of it."

Solas said nothing, though he forced himself to continue looking at her, for fear she would cease to believe him if he didn't. In truth, what Tal had apparently told Rosa in that dark future was one of Solas' greatest fears. The Evanuris would return if the Veil weakened enough. It was just one of dozens of reasons why he needed to ensure Rosa succeeded in closing the breach.

With that in mind, Solas asked, "When do you intend to close the breach now that we have the mages?"

"Cassandra and the others want to do it tomorrow afternoon," she replied, fingering the lacquered jawbone hanging against her breastplate. "We have Fiona's best mages," she said, more speaking to herself than to him. "No reason to wait."

"I agree," Solas told her, forcing a wan smile.

Her violet eyes flicked to his and her lips twisted. "Will you be leaving once we've closed the breach?"

He shook his head in the negative. "No. There is still much to be done with the Inquisition." Hesitating a moment, he added, "We have not yet found the Venatori outright."

"I saw plenty of them in Redcliffe in the dark future," Rosa grumbled. She sighed. "And there's also your orb, but I had assumed you'd want to find that alone." She smirked slightly. "You couldn't stand it when the Templars had it in the Circle, though you tried to pretend it wasn't important."

Solas stared at her, fighting the desire to smile or frown with the nervous tension in his stomach. Rosa had a frightening and simultaneously alluring way of reading him far more accurately than he'd have liked. He felt sweat on his back and under his arms, his skin prickling with it. He had to get her off these dangerous topics—the orb, why he had left her in the Free Marches, why the Formless One wanted his blood rather than Mythal's to free its masters, and why the Veil was supposedly so different now than it was in Elvhenan.

"My greatest hope is to recover the orb before it can cause more destruction and loss of life," he said somberly, trying hard not to remember that his own goals would do exactly that.

Rosa made a little scoff, halfway between irritation and amusement. "I wish my life was that simple," she muttered, frowning at him. "Because everywhere I turn I have another goal or challenge." She began counting them off on her fingers. "Protect Tal, close the breach, stop the Venatori, stop people from calling me their Creators-damned Herald, find out what happened to my father, save my left hand, close the bloody rifts all over Thedas, and schmooze with the blighting _shemlen."_

Solas bristled at her comment about his life being simple and initially opened his mouth to refute her, but stopped when he saw the hard, dry smile over her lips and the sharpness in her gaze. Sometimes Rosa had deliberately provoked him in the Hasmal Circle when they shared dreams because she was trying to ferret out his secrets. It'd been disturbingly effective, to his shame. But he was wise to the tactic now and pinched his lips shut, tightly. "My sympathies," he told her instead, dipping his head.

The intensity in her expression fell away and her shoulders sank. "Yeah," she grumbled, hands dropping to her side, slapping against her thighs. "And one of the most irritating problems I have is _you._" Her violet eyes narrowed. "What are you up to? Why are you toying with me?" She gripped the lacquered jawbone she'd taken from his other self and tugged on it. "What is _this_ about? What did his message mean, Solas?"

Solas turned his head away from her, evading her eyes again. _You were wrong. You are wrong. Let it go._ His stomach seemed to swell, rising up into his chest and pushing his heart into his throat. He inhaled shakily and dared to ask, "I was dying of red lyrium infection?"

"Yes," she replied, her tone strained by the traumatic memory. "You and Cassandra and Varric. Leliana had the Blight. The whole world seemed to be dying of red lyrium. It was everywhere…" Her words trailed off and Solas didn't need to look at her to sense her distress. His hands opened and closed on his thighs as he fought the desire to rise and embrace her, to offer comfort.

"It was awful," Rosa muttered, sniffing. "I did everything I could to save you and the others, but…I had to leave Tal trapped behind a wall I _created_ from thin air and I think…I think Varric was killed." She wrapped her arms around herself. "And Iron Bull and Mahanon died after I disappeared in that alternate reality."

Solas wanted to ask her if she and Mahanon had made up after the Fallow Mire and the other elf's subsequent revealing of Solas' true name to the humans. It would be a change of subject from the horror and grief of the dark future, he reasoned. However, he also couldn't deny his own veiled interest in her quasi-relationship with the Dalish man…

Not that there was any hope for him to rekindle what he and Rosa had shared.

_You were wrong. _

He didn't deserve her. She didn't deserve to be burdened with _him_. His past. His conflicted mind and monstrous goals. His _din'anshiral._

_Let it go. _

He couldn't. If he did, Elvhenan would truly be dead and the elven people as a whole would soon follow them. He had watched it happening in glacial slow-motion from the Fade as humans enslaved the elves, destroyed their empire twice over. First in Arlathan and all over Thedas, then in the Dales.

But behind those more obvious events was the painful truth of class and biology. Humans had grown more numerous and pushed their elven counterparts into slums and poverty, where they could slowly die. And when elves interbreed with humans, by choice or by force, the children born of the union were primarily human. Elf-blooded offspring were _not_ part of the People. It was wasted blood, wasted life. The humans were like a child with trimming shears, hacking and cutting away willy-nilly in a garden with malicious intent. Eventually the plant would die.

The elven race would die out entirely.

Mythal seemed to have already succumbed to this idea with no sentimentality at all when she chose a human vessel. But Solas refused. He could save them. He _must_ save them.

"I'm…sorry," he told her, stiltedly, still unable to do more than peek at her occasionally. He didn't know if his words were an offering of sympathy for what she'd endured, or if he was double-speaking and actually apologizing to her and his other self for not listening to the message.

_You were wrong. Let it go. _

"What did the message mean, Solas?" Rosa pressed again, her voice hardening. "Why did you really abandon me if you still love me? Don't feed me nugshit about serving Mythal or chasing your orb. You could have contacted me. You _should_ have contacted me." She made a little noise of distress in her throat, reminiscent of a hiccup. "If you had, maybe…"

He closed his eyes, feeling nauseous as he tried to show no reaction. He could not dare to speak now or it would all come spilling out. _You were wrong. Let it go._ His hands opened and closed on his thighs as he fought back the growing need to reach out for her, to hold her.

"There's something…" She sounded as though she were just a fingersbreadth from crying, sobbing outright. "Something you should know."

Clenching his jaw, Solas allowed himself to look at her now. Tears sparkled on her cheeks, orange in the firelight from his small hearth. Her lips were pinched together hard and her throat bobbed, nostrils flaring with the strength of her emotion. He stayed tensed, rigid with self-restraint and tried to ignore the cold ache in his own throat as his body and his heart reacted to the sight of her misery. His heart hammered, certain suddenly that whatever she had to tell him would break him.

He had to get her out.

_You were wrong. _

He had to stop her from speaking.

_Let it go. _

"Rosa," he stammered. "Please, I cannot…cannot…"

"You don't want to know," she said, anger darkening her tear-streaked face. Her jaw squared, nostrils flaring with each breath. "You're a coward." She snorted derisively. "Why am I wasting my time here?" she asked, turning away from him with a sharp, angry shake of her head. "Why do I keep coming back to you, _flat-ear?"_

He winced, licking his lips as he hurriedly apologized again. _"Ir abelas…"_ He kept the term of endearment _vhenan_ from leaving his lips with an effort and stayed seated in his chair, sweaty hands gripping at his thighs. Why was this so much harder than facing off against the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones?

She let out a hard, bitter laugh and shot a glare at him over her shoulder. _"Ir abelas,"_ she spat. _"Ir abelas…_" She hung her head and Solas saw her hands curl into shaking fists at her sides. "You're sorry. Sorry for my loss? You. Have. No. Idea."

And then, suddenly, she stomped for his door and ripped it open. On the threshold she paused and snatched the lacquered jawbone. With a snarl, she tore it free, snapping the cords. Glaring at him, she threw the jawbone into the dirt and snow at the entrance to his door and spat, _"Dirthara ma, harellan."_

Solas winced at the curse and then again as the door slammed shut. Stunned and stricken, he sat motionless, not even breathing as he heard her footsteps retreating away. The curse she'd used was one forgotten in recent times, as far as Solas knew. It must be something she'd learned from her father. _Dirthara ma._ May you learn. Adding _harellan_ was even worse, in ways Rosa couldn't know.

After a few moments in the deafening silence, Solas rose from his chair and moved to the door. Opening it, he saw the lacquered jawbone sitting in the dirt. The night was quiet and peaceful, with no others to have witnessed this spat. At least that was a small mercy.

He knelt and, with gentle fingers, picked up the jawbone. He handled it for a moment, seeing a few nicks and stains that weren't on the one he wore, not to mention the broken cords. Shoulders heavy and his heart aching, Solas retreated back inside. Placing the jawbone atop his books, he retreated to his bed, planning on consulting with Wisdom regarding this and then alternatively thinking he would seek out his agents instead, throwing himself into his role as Fen'Harel and burying his heart.

Either way, he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

"Twenty royals says Violet closes the breach today on her first try—no problems," Varric said, grinning as he slapped a hand to his coat pocket, letting everyone hear the jangle of coins there that promised he'd be as good as his word when and if it came time to pay up.

Tal snorted at the dwarf, returning his grin. "I'm not going to bet against my sister. If she doesn't close the breach straight away using the mark she'll probably scold it until it closes on its own cuz it's sick of listening to her."

Rosa shot him a withering look. "Thanks, Tal."

"You're welcome!" he replied, all smiles before he laughed.

"Anyone willing to bet she won't close it on the first try though?" Varric pressed, still after a bet. His voice was a bit breathy from the steep incline of the mountain path, due to his short legs.

They were walking toward what was left of the Temple, trudging through the snow and uphill. The wind howled and tugged on their clothing and hair, as if angry with them for disturbing this once sacred place. Snow flew in fitful starts and stops. The sun was high overhead, lighting the scattered, wispy clouds a brilliant white.

"Why are you even here, Varric?" Rosa asked, a touch irritable. They'd marched for the Temple with as many mages as they could, as well as a smattering of Templars who'd joined their cause at the outset. The Templars were here at Cullen and Vivienne's insistence, a precaution against abomination and…whatever. They also had a handful of other important people and soldiers in case the breach spat out another pride demon, but with so many mages those men and women were a bit superfluous.

All that meant Varric's presence was entirely optional, as was Mahanon's, but both had insisted on coming along, though for very different reasons.

"I'm here because _someone_ has to record this for later," Varric said, sounding a little affronted.

"There are plenty of people here who can do that," Rosa told him, smirking at his irritation.

"Yeah," the dwarf agreed, puffing. "But none of _them_ will be able to write it like I can."

"You mean fictionalizing it," Rosa teased.

"I'd never do that, Violet. I might _exaggerate,_ but I'd never outright lie about something like this," Varric protested.

"Oh," Tal said, laughing. "When you write me, can you say that I'm a buff warrior, like Fenris? Only, say I'm _way_ more handsome, being tall, broad-shouldered, and with dark hair."

"And puppy eyes," Rosa put in, grinning. "Can't forget his puppy eyes, Varric."

"I do _not_ have puppy eyes," Tal retorted. "I mean, not since I was like ten."

"I think she's got you there, Stoic," Varric said, chuckling breathily.

"Well," Tal said, huffing. "If you're going to say that about me, you have to write about Rosa's big nasty birthmark on her ass."

"I do _not_ have a birthmark on my ass," Rosa said, flushing at the suggestion.

"And her hairy shoulders," Tal added. "Can't forget that."

Varric laughed as Rosa twisted around, falling behind to cuff her brother. "Seriously?"

"I think it's a great detail!" Varric announced. "It's believable and makes you a little less larger than life if you have a birthmark or some other flaw."

"I have plenty of flaws," Rosa grumbled. "There's no need to make more up."

Tal grinned at her. "Whatever you say, _asamalin."_

"Rosa," Mahanon called over his shoulder to her from higher on the mountainside. "You're falling behind and holding up the line!"

She sighed and started walking again, a little faster to make up for lagging behind. She watched Mahanon's quiver and his bow thump on his back and knew her own staff was doing the same. Dorian was ahead of Mahanon and Cassandra was ahead of him, leading with Cullen and the handful of heavily armored Templars. Vivienne and Solas were behind, further down the line to organize the mages they'd brought with them straight from Redcliffe.

She blocked any thought of Solas out of her head as she marched onward, though she did wince with humiliation as she couldn't stop herself from remembering that she'd been about to tell him everything. What had happened that spring, when she'd been thrown from the halla. The terrible grief and loss that'd left her bedridden for two weeks afterward, drifting aimless in the Fade, searching for some sign of him and finding nothing concrete. Maybe she would've even told him that, despite her own better sense and the heartbreak he'd caused her, she still knew she loved him.

Better for them both that he'd been the coward and refused to hear it.

They moved off the mountainside and dropped into the cratered ruins of the Temple itself. Cassandra and Cullen and then other Templars led them, swords and shields at the ready. No one knew how the breach would react when Rosa approached it again. They had to be ready for anything. Cassandra ordered archers to stand on the ledges above the breach, their bows at the ready.

Rosa lingered above the breach, waiting tensely with Tal and Varric at her side as Solas and Vivienne—well, mostly it was Solas because the rebel mages sneered at Vivienne for her loyalty to the Circles—organized the mages. Mahanon joined the other archers and the Templars right away, rather than lingering with her. It seemed to take forever, letting Rosa have a long time to stare at the twisted stone and the flecks of red lyrium, gleaming crimson around the crater. What _was_ it? And why was it here? She shuddered at seeing it, thinking of the darkness that'd clung to Tal and the way he had been able to control everyone infected with it.

She hadn't told Tal about his possessed self in that dark future, but she suspected Tal knew of it anyway. She snuck quick peeks at her brother as he idly checked over his staff, ensuring it was ready. He seemed so…well-adjusted. Would losing her truly unhinge him so much that he would volunteer his body to the Formless One? But he'd also talked about saving that dark world with the Formless One's help. His motives had been twisted by the demon, but they were still pure beneath.

"_If I die,"_ she blurted suddenly in elven, staring at her brother. _"I want you to promise me you won't try to avenge me or talk to any demons at all. Do you understand me?"_

Tal lifted his head, brow furrowing. "What?"

She drew in a deep breath, tensing her shoulders and ignoring the arched eyebrow Varric sent her way. _"I know you've been talking to Dorian about what happened in Redcliffe."_

He shifted from one foot to the other and shrugged. "So?"

"_Did he tell you we ran into another you and that you'd let yourself be possessed by a demon?"_

"Yes," he answered, swallowing hard and glancing to Varric before switching to elven as well. _"You're not going to die today, Rosa."_

"_I don't care about today," _she said, waving a hand dismissively at the breach. _"I mean any time. Whenever my time comes. Don't do anything stupid. It's not worth it. You can't trust any demon. Especially not the Formless One."_

"Duh," he retorted, snorting. _"If it will make you fee better, then yes. I promise."_

She clapped him on the shoulder and smiled as she squeezed. "Good."

Now Tal's brow furrowed and he frowned. _"Do you know why I apparently wanted to kill Solas?"_

She paused a moment before shaking her head. "I'm still trying to figure that out."

"Talking about old flames now?" Varric interjected, having clearly recognized Solas' name amidst the elven words.

"Something like that," Rosa muttered, scowling as she looked up at the breach. It glimmered green, high up. Solas' orb had caused this. The realization hit her all over again and she shook her head, dizzied.

"Herald," Cullen called out to her from further around the ledge circling the crater. When she raised her head the ex-Templar smiled at her. "We're ready to begin."

She nodded and pushed off the twisted stone she'd been leaning against. Drawing in a deep breath, she strode forward. Tal and Varric followed behind her, their feet scuffing over the uneven stone. Rosa passed Cullen as he went to join his Templars and other soldiers, circling lower to reach the depth of the crater at the base of the shattered statue of Andraste. Varric stopped to join the archers, Bianca at the ready, but Tal continued on with her. The mages she passed nodded to her, eyes bright and expressions brimming with awe. A few of them murmured "Herald," at her as she passed.

Dropping down into the low point with a grunt, Rosa saw Cassandra and Solas waiting for her. Cassandra nodded to her. "We're ready, Herald. Solas will rally the mages when you begin."

Her gaze flicked to her ex-lover and she saw, of course, that he wasn't looking at her. His focus was on his staff, which he held gripped in both hands. The knuckles on his hands flared white his grip was so tight.

She glanced over her shoulder and upward, searching for Tal and finding him standing with his staff out beside the other mages. He smiled at her, warm and encouraging.

Lifting her left hand, Rosa thought about the Anchor and felt it flare to life with a shot of white-hot pain through the fine bones in her palm. She blew out a breath as she saw the green glow shimmer awake, crackling like lightning or fire. "All right," she said and stepped forward. "Let's get this over with."

Her motion forward seemed to be Solas' cue to spring into action. He walked past her, behind her back, his feet crunching over the grit and gravel. "Focus past the Herald," he told them in a strong, clear voice. "Let her will draw from you."

Rosa breathed deeply, trying to keep her own focus through the agony in her hand, burning through her palm and up into her wrist. The breach seemed to fight her as she drew closer. Green eddies broke over her, setting her skin tingling with a sensation similar to magic. And, underlying it, she could feel the blissful song she'd felt in the dark future just distantly, reaching out to her.

The mages behind her channeled their mana then and Rosa felt the surge of it as a pulse of heat and pleasure that made her stumble. Her ears buzzed and her head swam with vertigo. She gnashed her teeth to keep from moaning. Even the pain in her hand vanished, becoming a fierce heat that was just shy of painful.

_This is…this is…_ Her thoughts scattered, difficult to hold. Somewhere, through it all, she heard whispers speaking in elven. _We are here. We have waited. We have slept. We are sundered. We are crippled. We are polluted. _

_Not this again,_ she thought, gooseflesh breaking out over her skin.

_We endure. _

_We wait._

She thrust her open palm at the rift, hoping to shut the whispers up. The green-white threads pulsated and Rosa felt them burning in her flesh, making her shake, but the pleasure of all the mana flowing into her masked it, letting her continue. Then, just when she was beginning to feel woozy, the breach shuddered and let out a dull _boom!_ The shockwave smashed into Rosa, knocking her backward as it raced away in all directions.

For a moment she lapsed into unconsciousness, her hand afire with pain that followed her into the Fade. She saw seven shapes, bipedal and shining a variety of colors—red, green, and gold. She felt their anger in waves, lashing at her—and then, immediately after, she felt their surprise and shock as a cold prickling over her skin.

"_A slave?"_ one shape, glowing gold, asked in a disbelieving growl.

"_One of yours?"_ another in green asked, and unlike the first it sounded female.

They were speaking elven and they felt…they felt like Dreamers. The Fade warped around them, like light bent by mirrors. They cast long shadows in her mind, looming and enormous. Who were these beings? And what kind of bizarre dream was this?

And then one of the three shapes glowing red edged closer to her and Rosa felt her face burn. _"Slave," _the shape said, male again. _"Tell me—"_

But then she snapped awake, gasping as she grabbed at her face, feeling the stinging sensation of burns still over her cheeks, forehead, and chin. Scrambling partly upright, she twisted round to see Cassandra hurrying over to her, boots crunching on the gravel. "Herald?" she called, her voice worried.

Rosaa saw the mages, archers, and Templars had all been knocked back by the shockwave but were now righting themselves. She saw Mahanon staring down at her, his brow furrowed with concern. Further down and closer to the drop off point, Rosa saw Tal also standing up, helping another mage nearby to get to his feet as well. It took Rosa a moment to realize the other mage was Dorian. Varric was with the mages now, having apparently left the archers to get closer to the action.

Glancing to the breach, Rosa let out a shuddering breath as relief washed over her. The sky was clear, with no sign of the sinuous, green ribbon of the rift overhead. _Good,_ she thought. The dark future would never come to pass now. The Veil was whole and the Elder One, whoever and wherever he was, lacked his mages now. There might still be a demon army and an assassination to worry about, but that could be someone else's problem. A _shemlen_ problem. Cassandra's problem.

As if the Seeker could overhear her thought and found it scandalous, Cassandra gasped above her. Her hand, reaching for Rosa's shoulder, withdrew as if she'd been about to touch open flame. "Herald…" she said, brown eyes wide. "Your…"

Rosa frowned up at the Seeker. "What is it?" she asked as she grunted, trying to rise to her feet.

"Your…marks," the Seeker said, shaking her head in consternation.

Rosa looked down at her left hand, but the mark had gone dormant and was no longer visible. She frowned at Cassandra in confusion and was about to speak when Solas was suddenly nearby, his expression grave.

"Your vallaslin," he told her, quiet and solemn. He sidled around Cassandra and, in an even quieter voice, asked, "If you will allow me…." He lifted one hand and she sensed his magic, building just beneath his skin.

She realized that she did still feel her face-her vallaslin, actually—burning and thought of Rogathe with panic. Clutching at the cord attached to the raven talisman, she nodded her consent and Solas' hand gleamed green-white. He did not raise it to her face, merely made a slight wave of his hand, as though dismissing something or someone. Rosa felt the heat in her face cool immediately.

"Thanks," she told him, stiffly, aware of the celebratory whooping from the gathered force of mages, Templars, scouts, and soldiers all around. Most of them hadn't noticed her glowing vallaslin, thankfully.

But Cassandra had.

"What was that?" she asked, shaking her head.

"A side effect of closing the breach, I suspect," Solas answered for her, lying smoothly.

Rosa smiled, as though her heart wasn't racing with deep, cold fear. "Must be, but that's besides the point." She gestured at the sky. "We did it!"

"Yes," Cassandra agreed, her shoulders slouching slightly with what must have been extreme relief. "_You_ did it, Herald."

Rosa was about to scold the Seeker for using that ridiculous title again when she saw Tal and Mahanon drop down into the crater, rushing for her. Tal appeared gleeful, almost giddy as he grinned and laughed. Mahanon, meanwhile, looked apprehensive as he threw Solas a suspicious glare.

"You did it, _asamalin!"_ Tal shouted, running to her to embrace her.

Rosa let her tension fall away as she hugged him back, squeezing tightly. _Yes, I did._ But it wasn't about closing the breach. It was about saving Tal, Cassandra, Mahanon, Iron Bull, Varric, Sera, Leliana, Cullen, Blackwall, and even Vivienne and everyone else. Even Solas.

Maybe, if she was being honest with herself, _especially_ Solas. She tried not to be honest with herself, though, as their party returned to Haven, dizzy with triumph.

* * *

All of Haven was celebrating, but Solas was doing anything but as he paced his cabin, hands clutched behind himself and shoulders hunched. The memory of Rosa's vallaslin glowing crimson as she lifted her head after closing the breach kept streaking through his mind's eye, tormenting him with questions and fears and indecision.

He guessed by Rosa's instinctual clutching for the raven talisman, buried under her armor, that she had mistakenly thought the glow was from Rogathe. Solas knew, judging by the coloration, that it was not. The red coloration was identical to what he'd seen countless times in Elvhenan when a slave-owner had activated the compulsion in his property's vallaslin. It was a form of blood magic, hence the name for the tattoos: blood writing.

What had she seen as she closed the breach? What had touched her with that kind of magic? The only beings who would know how to use it were the Evanuris and a select few ancient spirits and demons that _might_ be able to use such magic against Rosa. But the spirits—even the _demons_—were unlikely to do so. Powerful beings like the Formless One and Imshael delighted in free will and trickery. Outright control was boring to them and they weren't likely to stand against Rosa trying to close this breach. Many of them would tacitly hope Solas succeeded in his plans as they had no desire to see the Veil fail in this uncontrolled way Corypheus had begun because it would unleash the Evanuris.

That meant the most likely culprits were the Evanuris themselves. And they should be slumbering in their corrupted stronghold the humans had dubbed the Black City. They should be incapable of harassing anyone from the Fade, but…

Rosa's voice from the previous day echoed in the back of his mind as she told him about the dark future she'd seen: _…my possessed brother kept telling me about the false-gods coming to enslave him…_

Perhaps the breach had woken their minds and the Veil had weakened enough to let them watch the Fade, as if from uthenera, the same way he had. And, like him, they could use some limited magic in that state and touch mortals' dreams. It made sense they would watch the breach very closely, if so. And they were very much likely to oppose Rosa's attempt to seal the breach.

And with her vallaslin, Rosa would be vulnerable.

He could save her, but doing it risked revealing too much. More and more pieces of the puzzle were filtering their way to Rosa and eventually she would unravel the knot to make sense of it. For his sake, he should be silent.

He held his head, pressing hard on his skull as he cursed. _"Fenedhis."_ Outside, all around Haven, he heard the cheering and songs of everyone celebrating. It mocked him, inundating and snagging his thoughts as he tried to work out a way to approach Rosa and gain her trust enough that she would allow him to remove the vallaslin…ideally without revealing much about his concerns.

The only answer that kept coming to him was one he couldn't use, no matter how much he desperately wanted to.

_You were wrong. _

_Let it go._

If he put aside his past, abandoning Fen'Harel and his duties to the People, he could tell her he still loved her, that he wanted to share his life with her—that he should have stayed with her in the Free Marches last winter. He could tell her he hated seeing the marks of a slave over the face of someone he loved. He could tell her that he wanted to work at her side with the Inquisition to defeat the Venatori and their would-be Magister god and, when he had his orb back, he would remove the Anchor from her and destroy it. He would dash any chance to save the elven people, but he could choose his own happiness, his own selfishness, over everything else. And they could safeguard this world together, in whatever limited capacity they could with their short, mortal lives…

Assuming she'd forgive him. But, even if she didn't, he'd probably be able to convince her to let him remove her vallaslin.

_I can't do that,_ he thought over and over again, only to hear Rosa's words as she relayed the message from his other self.

_You were wrong. Let it go. _

He wanted to let it go. He wanted to shrug out of the burden he'd carried for thousands of years the way he shed his vest after a long day of travel. He wanted to simply be _Solas_ once more. Solas, who had been nothing but an unremarkable young man from a little village in Elgar'nan's lands, the beloved only child to librarian Sylvun and headmistress Renan.

But only Fen'Harel could save the People from extinction.

_You were wrong,_ Rosa's voice whispered in his head. _You _are_ wrong._

He froze midway in his pacing circuit from fireplace to door, staring ahead without actually seeing anything. If only he could be confident that Rosa and Tal would _join_ him if they knew the truth…

He had sworn never to recruit them, though it was a tantalizing, tempting option. His friend Wisdom had told him that he must not seek to recruit them, but to tell them the _truth._ He couldn't deny the wisdom in that view. To _recruit_ the siblings was to _use_ them, while telling them the truth was _trusting_ them. But he couldn't trust them, not when he didn't know how they'd react. If they turned against him, he'd have to kill them.

_Would he?_

He'd killed Felassan when his old friend defied him and now, in hindsight, it seemed a mistake. He could have found _some_ other solution, even if it was one he abhorred, like using blood magic to wipe much of his old friend's memory. And yet, he knew he'd do it all over again, but…

_You were wrong._

Groaning, Solas abandoned his pacing and whipped around to go to the door. He snatched up his vest and shrugged it on as he tore open the door and marched into the gathering gloom of nightfall.

_Let. It. Go. _

* * *

*References a legend I made up and had Tal retell in Solas the Circle Mage. Basically, the elves living belowground captured Mythal and pissed off Elgar'nan in doing it so much that he planned to slaughter every last one of them, despite the fact that most were innocent. When Mythal escaped, she took pity on them and, to save them, cast a powerful spell to make them short and stocky, to better hide in cracks where Elgar'nan couldn't reach. She also cut them off from the Fade, denying them magic and dreaming so they would be safe while they slept from Elgar'nan's wrath there, too. Thus, the first dwarves were created. Solas thinks this is bullshit, obviously.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Did you forget what happened?" Mahanon demanded of her. The words were slurred and he swayed just slightly as he motioned to her. Rosa could smell the alcohol on his breath. She needed to end this confrontation before Mahanon said something she'd rather not have aired in front of Solas.

"You're right, Han," she told him, voice quiet and hoarse.

"Creators," Mahanon barked. "Of _course_ I'm right." He whipped back around and glowered at Solas. "Do you even know, you flat-eared son of a bitch? Do you know what you put her through? Did you know she almost _died_ this spring when—"

Rosa snatched Mahanon's shoulder and jerked him back to face her, snarling. "That's enough, Han! Shut. Up!"

* * *

Endnote: Next chapter starts the rollercoaster of "In Your Heart Shall Burn" which turned into three chapters for me...Pre-Cory confrontation. Cory Confrontation. And then Post-Cory.


	14. In Your Heart Shall Burn Part 1: Flat-Eared Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking answers regarding her vision, Rosa talks with Solas. But jealous Mahanon intrudes, as does a certain aspiring god by the name of Corypheus.

"I've never slept with a man," Mahanon said, a small smirk twitching his lips as he stared across the room to Tal, who sat with his back to the little fireplace inside Rosa's cabin.

Tal raised his mug of ale in salute. "You got me, _lethallin,_" he said and took a long swig of his drink, sighing with satisfaction as he lowered it again.

Rosa was staring at the floor between them, barely registering their playful banter as they continued their drinking game of _I Never. _She had been partaking in the festivities as well, sipping her own ale and adding in things she'd never done to keep the game going. But, honestly, with just the three of them, it wasn't all that exciting. They knew one another too well. So, instead, Rosa found herself remembering the intimidating beings she'd seen so briefly in the Fade when she closed the breach.

_A slave?_ One of the gold-shining forms had said. He'd been talking about _her._

"Hey," Mahanon said, jerking his chin at her. "Did you hear, _vhenan?"_

She blinked and, vaguely remembering what he'd said, raised her mug to her lips and took a drink. She forced herself to smile. "You got me, of course."

"My turn," Tal chimed in, clearing his throat. "I've never been to Antiva."

Now Mahanon drank, quick but deeply. After he'd finished, Tal stabbed a finger at him. "I _knew_ you understood that Antivan trader a few weeks back."

"I'd be happy to teach you," Mahanon told him and then motioned using his mug toward Rosa. "And you as well."

_One of yours?_ The female voice from the being in green asked in Rosa's head. Which figure had it been speaking to? Was it the red one who'd approached her a moment later?

"Your turn," Tal said and then, when she didn't reply, said, "Rosa? Thedas to Rosa!"

She snapped to attention, blinking as she realized it was her turn. Quickly she said, "I've never fucked a Tal-Vashoth."

Tal guffawed, slapping the floor beside him. "Really? That doesn't count."

She shot him a smirk. "Drink."

"But I didn't," Tal protested, laying a hand over his chest. "Herah just grabbed me by the balls that one time when we were drunk and making out. That's not _fucking _and you know it."

She rolled her eyes, noting the disgusted expression on Mahanon's face. "All right then, let me rephrase. I've never kissed or felt up or been felt up by a Tal-Vashoth."

Tal sighed and drank from his mug. At Mahanon's disgusted cluck of the tongue Tal frowned at him. "C'mon, prude. Herah was _sexy._ Don't try to deny it. If you weren't such a bigot you'd be jealous." He sighed then, shoulders slumping. "I miss her and Kaaras and all of the Valo-Kas who didn't make it out of the Temple."

Rosa swallowed, sympathizing with Tal's grief. She'd liked Kaaras for his dry wit and easygoing nature. Herah had been a bit pricklier, and she'd been a little too sexually aggressive, making obvious and rather crude advances on all of the elves in some kind of quest just to see if she could seduce one of them. Tal had been the only one to play along, much to his fellow Dalish elves' horror. Even Rosa, who knew him so well, had been a little surprised. But if Tal denied actual sex with Herah now, she was inclined to believe him.

"My turn again, then," Mahanon said. "I've never slept with a _shemlen."_

Tal snorted and took a short sip of his mug. At Mahanon's ongoing disgusted look, he shrugged and spoke out with an irritable, defensive voice. "What? My birth clan was in the Dales and we ran into them constantly. I met humans who said they were elf-blooded all the time and they felt this kinship with us because of it and…well, why not?"

"And you?" Mahanon asked her, a wary look crossing his face.

Rosa rolled her eyes. "You already know the answer is no."

"Seriously, Han," Tal said, chuckling dryly. "She's only into purebloods."

"And flat-ears," Mahanon muttered, frowning into his mug.

"Han," Rosa growled, closing her eyes in anger—but what she saw on her eyelids was the red being from the Fade, drawing closer to her and demanding, _Slave, tell me…_

What? What had it wanted to know? She dreaded the thought of falling asleep tonight, wondering if those beings would be waiting for her.

"Sorry," Mahanon answered and rubbed at his face. "I…I think I've had too much to drink."

He and Tal and Varric and a number of others had been in the tavern drinking before this. Rosa had been with Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and even the snooty Vivienne in a meeting before this and hadn't had a drop of alcohol until coming back to her cabin to find Tal and Mahanon waiting for her.

"Were you this insecure in your clan?" Tal asked Mahanon, shaking his head.

"No," Rosa answered for Mahanon, idly swirling her ale in its mug. In their clan Mahanon had been a gentleman, gracious and kind. Traveling with him in the Valo-Kas had been something of a shock as he lashed out at the men in their mercenary troop and revealed his deep-seated bigotry toward other races. She'd known he resented humans, but that was common among the Dalish and elves in general, but Mahanon didn't like the Tal-Vashoth and Qunari either, calling them brutes and savages.

Mahanon scowled at both of them. "I am _not_ insecure."

"Of course you are," Tal shot back, making a sweeping gesture with his mug. "That's why you're always so jealous and suspicious."

"I'm _not_ insecure," Mahanon repeated, growling. His face was bright red, down to his neck and up to his ears.

"Well," Tal said, shrugging. "It's that or you're just a prick."

Mahanon scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Shut up, pipsqueak."

"I'm meatier than you are," Tal shot back, laughing with a noticeable edge to his voice. "And you know it."

"I'm your elder," Mahanon reminded him. "You should show some respect."

"And I'm First to Manaria," Tal retorted. "Big deal. Out here we're all just savages with tattoos on our faces."

Remembering the burning from her glowing vallaslin, Rosa reached up and touched her markings, frowning. She hadn't felt as though Rogathe had stirred in her and the talisman hadn't stopped working as far as she could tell. If it wasn't Rogathe then…what had made her vallaslin burn?

Solas would know, but the last thing she wanted was to ask him.

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned him, Rosa heard knuckles rap against the door to her cabin. Mahanon grunted from his chair and Tal squinted at the door, as if he hoped to see through the wooden barrier to the outside. Neither rose to answer it right away and so Rosa sprang upright, setting her mug onto the floor in front of the bed. "I'll get that, you drunkards."

Tal snorted, laughing as he lifted his mug to his lips. Mahanon was more gracious, nodding to her as he said, _"Ma serannas."_

Already feeling cold and tightly wound with apprehension, Rosa slid open the viewport and saw, sure enough, a pair of dark blue seed-shaped eyes set in pallid skin flick up and meet hers through the slat. Sliding it shut again, Rosa sighed, steeling herself for whatever was about to come and tugged open the door.

"Rosa," Solas greeted her, his voice strained. His expression looked almost as though he was in pain. "Herald," he said, swallowing. "I had hoped to speak with you in private."

He was speaking softly, but apparently not enough to escape notice from Tal and Mahanon. The latter was stomping out of the living area and through the foyer, glowering. Tal was scrambling in an unsteady, drunken gait to try and hold Mahanon back.

"What are _you_ doing here, flat-ear?" Mahanon growled.

Solas' gaze flicked to the other man for an instant and then away again, dismissing him, apparently. After their discussion regarding Mahanon's insecurity, Rosa had to admit how refreshing his confidence was. "Apologies," he said, sounding polite. "I do not mean to alarm anyone, but—"

"Get out of here, flat-ear," Mahanon snarled, trying to shoulder past Rosa.

Rosa turned and pushed Mahanon backward. "Knock it off, Han. You're drunk." Looking to Tal, she motioned back inside. "Why don't you and Han go back to celebrating? I'm sure this won't take long."

"Rosa," Mahanon protested, spluttering. His hazel eyes crinkled with something akin to anguish. "Please…"

"Go back inside," she told him again, using her authoritative voice, the one she had been practicing since becoming First as a child.

Mahanon heaved a sigh and turned round, letting Tal hook his arm through his elbow and tug him toward the living area and the fire. "Chill out, Han," Tal said, his words a little slurred. "She _hates_ him, remember? But he has his uses. Remember Rogathe?"

Huffing irritably, Rosa stepped out of the cabin and shut the door behind her. She crossed her arms, tucking her hands beneath her armpits for warmth, and glared up at Solas. "What do you want, _harellan?"_ she asked him, snarling.

Her words made him wince as if she'd slapped him. "I…" He broke off and stared at her, an unreadable mix of emotions darkening his features, but primary among them was grief. "I needed time to consider the message you gave me."

She stared at him, staying silent, arms still crossed over her chest.

He fidgeted a moment and then turned, gesturing at the path behind him, leading toward the stairs ascending higher into Haven. "Will you walk with me?"

She hesitated, her gaze scanning over Haven in the dark as she debated whether she should agree or rebuff him. What was he up to? Was this just another time he would toy with her? Searching over his expression, she at last sighed and gave in. "All right," she agreed.

They set out walking away from her cabin, side by side. Solas took her along the inside of Haven's defensive wall made of rough-hewn timber. They could hear the merrymaking and laughter from the tavern on the hill above them. Someone was fiddling on a violin and another person was singing a jaunty tune in Orlesian to go with it.

As they approached the trebuchet at the end of the path, the music and singing having died away with the distance, Rosa heaved a sigh. "Are we just walking together, Solas?" she asked. "Or did you actually have something you wanted to tell me?"

"I…" His lips quirked downward. "I have been trying to find the right words."

"You said this was about the message the other you gave you?" she asked, trying to prompt him. "The one about being wrong and letting it go." She snorted, frowning as she looked at the rocks and trees off to her left, opposite the trebuchet. "I wish the other you could have been a bit more talkative." She cut herself off, remembering the sickly crimson glow and the heat thrown off by that other Solas' skin. The dying Solas. She swallowed the sudden lump that formed in her throat at the thought. As complex as her emotions for the Elvhen man were, she couldn't deny that thinking about him sick and dying, weak and suffering and hopeless, left her hurting with sympathy.

"There are…many things I have not told you," Solas hedged, grimacing. "And you are correct. I have been a coward, but…" He stopped, staring ahead and sighing. His shoulders rose and fell with the long inhalation he took next as he pivoted to face her, his brows curling down on the outsides. "One day I will tell you, but for now I ask you to be patient with me. I…" His blue eyes skittered away. "For my own safety, I must keep a great deal hidden—even from you."

"About your past," Rosa murmured, frowning. "About Elvhenan." Her father had been the same, though she had not really realized it for most of her life. He had been dismissive, playful, or cagey about subjects deemed utterly serious by the People—like the fall of Elvhenan or the sanctity of the Creators, who he actually abhorred. Solas had always reminded her on some level of Ivun or Felassan or whatever name he wanted to call himself by.

Now Solas' blue eyes locked with hers. "Yes."

She shook her head, irritated and struggling with the desire to tell him how much he reminded her of her father—but that wouldn't mean anything to Solas. He hadn't known her father and didn't know that he had also been her mentor, the man who'd abandoned her on the Storm Coast when she'd first been trying to get Rogathe to leave her. She'd never forgiven him for that and had lashed out at him at every meeting after that. The end result, she suspected, was that her last words to him had been uttered in bitter anger.

If there was one thing the dark future had shown her, it was how fast things could change—how quickly she could lose everything and everyone. Recalling her last words to her father, which she regretted with a painful stab through her ribs every time she considered them, made her quash her irritation and frustration toward Solas. She wanted to scoff at him and say, _You brought me out here just to tell me what I already know and dangle the promise that someday, maybe, when you're good and ready, you'll tell me the truth?_

But she held her tongue and instead forced a smile as she nodded at him. "I see." She heaved a disappointed sigh and started to turn away—but Solas caught her arm.

"Rosa," he said, sounding earnest and somber. "Please stay a moment longer."

When she didn't immediately tug her arm from his grasp and shot him a sidelong glance instead, waiting, Solas continued. "I wanted you to know I regret leaving you in the Free Marches. You were right. I was wrong and…"

She pivoted slightly to face him again and felt Solas' grip on her forearm tighten. His blue eyes were dark, his stare intense in the gloom. "Not a day went by when I did not think of you." His lips pinched together. "I did what I thought would be better for us both when I left and did not contact you." He gave a small shake of his head. "I could not bear the thought of placing you in unnecessary danger as I hunted the orb…but I realize now that I was wrong."

Rosa blinked and swallowed, trying to deny the burning behind her eyes as his words affected her. _You cannot believe him,_ a cautionary voice reminded her. She tried to channel her truthsaying gift, bringing the coy smile to her lips, but she picked up nothing. "Solas…" she said, her voice both pleading and warning.

She'd wanted to tell him _everything_ his decision had cost her, of that spring spent writhing on a pallet in clan Lavellan's healer's aravel. Of the feverish, hazy hours Mahanon had spent with her, praying to the Creators that they spare her and…

…and she had started to believe she could and _should_ bond with the Dalish hunter. But now Solas was here again, speaking words she wanted but also dreaded, the sort of thing she had fantasized about after joining clan Lavellan. Except all dreams had become nightmares that spring, washed away in blood.

She felt shameful tears prick her eyes and her stomach cinched, but she swallowed hard and pushed the desire to confess everything deep down inside. _No._ Solas had abandoned her and she couldn't be certain he wouldn't do it again. Everything he touched seemed to crash and burn. The Hasmal Circle. The Conclave. Even Mythal had _died_ on his watch, apparently. Then there was what he'd done to Rosa herself.

"There is something else," Solas said abruptly, lips twisting and posture tense, as if he sensed she was about to dismiss him. "As you sealed the breach…" His expression was dire. "What did you see?"

The change of subject was both a relief and an alarm—and it made Rosa frown. He had not come here to whisper confessions of near-love to apologize and try to capture her heart once more. He had some other motive. Of course

"That was a little bit of a non-sequitur," she muttered at him, smiling wryly. "I knew you were up to something, flat-ear." She aimed for a lighthearted tone to disguise her irritation, but it seeped through anyway.

He winced as if she'd slapped him, blatantly wounded. "Rosa," he said, her name hoarse on his lips. "I do not speak lightly. Your life may be in danger. My only desire is to help you."

She scoffed, trying to ignore the ache of her heart beneath her ribs. "You have plenty of desires, Solas," she grumbled. "And helping me is clearly far down on your list."

"That is not true," Solas said, a note of anger in his voice as he edged a tad closer. His words were softer as he added, "Please. I do not ask that you forgive me for my actions—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I do not forgive _myself_ for my mistakes. I would not ask you to do what I cannot. But—"

"Enough," Rosa snapped with a sideways slash of her hand. Breathing the cold, bitter air, she huffed as she frowned at him. "You came to me not to tell me the truth or explain yourself. You just want to know about closing the breach." Her jaw clenched and she bit out, "Fine. That's just fine with me. Say what you mean. Don't play games with me."

Solas stared at her, his expression creased with pain. He wet his lips and started to speak, then cut himself off and dropped his gaze to the snow and gravel at their feet.

"You want to know what I saw when I closed the breach?" she asked, clipped and sharp. "I saw seven figures in differing colors: gold, red, and green. I felt their rage and heard them whispering. When they saw me…" She grimaced. "They called me a slave and one of them stepped up to me and…" She shrugged. "Then I woke up."

He had lifted his gaze to meet hers as she spoke and now pinched his lips together. Rosa saw nothing that hinted at surprise in his eyes. _He already knew what I would say,_ she thought.

"What were they?" she asked him. "And am I going to meet up with those…_beings_ again when I go to sleep tonight?"

"It is unlikely," Solas hedged with a dip of his head. "But possible. I suspect you already know they are dangerous." The corners of his lips twitched up slightly. "Fortunately, I know of a way to protect you."

"Uh-huh," she said, grunting. "And what were they again? Demons?" She frowned and shook her head. "No, they didn't make me feel sick." She stared at him hard, watching his reaction as she said, "They felt like Dreamers."

Solas' gaze on her was somber and unblinking. "What they are does not matter, only that they are a danger to you because of your vallaslin."

Now her eyebrows shot up into her forehead. "My vallaslin?" She recalled the burning in her cheeks, chin, forehead, and even along her nose. She hadn't really noticed at the time, but the pain _had_ followed along the lines of her tattoos.

"It is blood writing," Solas told her evenly, cool and scholarly. "Used to mark slaves."

"Slaves?" Rosa blurted. Her stomach felt hollow with shock and then a second later her heart ached anew. She lifted a hand to her cheek, feeling over those sacred lines. "That can't be…" She frowned, breaking off as she saw the sympathy in Solas' features. "Never again shall we submit," she said, reciting the Dalish credo. "And all this time…you're telling me my people have been marking themselves as _slaves?"_

Solas nodded, dipping his chin just once. "Yes. I'm sorry. I did not tell you this to hurt you, but you should know that to those who know the spell, it will be possible for them to place a compulsion over you. That is what you felt when the being spoke to you. The spell makes the vallaslin glow red as the blood is activated."

"And you saw it glow red today," she finished for him, numb as the understanding dawned.

"Yes," he confirmed and took a small step closer to her, enough that she could feel the heat of his breath faintly brushing against her cheeks. "I know a spell. I can remove the vallaslin to keep you safe." He fell silent a beat, blue eyes scanning over her face. "If you wish…"

She looked away from him, jaw clenching. "I have to give it some thought." She blew out a breath. "They might be slave markings to you, but to me it's a badge of everything I am and all that I stand for." She closed her eyes, remembering the prick of the needle, of soaking in the pain with pride as her mother worked. It was her triumph and her pride. It was an announcement to the clan and to all of Thedas.

_I am Dalish. I am of the last Elvhen. _

And privately, it was a proclamation of her greatest secret: _I am the granddaughter of Dirthamen._ _His values will be my values. _

"I understand," Solas said, his voice somber and sad. "And I believe the danger will be minimal now that the breach has been closed."

The memory-image of the red glowing being that'd used the spell on her burned across her eyelids again. _"Slave,"_ she heard his voice say. _"Tell me…"_

"You never answered me, Solas," she said suddenly, opening her eyes to stare at him. "What are they? _Who_ are they?" Her heart pounded against her ribs like a fist.

Solas' lips pinched together. He said nothing, but the answer hung around them, like the snowflakes drifting down with the wind.

She knew from her father that the Creators weren't gods and had instead been a sort of dysfunctional, motley band of ambitious mages and war-leaders. _Super-powerful_ ambitious mages who declared themselves gods.

If _Rosa_ could be the granddaughter of a mage who'd been able to masquerade as a god—and Ivun, her father, had been the son of Dirthamen directly—then why wouldn't those mages feel like Dreamers in the Fade? There'd been seven of them, matching the number of Creators she knew had been locked away by the Dread Wolf. But…it wasn't _possible_ she'd encountered them. They had been silent, cut off from the People since the fall of Arlathan. Even though they weren't gods, they _must_ be inaccessible to the People.

_Right?_

"It is not important," Solas repeated, sounding stiff.

Harnessing her truthsaying talent, she smiled dryly as she asked, "Was it the Creators? Or the Old Gods perhaps?"

Solas scowled and shook his head. "It does not—"

"It does," Rosa growled. "I'm _sick_ of your secrets!" She grabbed his tunic, her hand fisting in it as she jerked him closer to her. _"Fenedhis!_ Tell me what you know, Solas! Tell me the truth!"

Solas had lifted both hands to her shoulders, as if he would push her away—but he didn't go through with it. Instead, Rosa only felt the heat of his hands on her shoulders and saw the dilated black of his pupils. She felt his breath fanning over her cheeks and saw his nostrils flare. His expression was tense: part pain and part…something else that warmed the depths of his eyes. His lips were parted just slightly. The memory of his taste, his touch, left her suddenly feeling feverish. She wanted to lash out at him, to _coerce_ him into talking, into coming clean. She wanted to…she _wanted…_

And then his lips were against her own and she didn't know, couldn't say, who had kissed whom—and she didn't care.

All trace of the usual bone-numbing chill of Haven vanished as Rosa's blood rushed, blooming everywhere with heat. Her heart pounded and her body ached with the sudden ferocity of desire. This raw, carnal attraction was more intense than anything she'd felt with Mahanon or her first lover. It washed the world clean, burned it away in fire.

She tugged him even closer, arching her body into his. Solas' hands on her shoulders gripped hard and then dropped to her waist, encircling her. Encouraging her. The taste of his mouth was as tantalizing as she remembered, full of hidden strength and wildness. His lips were smooth and dexterous, reminding her of the unbelievable pleasure he could bring her with that talented mouth. He was not a sloppy kisser the way Mahanon and her first lover.

Her hands, fisted in his tunic, relaxed as she let herself fold into his embrace. Their bodies sang with familiarity, with mutual yearning. Her heart ached and swelled inside her ribcage. She could almost feel the thump of Solas' heart through her breasts, pressed to his chest. He deepened the kiss, bending his greater height to meet with her.

And then, suddenly, it all fell apart.

She heard a shout and footsteps crunching in the snow and gravel, thumping in a rapid pace. Drawing closer. She stiffened, starting to push Solas away, but he didn't seem to register the approaching runner. His lips followed hers, greedy and hungry, and Rosa didn't pull back with enough speed or force to react before—

"Get off her!"

Solas ripped away from her and Rosa staggered, breathing hard and blinking as she saw the intruder was Mahanon. He was red-faced down to his neck and up to his ears. His eyes were narrow slits of hate. He'd barreled into them and pushed Solas back from her, then swung with his right fist. The punch sent Solas stumbling backward, one hand lifted to his cheekbone.

"Fucking flat-ear bastard!" Mahanon roared.

"Han," Rosa said, spluttering. "Stop it!"

Mahanon whipped around to face her and she winced at the sight of tears in his red-rimmed eyes. "How could you, Rosa?" he asked her, voice strangled. "After what he did to you? To _us?"_

Rosa's mouth shut, her jaw clenching as any trace of desire flashed suddenly cold and heavy with remembered grief. She wanted to be irritated, to say something to shut Mahanon down—_Solas hurt _me_, not you—_but the invisible knife in her heart only twisted at the thought. Mahanon was right, and she had no right to throw his caring back in his face. Hadn't he spent hours at her side praying for her that spring? And not just for her. His prayers to Sylaise and Mythal had been for another as well. Selfless prayers.

Solas stood a few meters away, one hand still on his cheek. His brow beetled and his lips twisted, but he said nothing. His gaze was on Rosa, waiting.

"Did you forget what happened?" Mahanon demanded of her. The words were slurred and he swayed just slightly as he motioned to her. Rosa could smell the alcohol on his breath. She needed to end this confrontation before Mahanon said something she'd rather not have aired in front of Solas.

"You're right, Han," she told him, voice quiet and hoarse.

"Creators," Mahanon barked. "Of _course_ I'm right." He whipped back around and glowered at Solas. "Do you even know, you flat-eared son of a bitch? Do you know what you put her through? Did you know she almost _died_ this spring when—"

Rosa snatched Mahanon's shoulder and jerked him back to face her, snarling. "That's enough, Han! Shut. Up!"

Mahanon scoffed, slapping her hand off his shoulder. His anger had finally transferred to her. Rosa steeled her spine, refusing to flinch under the force of it, though she knew she deserved it.

"How could you?" he asked again, slurring and shouting. Spittle landed on Rosa's face, but she didn't wince. "I gave you everything. Deshanna asked me to bond with you, but I would've gone to you anyway. I _chose_ you! Elgar'nan's fire, I even chose _da'assan._" He stabbed a finger over at Solas as he said _da'assan._

The name made Rosa's stomach clench. Her throat ached and seemed to close. "Shut up, Han!" she shouted and pushed at his shoulders, knocking him back a few steps. "Stop! Just stop! I can't…"

Her eyes burned and she felt tears spilling from them. Her lungs seemed to convulse. Mahanon's ongoing glare scalded her and Solas, behind him, appeared both concerned and baffled. She couldn't stand to be near either of them anymore.

Turning back toward the path to Haven, Rosa started running.

* * *

Solas' cheekbone stung from Mahanon's blow, but he lowered his hand away and straightened as Rosa sprinted away. His gaze followed her for just a moment before Mahanon whipped around to snarl at him and Solas tensed, prepared to fight. Mana bubbled inside him, overexcited and boiling. His lips still felt warm from kissing Rosa and his body was still alive with want—but already shame made his face burn. How could he have lost control like that?

"Stay. Away. From. Her." Mahanon bared his teeth like a snarling dog.

He did not know that he faced off with a wolf.

"I have nothing to say to you," Solas told him stiffly. He took a step toward the path Rosa had fled on, toward Haven, but Mahanon shadowed him. The other elf blocked his passage, snarling.

"You don't know," he spat. "You don't fucking know what she went through. She almost died because of you."

That was the second time this fool had said that. Solas hesitated, torn between curiosity and the powerful need to escape this ridiculous confrontation. He could try to lecture this fool Dalish man about how much of an ass his jealousy made him out to be, but he'd be wasting his breath. However, it was obvious Mahanon knew something that Solas did not regarding Rosa. But asking about it would reveal his ignorance for certain, and if there was one thing Solas—_pride—_despised, it was revealing ignorance in front of someone he considered far beneath him.

"Let me pass," he said to the other elf, his voice low and dangerous.

"No," Mahanon spat, stomping one foot in the dirt for emphasis. "You're going to stand right there, flat-ear, and _listen_."

"You are intoxicated," Solas told him flatly. "There is nothing you can say to me that is worth my time."

"You had your chance," Mahanon growled, slashing one hand through the air. "You had your chance with her and you _left._ She's _mine_ now. D'you hear, flat-eared fucker?"

Solas glared at him. "I suggest you rethink your viewpoint. _You_ do not make decisions for her and neither do I." He flexed the fingers of his right hand, preparing a spell. "Now, stand aside."

"Dread Wolf take you," Mahanon snapped. "I'm not—"

Solas interrupted him with a bitter laugh. "You are a petty child and I have better things to do than listen to your jealous tantrum." He kept the snide insult _shem-elf_ from leaving his lips just barely, knowing it'd cause far too much confusion. Mahanon believed he was the superior one and Solas a city elf, after all. His eyes flicked over Mahanon's face, seeing Elgar'nan's vallaslin with a sneer of disgust.

Mahanon let out a croaking laugh of his own. "A child, am I? What would _you_ know of children? You abandoned your own."

Solas froze, too stunned to even frown for several long seconds as cold seized his heart and tightened his chest. His magic coiled tighter inside him and he rethought the spell he'd been preparing, thinking he would need to kill Mahanon.

_You abandoned your own._

No, it wasn't possible that Mahanon, of all people, could have uncovered that he was an Evanuris or an Elvhen survivor. Yet, that comment was suspiciously close to something an outraged faithful follower of the Dalish "Creators" would say to the "god" who'd abandoned or betrayed the People. Or just to a man he'd learned, from Rosa, who'd survived the fall of Elvhenan via uthenera.

Best just to get away from Mahanon and this…whatever this was.

"Step aside," Solas growled. "Or—"

Bells tolled, echoing over the hills. Shouts came from Haven and Solas heard the pounding of feet over the ground as soldiers and Inquisition scouts scrambled in their direction to man the trebuchet. Mahanon's eyes were wide and bloodshot as he spun about, searching for the source of all this commotion. "Mythal have mercy," he murmured. "What's going on?"

Solas swallowed hard but said nothing. He had an idea and it wasn't good. Corypheus must be moving on them now. _So soon,_ he thought and then, fast on the heels of that: _I must find Rosa. _

He Fade-stepped through Mahanon, choosing _not_ to freeze the bumbling, fool Dalish, and sprinted for the path leading into Haven proper. Behind him, distantly, he heard Mahanon shout and charge after him.

When he reached the gate, Solas saw Cullen and Cassandra talking and heard the ex-Templar's report. "One watchguard reporting. It's a massive force, the bulk of it still behind the mountain."

Josephine and Leliana had also arrived, trotting down from the Chantry or their respective cabins. Solas saw Tal and Dorian coming from the direction of Rosa's cabin, looking flushed and red-faced. He felt a spurt of irritation, certain that Tal and the Tevinter had been doing something…_intimate _before this, which was why Mahanon had left to terrorize he and Rosa. At the very least, it was painfully obvious that both mages were inebriated. Tal had a lurching gait that was nothing like his usual elven—or _Elvhen—_grace, and Dorian's eyes were glazed and watery.

This attack had _not_ come at a good time.

Mahanon brushed past Solas, bumping into him roughly in a way Solas knew must be deliberate, and moved to cajole Tal away from the Tevinter. Solas overheard him asking if he'd seen Rosa but knew the answer would almost certainly be no. Rosa had undoubtedly fled both he and Mahanon. Returning to her cabin, while it would get her to the safety and support Tal offered as her brother, would just leave her vulnerable to Mahanon.

"Where is the Herald?" Cassandra asked, turning in a circle, her eyes searching frantically.

Before anyone could answer her, the closed gate to Haven thumped with a dull boom and a flash of light. An almost childish voice called out from beyond: "I can't come in unless you open!"

"A messenger?" Josephine asked. The others around her stared at the door, dumbfounded, until Leliana finally acted. She motioned to a soldier and he dashed ahead, opening the door with a creak on old rusted hinges.

Outside, bodies lay scattered about the snow, blood scattered in arcs. A massive, hulking man in Tevinter armor collapsed as a small shape behind him struck with a dagger, fast as lightning. He was little more than a teen with a wide-brim hat and clothing made of a patchwork of differing fabrics. He was not handsome as he lifted his face, revealing blue eyes and pale blond hair, but Solas immediately felt something in his chest cinch tight. His other senses snapped alive and, with a squint of his eyes, he willed himself to see the youth's spirit rather than his physical self.

Sure enough, he saw the aura in green of a spirit. This was no ordinary young man. Solas stared, speechless, as the boy came forward to speak to Cullen, Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana. How long had it been since a spirit had been able to leave the Fade and manifest in this way? Since he'd put up the Veil, surely it'd happened no more than a handful of times. What were the odds that this spirit boy would come to Haven, to _him_ now?

_But he has not come for _you, a voice reminded him. Solas could have laughed at his own arrogance. This was coincidence only. This spirit had come to Haven for the same reason Solas had stayed and joined the Inquisition—Rosa.

"I'm Cole," he said, talking fast. "I came to warn you. To help."

As Cole went on, explaining in fragments that the Elder One—Corypheus—had come for Rosa, Solas saw that indeed the darkspawn magister was across the valley, closing in. He apparently had no fear of death, though exactly _how_ he had managed to become so…relatively immortal…Solas couldn't begin to guess yet.

Then, behind him, Solas heard Tal yell, _"Asamalin!"_

He turned and saw Rosa standing at the top of the stairs. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry and her shoulders were erect and squared. She stared out over Haven's gate, glowering across space to the promontory where Corypheus stood, his army marching out ahead of him. Solas couldn't stop the little shudder of awe that washed through him, prickling his skin.

"Inquisition," Cullen was shouting, rallying the mages and soldiers who'd responded. "For the Herald, for your lives, for all of us!"

As Cullen's forces charged out to meet the oncoming army, Rosa jogged down the stairs. "Whoever's not drunk—join me!" Tal, Mahanon, and Dorian started to move for her, but Rosa lifted a hand, palm out, and yelled, "Not _you_ three. I said whoever's _not_ drunk." She motioned at Josephine. "Get them back."

"_Asamalin!"_ Tal shouted, protesting. "I'm not _that_ drunk. I can still cast, for fuck's sake."

"No," she growled, aiming the single word at all three men. "Stay back and defend Haven." As she whipped back around, rushing for the gate, Solas dashed after her. Cassandra followed, her sword unsheathed and her shield lifted high. Solas saw the spirit boy, Cole, standing off to the side of the gate as they ran by. He made eye contact with him and nodded, silent communication and understanding flashing. In that brief moment, Solas felt Cole and identified him: Compassion.

_Good,_ he thought. Compassion was all too rare. Solas had seen far too many spirits of harsher natures make the transition and too few with more gentler dispositions.

They joined the battle outside Haven's gates. A few forward units from Corypheus' army had crossed the valley, spilling into Haven's outskirts. Inquisition soldiers and scouts clashed with them, shouting. The squeal of metal clanged and arrows whizzed through the air. The mages who were in fighting condition sent flames and lightning crackling over the icy earth. But Corypheus' army of Venatori and Templars tainted by red lyrium far outnumbered them. They kept coming, sweeping down the hills and over the frozen lake outside Haven.

Rosa positioned herself beside the trebuchet outside Haven's main gates, protecting the Inquisition personnel manning it. She sent Fade stone smashing into the nearest approaching Templar, teeth gritted in a fierce, hard grin. Solas flung barriers over her and anyone nearby, protecting from archers further out, across the lake.

As a cluster of Templars broke through the Inquisition soldiers upfront, Solas laid out fire mines. The first two Templars charging through it were engulfed in flames as they triggered the spell, but three more surged around them, heedless to their burning comrades. Parts of their armor glowed red with corruption.

Rosa jerked her clenched fist down in a Veilstrike, flattening two of the three—but the third evaded her spell. Roaring, he raced for her, sword held high. Solas flicked his fingers, using a large amount of mana to erect a powerful barrier over Rosa before the Templar could strike—but the sword never fell.

Iron Bull had charged in, just in time. He blocked the Templar's swing with his own enormous axe and let out a guttural cry of pleasure. "You call that a sword?" he said in his deep, gravelly voice. "Ha!"

Rosa maneuvered away from Iron Bull and the Templar, shouting out her thanks. "I owe you one, Bull!"

"No problem, Boss!" Iron Bull hacked at the Templar, who he'd knocked flat on his rump, with his axe. Solas didn't need to look to know the man had been cleaved in two. He made a note to study the Qunari more thoroughly as potential foes—assuming he survived this. Despising their religion was one thing, but understanding how to defeat them in a battle was quite another. There'd been no Qunari in Elvhenan for him to defeat.

The trebuchets started firing into the mountainside rather than the host approaching them. Snow careened down the flanks of the mountains, crushing and burying the army below. Cullen and his soldiers, amidst their ongoing fighting of the forward force, shouted in triumph. Rosa lifted her staff, adding her voice to the others. Solas, standing nearby, swallowed his own desire to join—he knew better than to celebrate prematurely. _That_ was what had left them with so many drunken companions…Iron Bull was one of them, in fact, judging by his sloppy swings. And he'd tasted ale on Rosa's mouth when he kissed her, though she showed no signs of inebriation, thankfully.

"Yeah!" Iron Bull hollered, pumping one scarred, bloodied fist into the air.

And then a screech tore through the air. Solas' stomach leapt into his throat and he immediately flicked his fingers, setting a barrier over himself, Rosa, Iron Bull, and half a dozen Inquisition soldiers standing closest to the trebuchet. In the same instant, he saw a streak of glowing red and felt nauseous. _Blighted lyrium._

A red-lyrium tainted fireball shot into the trebuchet, igniting and shattering it. Iron Bull and the other soldiers were flung away, tumbling alongside some of the enemy men. Solas lunged for Rosa, half-leaping, half-Fade stepping. He pushed her to the large rock-face to the left of the now burning, destroyed trebuchet, sheltering her with his body as well as the barrier. Wooden shrapnel flew, flicking onto the rock and impacting their barriers.

Rosa struggled against him, pushing him away wordlessly. The glare she shot him made it clear she hadn't forgotten their earlier confrontation. Staring past him to the burning trebuchet, contaminated now with shards of red lyrium, Rosa cursed. _"Fenedhis!_ What in the Void is that _thing?"_

"A dragon," Solas said, watching the black creature gliding away with another shriek that made his innards congeal.

Voices shouted from Haven's gate, calling for retreat. Soldiers who'd been celebrating moments ago now ran like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs. Cassandra and Leliana had gone to help Iron Bull and a few other surviving soldiers to their feet. Their voices carried through the frozen air.

"What was that _thing?"_

"It looked like the Archdemon," Leliana said, voice dire and breathy.

"Oh that's just _messed up_," Iron Bull put in as he got to his feet.

"Is it an Archdemon?" Rosa asked Solas, shooting him a sideways look.

"No," Solas said, shaking his head. It had not possessed the malevolence or intelligence of one of the Evanuris' dragons and it had not spoken to them. Besides, if Corypheus had paired up with one of the dragons, it would have been here to attack _him_ more than Rosa. No, this was just a beast doing the bidding of its master.

"Well," she said, wrinkling her nose. "At least there's that small mercy." She jerked her staff toward Haven's hate. "Everyone to the gates! Retreat!"

As she took off running with the rest of the Inquisition, Solas followed. Overhead, he heard the leathery wings of the tainted dragon clapping as it circled.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

It seemed Corypheus was only really here to yack at her—though what he said next froze her with shock.

"I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers." Rosa gawked even through her pain, her body flushing both hot and then cold. _Dead whispers…_

_We are here. We have waited. We endure. _

…_those _whispers?!

* * *

Endnote: Yes, Rosa. _Those_ whispers indeed! Just in case anyone else is like my beta who thought I made those whispers up, BTW, those whispers are canon. You find them mentioned in a little note in Here Lies The Abyss, "Whispers written in red lyrium." I always thought they were incredibly creepy!

This chapter is a bit shorter than many of the others for this story because this was the best spot to break it before Part 2. There's actually three parts. The angst train is really in for Part 3, BTW. There's a certain revelation (two of them actually) that will happen that chapter and have been MUCH anticipated. I'm teasing it hardcore this chapter, though.

Random fun fact: I crafted Tal into a Dungeons and Dragons character for the campaign my husband is running. Tal Ghilath is a wood elf and wild magic sorcerer on a quest to find his father, Felassan. He's so young (only in his 20s) that one of our other players calls him an embryo. But I checked and he's totally not! Elves in DnD mature physically at the same rate as humans, but aren't considered "adult" until like 100. So Tal is definitely immature and shows it, but fully adult physically. Recently he wound up in a foursome with three half-orcs. That was a riot! And as a random side effect of his wild magic he was unable to get drunk for a while, which utterly devastated him. Anyway, clearly I overthink Tal and Rosa a lot. If Tal ever dies in the campaign (God forbid!) I have his half-sister, Rosa, prepared to replace him. The party would be a little mystified I think to suddenly encounter this much older, more mature sister. Maybe someday the DM will bring Rosa in so that Tal won't have to be dead for us to meet Rosa. Ok, enough rambling now, LOL.


	15. In Your Heart Shall Burn Part 2: Blight-Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa confronts the Elder One, with a little unexpected help from a certain ex-lover.

They met Cullen at the gates, ushering all of the last mobile soldiers and survivors inside. The blacksmith was among them, arms laden with whatever valuables he'd managed to claim from his cabin. "To the Chantry," Cullen shouted at them, teeth bared in a snarl. "It's the only building that might withstand that…_beast._"

"We can't just hole up in there and wait to be slaughtered," Rosa protested, scrambling up the stairs after the ex-Templar.

"At this point," Cullen said, still snarling. "Just make them work for it."

"That's a bit grave, don't you think?" Rosa snapped through her own gritted teeth—only to flinch and duck as the dragon circled overhead, screeching.

Cassandra was helping Iron Bull up the stairs—the big Qunari must have hurt his ankle or foot in the explosion at the trebuchet—and Solas skirted around them to catch up with Rosa. Cassandra called out, "Herald! The villagers need our help!"

While he admired that sentiment, Solas also thought it foolish. The villagers would have to help themselves, too. Rosa could _not_ be allowed to take unnecessary risks. Not now. Not after…well, the breach may be closed, but the world and his plans were still in peril. He had to have time to think, to strategize on how best to…to…

_Let it go. _

Panting, he followed Rosa and a handful of other Inquisition personnel, with Iron Bull and Cassandra following, as they made a wide circle around Haven, seeking survivors. Solas conjured blizzards to save Adan while Rosa charged into the still smoldering building to haul him out.

They did the same at the burning tavern, dragging out a nearly comatose Sera from the rubble along with the innkeeper. Iron Bull carried the limp archer in his arms and headed straight for the Chantry. Solas, Rosa, and Cassandra headed for the opposite side of Haven to near Rosa's cabin where they found Tal, Mahanon, and Dorian trying to rescue an old man caught in the flames and crying hoarsely for help.

Tal and Dorian were drunk enough to be clumsy with their magic and neither, apparently, enjoyed winter school. As a result, both were struggling to douse the flames with winter's grasp. Dorian was cursing himself in both Common and Tevene as they ran up to him.

"_Fasta vass, _of course I would need _winter_ school. And _of course_ there would be a blighting Archdemon!"

"Maybe you can scare it away with your horror spells," Tal said, spinning his staff to cast winter's grasp—only to halfway fumble the motion. The spell fizzled. "Fuck."

"My sentiments exactly," Dorian said, even as he managed to actually cast the spell, dousing a section of wooden wall as he froze it. "Very nicely done, if I do say so myself."

"Shut up," Mahanon snarled at them. "And work bloody faster."

Even before Mahanon had finished his sentence, Solas had drawn within range to cast the blizzard and did so with a flourish. Winter magic had always been his affinity, after all. Snow condensed out of the air and a white haze formed. The flames sputtered and died suddenly, hissing—just in time for Rosa to hurl a Fade rock into the side of the cabin, opening it up. Cassandra lunged inside before Mahanon could, but the elf followed after her without hesitation and helped guide the old man out through the ragged hole in the wall.

"This would be a lot easier if I could just reshape reality again," Rosa muttered at Solas' side.

Solas shot her a look, stomach fluttering. He bit back the desire to say something like: _Yes, it would, and we can make it that easy again. _He tucked this experience away as a potential way to broach the subject later.

"Rosa," Tal said, a look of relief slackening his features. "You're here!"

"Not for long," Rosa told him, reaching out to grab his forearm. "C'mon! To the Chantry! Everyone else is dead!"

"Truer words were never spoken," Dorian put in. The dragon screeched somewhere overhead and Dorian hurried to help along Cassandra and Mahanon as they guided the old man they'd rescued up the path. "Come along, now! Chop-chop! We're going to be cooked to a crisp if you don't hurry."

Up the path to Haven's Chantry a troupe of red Templars and Venatori ambushed them, shouting and brandishing their swords. But as Rosa, Solas, Tal, and Dorian rushed to defend Cassandra and Mahanon, who were hampered by the old man, Blackwall charged in with his sword held high and shield at the ready. In between fevered offensive and defensive spells, Solas saw the Warden bowl over a Venatori warrior and stab him through the chest. Crimson stained the snow and Solas could not stop the flicker of respect that swelled inside him for the other man's steadfast bravery.

Then arrows clacked from in the direction of the Chantry and Solas saw Varric had joined them as well, grinning as he worked Bianca. And as fresh fire, untainted by red lyrium, engulfed a Venatori mage casting spells from the shelter of some brush just off the path, Solas spotted Madame Vivienne, regal in the same way the arcane warriors of Elvhenan had been—splendid to behold on the battlefield. With so many to back them the Venatori and red Templars quickly succumbed to the onslaught, finally clearing the way for them to retreat to the Chantry.

As they burst through, spilling inside the sturdy structure, Chancellor Roderick met them, clutching his hand to his side. Blood coated his Chantry robes. He ushered them inside, sounding a tad strained with pain. Solas caught sight of Cole, the spirit of compassion, waiting nearby to tend to Roderick.

After everyone was inside and the doors were shut, Rodercik collapsed. Cole caught him with ease, guiding him back inside. "He tried to stop a Templar," he explained as Rosa looked on, Solas lingering just behind her. "The blade went deep. He's going to die."

Roderick made a strangled noise that might have been a grunt. "What a…charming boy."

Most of their people rushed deeper into the Chantry to tend to the wounded. Solas saw Iron Bull and Blackwall with Sera and the innkeeper. Varric was with Cassandra, helping the old man they'd rescued. Vivienne was with a group of soldiers, already kneeling to heal their wounds. Cole remained near Roderick and Solas saw a cluster of grizzled, burned mages beside one of the columns further in that looked to him for aid—he _had_ been the one leading them when they sealed the breach. He should go to them, play his role as a friend to the rebel mages—but if he was about to die with everyone else here…

No, he would stay beside Rosa.

Dorian took off for the group of mages, leaving Mahanon and Tal standing beside Rosa. Her elven entourage: beloved brother, betrothed clansman, and…whatever Solas was to her. He couldn't think about that now.

Cullen came out of the crowd of stunned and wounded Haven locals and Inquisition personnel. "Herald," he called to Rosa and began to tell her that they would be overrun. The dragon had eliminated any time the trebuchets had bought them. The village was doomed now.

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village," Cole put in. "He only wants the Herald."

Rosa scowled. "Then he should get in line. It's a long line and getting longer."

Tal chortled nervously behind her and Mahanon elbowed him, glaring.

"Herald," Cullen said, "there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide."

Rosa arched both brows. "You want to bury us with the enemy?" She smirked dryly. "I like that idea, except for the dying part."

Cullen was firm as he stared at her. "We're dying," he said, frankly. "But we can decide how. Many don't get that choice."

"That's a shit choice," Tal cut in, stepping closer to Rosa, as if to defend her from the harsh reality of Cullen's words.

Cullen scowled and was about to protest when Cole cut in, "Yes, that! Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies."

In his dry, croaking voice, Roderick explained a hidden path out of the Chantry—a path for pilgrims. His voice lightened as he went on with awe. Hearing it, Solas' heart picked up, pounding with that very dangerous emotion: hope. His skin prickled with gooseflesh as he saw Roderick's reaction to Rosa, always so hostile previously, change before his eyes. This was just the sort of awe he'd seen happen when his forces won a battle against impossible odds because Solas' plans came through in the end, or when Mythal's calculated manipulations bore fruit at just the right moment. It was the perfect timing that could be mistaken for something larger—faith or fate. He didn't believe in it, but that didn't stop the mood from sinking into him as well.

"This could be more than mere accident," Roderrick concluded. "_You_ could be more."

Rosa shuffled, no doubt uncomfortable at his suddenly worshipful gaze. Solas knew the feeling all too well. She glanced away from Roderick and toward Tal at her side, then quickly turned to Cullen, asking his opinion. "Will it work?"

"Possibly—if he shows us the path. But what of your escape?"

Now the lightness of hope had transformed to horror inside Solas' belly. _No, no, no! _He wanted to step forward and protest. There was no way Rosa could be the one to stay behind to trigger the avalanche. And yet, he also knew Corypheus would throw everything he could at Rosa and ignore the escaping citizens of Haven this way. If Rosa didn't stay they would all die here or on the path when Corypheus discovered it, seeking the Herald.

Rosa made no response to Cullen's question and Tal suddenly grabbed his sister's forearm, protesting just the way Solas had wanted to. "No! You can't do this, _asamalin! _You can't just march off into that _thing's_ clutches and die!"

Her eyes were both sad and steely as she stared at him, but her lips curled in a dry smile. "I think I have a few tricks up my sleeve, _da'isamalin._ Don't worry about me." She laid a hand over her armor and tugged at the leather cord there.

_The raven talisman._ Rogathe.

Now the certainty solidified in Solas that Rosa _would_ be dying tonight. If she took off the talisman to use the spirit's greater power, adding it to her own, she'd also become reckless and unable to leave a conflict. She would never run if she had the chance if her enemy still breathed—and Solas knew Corypheus was, somehow, indestructible. He had survived the explosion at the Conclave. Rosa wouldn't know, couldn't know that. She likely assumed the Elder One had sent some lackeys in his stead.

Solas' hands opened and closed at his side and he steeled his spine and clenched his jaw to keep from speaking out. He couldn't reveal what he knew, couldn't stop what was about to happen…but he could try to make it survivable. By any means necessary.

Plans spun in his head, tangling like vines.

"No," Tal said, shaking his head emphatically, desperation creeping into his tone. "No—you can't do this!" He had not released her forearm and now tugged on it again, as if he would drag her out with the other citizens of Haven.

Rosa smiled at him, full of love—though her eyes were sad. She clasped his hand on her forearm with her own and said, "Remember your promise."*

And suddenly Tal flinched from her, but she didn't let go and Solas didn't miss the tingle of ancient magic or the little flash of light on her hand wher eit lay over her brother's. _The sleep spell. _Tal mumbled something—a plea or a curse, Solas couldn't be sure. Then he went limp as a boneless fish. Solas lunged in at the same time as Mahanon to catch him.

"Take him out with the others," Rosa ordered Mahanon.

"No," he said, though he kept his hold on Tal alongside Solas. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Rosa said sternly. "You're not. You're going to watch over my brother and keep him safe if I don't make it out. But I _am_ coming back. I'll find a way."

Mahanon hesitated only a moment before he let out a breath in a puff and nodded. "Yes…" He swallowed. "_Vhenan."_

Rosa nodded to him, her brows beetled as if his term of endearment was more saddening or disturbing than anything else. Solas tried very hard not to notice that or think on its meaning, but he was quick to release Tal to Mahanon and let the other elf cart Rosa's brother further into the Chantry.

After Cullen gave her a few last minute instructions, Rosa rounded up as many volunteers as she could to back her up. Solas was among them, joining Cassandra and a mostly sober Blackwall along with a handful of Inquisition soldiers.

"I only need you all to stay with me long enough to clear a path to the trebuchets," she told them as they opened the Chantry doors and jogged out into the smoking ruins of Haven. The already gloomy, freezing night was murky with snow and ash. "Once I'm there, you're free to go. No one else needs to die today."

"Other than this Elder One bastard," Blackwall piped up.

"Good point," Rosa said, chuckling hoarsely as they jogged toward the path leading to the gates.

A group of red Templars set on them around the roaring flames of what had once been the tavern. Blackwall and Cassandra charged into the midst of their enemies, fighting ferociously. Rosa and Solas covered them with barriers and staggered enemies with well-timed offensive spells.

As she sent chain lightning crackling between red Templars, Rosa shouted above the wind and the sound of steel clashing. _"In the other world,"_ she said, speaking elven, _" in Redcliffe, you promised me you'd come back for my brother. Will you promise to look after him this time, too?"_

Solas gritted his teeth as he cast a particularly strong fire spell, incinerating a Venatori warrior charging at them from further up the path. _"You will not die tonight,"_ he replied.

"_This isn't the Fade," _she retorted as she grunted and used a Veilstrike to pin three red Templars to the snowy earth. _"You can't just will things to go your way, Fadewalker."_

Solas didn't reply as he conjured a blizzard, so fierce it put out the raging fire in the tavern once more, leaving it a smoking, charred ruin. The Venatori and red Templars, meanwhile, began to freeze solid. Blackwall, Cassandra, and the few Inquisition soldiers with them shattered them with ease. In the flurry of the fighting, none of them seemed to question the strength of the spell. It was a raw display of Solas' sheer power and mana reserves—a bit of a slip up.

Rosa clucked her tongue as they started running again, heading for the gates. _"Your Elvhen is showing,"_ she said and then, shooting him one of her coy smiles, she asked, _"How powerful are you exactly?"_

"_Enough that you will not die this night,"_ Solas told her and hoped it was true. Half-formed plans spun maddeningly in the back of his head. He opened his mouth to share something of it to Rosa, then dismissed it. Better to wait. Their companions, too distracted by the roaring flames of Haven and the occasional screech from the dragon still circling overhead, didn't notice their elven chatter.

"We'll see about that, flat-ear," she said, sounding grim as her eyes scanned the sky. After its last pass the dragon was now nowhere to be seen or heard. Solas didn't know whether that was a good or bad sign. Judging by Rosa's apprehensive expression, he guessed she had similar uncertainties.

They found the last standing, loaded trebuchet waiting for them—and surrounded by red Templars and Venatori. Blackwall and Cassandra charged in once again without hesitation, shield bashing and hacking. They roared challenges to draw red Templar archer fire to themselves. Rosa and Solas covered them with barriers, lightning, ice, fire, and spirit magic.

They fought dozens of Templars, all of them twisted and corrupted by the Blighted lyrium. The enemies blurred together for Solas as he alternated offensive and defensive spells. When a Templar drew too close to him or Rosa, Solas unleashed a powerful mindblast, knocking the man backward and scalding him with spirit magic. Rosa shot him a surprised look and then flashed a fierce smile of raw enjoyment. She might be facing her potential death tonight but that had apparently done nothing to dull her pleasure in fighting.

Arrows buzzed and crackled against their barriers, sizzling as they fell away. One of the red Templars lobbed red spikes, fragments of the Blighted lyrium growing out of him. Their barriers held under the impact and Solas returned the favor by sending an ice spike straight through the man's gut. The force of the ice was so great that the Templar flew backward with a strangled, guttural cry, and stopped when his back collided with the wooden fence. He slumped against the spike embedded in his middle, dead.

"Good one," Rosa praised him, still flashing that hard grin. "I'm sure the Elder One noticed that."

Solas frowned and refreshed their barriers as another archer appeared, dropping to one knee to aim at them.

Rosa casually launched Fade stone at the archer, knocking him over before he could loose his arrow. "You should be careful, flat-ear," she told him, a touch too lighthearted for him to believe she was actually feeling jovial. "The Elder One might decide he has to kill you too."

When a gurgling roar reached their ears, both Solas and Rosa turned to the wooden fence to see an enormous, hulking red Templar climbing over it. He was twisted and enlarged, bigger than even a Qunari. Red shards grew from him, jagged and sickening to look upon. He gurgled again and then lunged with one elongated arm, wielding it as a club.

Rosa yelped and rolled away as the club landed right where she'd been standing moments ago. Solas Fade-stepped through the monster, freezing it solid. Blackwall charged to shield bash the frozen behemoth and it shattered into thousands of reddish shards. Blackwall grunted and used his shield to defend himself from the blasted debris. Solas felt a little woozy after using so much mana in the freezing portion of the spell, but his mana had recovered to full capacity after only a few seconds of idleness. The Veil always strangled his drawdown, but he suspected he was still the most powerful mage in all of Thedas—and that had its perks.

This was still only a puny fraction of his power, but he knew he might be overdoing it a little when Blackwall shot him a surprised look and arched both bushy eyebrows. "Impressive, Solas."

"I may regret it later," Solas lied, bringing a hand to his brow in a feigned show of weakness. Still, when he glanced at Rosa, he saw she wore a coy, knowing smile. Solas might trick Blackwall with this show, but he would never deceive her. Good thing he had no desire to disguise it from her. This night was about ensuring Rosa survived and, to that end, he would punish their enemies with a strength he had not revealed previously.

"I'll bet," Blackwall said with a croaky chuckle before turning to race back into battle. He had already unslung his grappling chain, preparing to drag away some more red Templars who'd come out of the woodwork to threaten Cassandra.

The Inquisition soldiers Cullen had sent with them were hard at work turning the crank on the trebuchet to adjust its aim toward the mountain behind and beside Haven. Whenever the fighting lulled enough, both men resumed their work, but the crank was slow and creaking in the cold. When an archer shot one of the men in the back, sending him to his knees, Rosa Fade-stepped to reach the trebuchet and take over.

"Go," she shouted at the injured man and his compatriot. "Go, now! It's almost turned. I can handle it from here."

They didn't' argue with her, though their eyes were round and wide with awe as they took off running for Haven's Chantry. They might not make it to the path before the avalanche, but at least they had a chance.

Solas watched them flee out of the corner of his eye and kept refreshing everyone's barriers. He flattened the archer who'd shot one of the men using a Veilstrike that probably broke bones. Cassandra was there a moment later to slice and stab through him, finishing the kill. Meanwhile, Rosa cranked the trebuchet.

The enemies around them had thinned out until, finally, the last red Templar died. No one else rushed from beyond the fence or the path along the rocks. Bodies lay where they'd fallen, surrounded by cracked red lyrium shards and sprays of crimson blood. Many of the bodies were charred from Solas' fire and Rosa's lightning, but countless others lay covered with frost and hacked by the warriors' blades. Solas could see by the heaving shoulders on both Cassandra and Blackwall that they were exhausted. He, meanwhile, was barely winded—though magic was less physical, admittedly.

Then, high overhead, Solas heard the dragon's screech. It echoed off the trees, shrill and ear-splitting as it drew closer, banking to turn toward them. At the crank, Rosa pulled back, eyes lifted to the sky. "Shit," she cursed and then whipped around to wave Cassandra, Blackwall, and Solas away, toward the path leading back to Haven. "Move it! Run! _Now!"_

Cassandra started to shake her head, as though she would refuse, though both she and Blackwall had begun to backpedal. Solas did the opposite, edging closer to Rosa. She glared at him, panic flashing through her violet eyes. "Solas—dammit, I said—"

The dragon unleashed a stream of red lyrium tainted flames as it flew past, narrowly missing the trebuchet. The flames sent Cassandra and Blackwall running for Haven, undoubtedly trying to distract it as well as to escape with their lives. But Rosa had been too close to the blast and the dragon had clearly been aiming at her. Solas's last second lunge and barrier blunted the force of the explosion around the flames. If Cassandra or Blackwall had looked back at them, Solas was certain they'd see the two of them wreathed in flames and think them dead for sure.

But the barrier held, flickering blue where the flames licked at it. Rosa clung to him, panting, and then pulled away, twisting to look around. Her eyes landed on the trebuchet and she let out a breath of what must have been relief. "It missed it," she said and let out a choked laugh. "We're still okay."

"For the moment," Solas agreed. He kept the barrier up as he cast a cold spell to douse the flames. When it was cool enough, Solas released the barrier and cold from the air. This was a spell that, as far as he'd seen, had not survived the fall of Elvhenan. The flames around them went out.

A flicker of motion, dark against the flames burning a few meters out, suddenly drew Solas' gaze. He lifted his head, wincing against the smoke from the fire and the iron, deathly tang in the air from the red lyrium. Ahead of them, striding confidently through the smoke and bodies and debris, was the towering, twisted form of the darkspawn magister Corypheus.

He knew Rosa had seen him too when she stiffened at his side. She coughed into her hand and muttered, "What the _fuck_ is it?"

Solas didn't answer her as his extra senses prickled and tingled, coming alive. His heart sped up, racing so fast it became a constant thrumming in his throat and ears. He _knew_ that sensation. His mana bubbled and coiled. His stomach lurched with both dread and excitement.

_He has my orb. _

This was just what he had hoped for. Rosa could take the orb from Corypheus, using the Anchor. Then, Solas could take it from her and together they could enter the Fade. They could achieve his goals _now._ Tonight.

_Together._

Then a screech came from behind them and the earth trembled as the dragon landed, flapping its putrid wings and screeching. Solas grimaced, mana frothing in his core. He knew spells based in spirit magic that could pacify or confuse wild animals, including dragons. He kept a watchful eye on the dragon, preparing to use the spell, but the beast stopped short of them, as if already leashed to another's will.

It was as he'd suspected then. This dragon was Corypheus' pet, little more than a mortal beast trapped into service by the darkspawn magister.

"Enough," Corypheus growled behind them, recapturing their attention with a show of raw force magic, sending a wave of dust and air wafting past them. The flames behind and around him fluttered with the brief but strong artificial wind. Rosa used an arm to block her face and Solas squinted his eyes to shield from debris and ash before flicking a barrier in place over the both of them.

Too late he sensed movement out of the corner of his eye and though he turned and tensed, he could not dodge in time as the dragon's clawed hand swept toward him. He heard Rosa gasp and then shout his name—then came the impact and his barrier could not completely block such a large, massive blow. He felt himself be thrown, the world tumbling as his body screamed with pain and shock.

Then the icy ground came racing up to meet him and he knew only black.

* * *

"Solas!" Rosa screamed, reaching for him as the dragon effortlessly batted him several meters away. He landed hard, rolling a few times, and did not rise again once he'd come to a stop. Horror made her stomach leap into her throat, but the monster in front of her –the Elder One—spoke then.

"Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken. No more."

Rosa snarled at him, even as she shifted her weight anxiously from one foot to the other, desperate to run over and see if Solas was all right. Still, making sudden moves seemed like a quick way to get herself stepped on or eaten by the dragon. This…thing apparently wanted to chat with her. Hands fidgeting at her sides, she kept tapping her mana core, ready to toss up a barrier, and decided to indulge this thing.

"What are you? Why are you doing this?" As covertly as she could, she shot glances at where Solas had fallen. Relief made her weak in the knees as she saw him twitch, moving to roll from his back to his front. It was sluggish and feeble, but at least he was alive. For now.

"Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are; what I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be," the thing went on in its deep, gravelly voice. It glowered at her, standing stock still with its grotesquely elongated claws and malformed body highlighted by the light from the flames behind it. "Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus."

Solas was on his belly now, propping himself up with his elbows. Rosa saw crimson on the snow under his nose. The blow must have stunned him, knocked him on the head. Rosa's fingers wriggled as her mana bubbled and frothed, reacting to her mounting agitation. She felt the weight of the raven talisman at her neck but knew that if she removed it Rogathe would want her to face off with both this monster calling itself Corypheus _and_ his pet dragon. It didn't completely understand physical limitations.

A sarcastic voice in her head asked_: Do you _really_ think you've got any chance of getting out of this alive?_

Corypheus extended his disgusting, fleshy and clawed arm out to her and said, "You _will_ kneel."

She clenched her jaw. "Guess again, shard-head." _This conversation is over._ She summoned Fade stone into her fist and launched it at him with a grunt, then lunged in a Fade-step toward Solas—but the dragon was faster. With a screech its scaly arm slammed down into her path and caught her before the spell could render her incorporeal. Rosa cried out as she collided with its rough, hot hide. She stumbled backward, arms flailing to keep herself from falling flat on her ass.

Then, suddenly, her inner senses flared to life. It was the same sense she'd use to feel demons in the Fade and to sense others' magic. Now it left her flushed and tingling. Something heavy warped the Veil and drew her interest like a moth to flame. Despite the threat of the dragon, she jerked her head to find it—and saw Corypheus holding a familiar rounded orb with whorls over its grayish surface. It glowed a sickly red in his left hand and flashes of red lightning crackled over its surface. The remains of the Fade stone she'd flung at the monster lay scattered over the ground, green on brown in the dirt and stark emerald on the white snow.

"I am here for the Anchor," Corypheus said. "The process of removing it begins now."

He lunged out at her with his right arm, foreign red magic glowing in his sick palm. Rosa felt the mark in her hand flare with scalding heat. It seemed to jerk in her grasp, tugging at her arm as if it had a mind of its own and wanted to return to the orb.

The foci.

Solas' foci.

Her mind spun as the pain tore through her hand and Corypheus continued yapping. "It is your fault, Herald." _Really?_ A distant part of her thought. _Even this guy is going to call me that?_ "You interrupted a ritual years in the planning and instead of dying you stole its purpose." He made a motion with his hand and wrist and Rosa gritted her teeth as the pain rose, tearing through her palm and up into her forearm now. It was searing and excruciating.

"I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched—what you flail at rifts—I crafted to assault the very heavens."

She didn't need her truthsaying talent giving her that little poke in the back of her mind to tell her he was lying now. She let out a strangled snort and managed to bite out, "Liar."

Corypheus clenched his fist and the mark seemed to suddenly weigh as much as a druffalo. Rosa's knees buckled and she fell onto her knees, clutching at her wrist. Her heart pounded and she breathed raggedly, struggling to concentrate through the pain and panic drumming through her. The dragon circled behind her, moving closer to where Solas had landed. Rosa wanted to check on him, but she suspected that would just draw unwanted attention to him. Better she should rein in the desire. He might still escape or waken to help her.

"And you used the Anchor to undo my work," Corypheus continued, apparently happy to ignore her comment about his blatant lie when he'd laid claim to an artifact she knew was Elvhen. "The gall," he whined. Deep, gravelly voice or not, he was still whining.

Through gritted teeth, Rosa growled, "Fuck you, Blight-face." It came out more as a breathy, strangled gripe than a defiant challenge.

She heard the crunch of his footsteps over the gravel in front of her and then felt his clawed hand close over her wrist. He lifted her with ease off the ground. The mark crackled and flickered, still pulsating pain through Rosa. She hung from his grasp, sweaty and weak from the pain, to her shame, though she managed to snarl her hate and disgust at him as the darkspawn monster drew her closer to his face. He examined her a moment, but it was a passing scrutiny. She noted he had apparently tucked the orb away again, out of sight—though she could still feel it as a heavy weight that tingled at the edge of her consciousness.

It seemed Corypheus was only really here to yack at her—though what he said next froze her with shock.

"I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers." Rosa gawked even through her pain, her body flushing both hot and then cold. _Dead whispers…_

_We are here. We have waited. We endure. _

…_those _whispers?!

"For a thousand years I was confused," Corypheus told her, though he wasn't really seeing her. His reddish-brown eyes stared through her, as though he relived whatever he spoke of. "No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world." Now his eyes flicked to hers, as if he had finally returned to the here and now. "Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods and it was empty."

And then, before she could react, he reared back and twisted. Something hard hit her in the side and she had a second to register Corypheus' other hand tearing back from her as if he'd punched her in the gut. Then he tossed her. Rosa twisted in midair, trying to land on her feet, but she came up short. She hit hard beside the trebuchet's crank, her back slamming into the wood. It knocked the wind out of her, leaving her wheezing to catch her breath. The world spun around her a moment, making Corypheus' voice seem distant and thin through her body's panic.

"The Anchor is permanent. You have spoilt it with your stumbling." He marched toward her, slow and sedate with confidence. The dragon moved with him, heeling like a well-trained dog. "So be it then. I will start again. Find another way to give this world the nation and god it requires."

Through blurred vision, Rosa saw a streak of light against the bleak, dark sky, distant and beyond Haven's fence. The survivors had made it, then. That was something. She swallowed sudden queasiness as her left side began to throb. Dropping her eyes away from the sky to hide her interest finally let her register the red-black moisture all over her armor. _What…?_

"And you?" Corypheus carried on. "I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die."

She barely heard him over the slow-dawning cold grip of horror. He'd run her through with his claws before he tossed her. Her palms were stained crimson with her own blood, sticky and still slightly warm. She felt sick. Why didn't it hurt more? Shock? She couldn't see how bad the wound was through her armor but…

Frantic, she looked up at the area around the trebuchet. _No sign of Solas. _But in the trauma of everything she'd lost track of his exact location. Maybe the dragon's bulk just obscured her view of him…?

Then she saw the crank next to her. _I can take Blight-face out with me, at least._

Snarling at Corypheus, she said, "You talk too much." She summoned another Fade stone and launched it at the trebuchet's crank, knocking it loose. The trebuchet clacked and shuddered as it came to life, unleashing its payload. Both Corypheus and the dragon turned to watch the boulder sail through the air toward the mountain, oblivious.

_I should run,_ she thought and started to haul herself upright—but now exhaustion made her body sluggish and heavy. Pain finally stabbed through her side. She let out a weak cry, forcing herself upright by sheer force of will alone. But where was she supposed to go?

And then, suddenly, Solas was there, appearing from nowhere. She saw blood across his lips from his nose and smudges of dirt coating the rest of his face. He'd used the invisibility spell, she realized. She would have laughed had she possessed the strength. Smart move, flat-ear. Why hadn't she thought of that? Her father would have been disappointed. He'd been so proud when he taught her that spell and she'd grasped it with surprising ease.

His hands on her shoulders were strong, his grip firm. "I've got you," he told her, breath puffing in her ear. "Hold onto me."

Rosa fisted her hands in his vest, doing as he ordered. Distant, but growing louder, she heard the rumble of the avalanche gathering speed. She felt Solas' magic ripple over her and then they had Fade-stepped forward, away from shard-face and his pet dragon. She heard the beast roar in frustration and wanted to warn Solas—_it's going to breathe fire on us or swoop forward and eat us—_but her mouth didn't seem to want to cooperate.

She saw wooden debris ahead. Some building in process. It'd never be finished now.

They reached the unfinished wooden structure just as Rosa heard the billowing sound of the dragon's wings as it took flight. The roar of the avalanche quickly drowned out everything else. The world spun around her and Rosa blinked her bleary eyes, trying to puzzle out what was the point of this, why Solas had taken her here.

"We must jump," he shouted to her. His arm was around her waist, supporting her. When had that happened? She wasn't sure but she realized her knees weren't bearing her weight. Solas must have realized it too because he shifted and lifted her, using one arm beneath her knees. "Hold on!"

He stepped off into the air and they fell into the darkness as the earth roared and shook overtop of them. The landing jarred Rosa, sending savage pain through her. She cried out and the darkness swallowed her whole.

* * *

*References the promise Rosa asked Tal to make that if she was dead he would never, ever speak to a demon no matter what it promised. Revenge or power or any of it.

**Next Chapter:**

"What?" Rosa asked, perturbed. She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

"I…" He drew in a shallow, shaky breath. "…need to ask you." Breaking off, he met her violet gaze for a moment and then blurted in a cracking voice, "_Da'assan?"_

* * *

Endnote: Oh yes, things are angsty next chapter! *cackles*

Until next time ladies and gents!


	16. In Your Heart Shall Burn Part 3: The Little Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas struggles to save Rosa from mortal wounds, but he needs Rogathe's help to do it. That help comes with a price. 
> 
> As they trudge through the heavy mountain snows to reunite with the surviving Inquisition forces, Solas finally puzzles out Rosa's dark secret, the real reason she and Rogathe have been so angry with him--beyond just his abandonment and lies.

Solas conjured Veilfire orbs to light the ice cave they'd leapt into and quickly dragged Rosa clear of the open hole in the ceiling. Snow crashed in from above in a plume of powdery white, brightening the space as it reflected his green Veilfire. Solas' ankle ached from the landing, but he pushed the pain aside as completely unimportant currently. Right now his priority had to be Rosa.

Her blood was on his hands literally and he refused to allow that to become the figurative meaning as well. It might've been Corypheus who'd run her through, but this entire mess was _his_ doing. He owed her this and so much more.

The sigh and rumble of the avalanche was already quieting as he scrambled to open Rosa's armor enough that he could lay his hands on the wound to heal it. He grimaced with sympathy as he saw five wounds from the magister's claws that had shredded into her and then ripped back out. The scars would be ugly, if she were to heal without the expertise of someone like himself—but that hardly mattered as long as she survived.

Drawing heavily on his mana, Solas let the healing spirit magic flow through him and into Rosa though his hands. Her blood was sticky and disturbingly chilled, her skin gray and waxy, but like the stubborn fighter he knew she was, she kept breathing as her flesh knit beneath his palms. But as the spell neared completion Solas felt woozy and sat back on the hard, cold ground with a sigh. He was weaker than he'd thought or maybe the blow to his head from the dragon was more severe than he'd realized.

Yet he did not dare rest yet. The wound and the bleeding had stopped, but Corypheus carried the Blight with him the way clouds carried rain. If she'd been infected…

The truth was he would have no way to know until she showed symptoms. He had never learned Blight magic, finding it repulsive and lacking an inherent gift for it the way Dirthamen, Falon'Din, Andruil, and Elgar'nan had.

Without Blight magic there was only one way to treat and detect an infection—the help of a spirit.

Scrubbing at his face for a moment, Solas scowled as he found crusted blood on his upper lip from his nose. He rubbed it off and then, decisively, he reached out to the leather cord about Rosa's neck. Tugging the raven talisman out and over her head, he tucked it into a small pocket on the inside of his vest and slumped forward in exhaustion, waiting.

It only took a few moments for Rogathe to stir. First Solas saw the faint shine from her vallaslin, then it swelled until he saw the white light emitting from her nostrils as well. Then Rosa's eyes popped open and she stared, unblinking, at the ceiling. Solas watched her, silent and tense. Was this Rosa and the spirit awakening as one or had Rogathe taken her body in its entirety?

She blinked then and rolled her head to look at him. Her finger flicked at her side closest to him. Solas dipped his chin toward her. "_Aneth ara,"_ he greeted with a weary smile.

Her lips pulled back in a snarl and an instant later she lunged for him, hands curled like claws and aimed for his throat. Solas flinched backward and lifted one arm to block her attack, but she had Rogathe's strength. She knocked his guarding arm aside with ease and threw herself bodily into him. Solas struggled but she forced him to the floor. "_Venavis!_" he shouted, commanding. "Stop this!"

She ignored him and in seconds she had flipped him onto his belly and pinned him with her weight. One arm was trapped beneath him while she'd forced the other behind his back and now wrenched it painfully. Solas gnashed his teeth with pain. "Enough!" he roared.

"Pride," a voice that was too deep and rough said in his ear. "The last we spoke, did I not make it clear that I would not tolerate your cowardice? Your _tricks?"_

The last time Solas had spoken with Rogathe it had indeed warned him it would turn against him if he betrayed Rosa. Unlike Rosa and the rest of the physical realm, however, Rogathe's definition of betrayal wasn't so much in regards to Solas abandoning her in the Free Marches last winter. From the start the spirit had only approved of their romance if both partners were truthful and honest. Neither had been. Rosa had withheld her true heritage from Solas. And Solas…well…

Suffice to say, the spirit probably preferred that Rosa remain unaffiliated with Solas now, not because he had hurt her emotionally, but because he had not been truthful. Rogathe saw that as cowardice and it had warned him that it would turn Rosa against him to protect her by revealing the truth about him. It would even fight him if it considered him a danger.

Judging by his current position, he suspected it _did_ see him as a danger. Rosa's continued reluctance to let him speak to the spirit in dreams made new sense. She must've known Rogathe would react with violence.

"Your charge was wounded," Solas growled, trying to get the spirit to focus on what was truly important. "I healed her, but there is—"

Rogathe barked out a harsh laugh. "My charge was certainly wounded, yes. You can heal her body, Pride, but you do nothing but mar her spirit. I grow tired of your charade."

Solas hesitated, surprised at the spirit's comment regarding physical wounds. He had sometimes judged it as young still, confused about physicality versus willpower. Yet now it seemed to understand the emotional plane and the physical one were very separate things. It had melded with Felassan before his death to carry a message and matured a great deal as a result, but the extent of it continued to surprise Solas.

And it was somewhat worrying, too. A spirit capable of such change toward understanding the physical world was one that could more easily be corrupted. It could start to _crave _the physical over the emotional and stray from its purpose and identity. Had Rogathe begun to warp into a demon?

He didn't have the time or the patience to puzzle out Rogathe's true nature right now. Especially not while the spirit wrenched his arm. "There is a risk Rosa has been infected with Blight," he told it.

"She is healthy," Rogathe said, still twisting his arm. "Healthy enough, now."

"You are certain?" Solas asked, trying to crane his neck to look into her face. "There is no Blight within her?"

"The only blight within her is that she will not walk the path of bravery as I have insisted. She knows she must tell you of the Little Arrow, but she refuses. Just as she refused to tell her clansman that I protect her on this side of the Veil. I've tried to touch her dreams, but she no longer has ears to hear or eyes to see." It grunted and then snarled, "You have blocked her from me because you know I will turn her against you with the truth. But you do not deserve her, Pride, not when you show her only lies. You have wronged her unspeakably by taking the Slow Arrow's life and your negligence placed her in clan Lavellan, allowing the Little Arrow to die."

Solas frowned as he tried to puzzle out Rogathe's words, not just the content but what it meant as far as the spirit's perception and development. He'd thought it wouldn't much care that he'd abandoned Rosa—except that it would say it was an act of cowardice—but this sounded as though it _definitely_ cared. It was making morality judgments that sounded _mortal._

As to the rest of what it'd said…

"I do not understand," he admitted, trying to sound calm and even despite the ongoing painful tightness where the spirit held his arm twisted. "What do you mean by Little Arrow?"

Even as he spoke, his thoughts chugged, slow after the blow to his head by the dragon and the distraction of pain now. He'd heard Mahanon talk about the Little Arrow as well. It had to have been a living being of some kind, physical rather than a spirit, because Mahanon would not care for a spirit's death. Something niggled and poked at the back of his mind but then Rogathe spoke.

"I do not betray her secrets," Rogathe snarled. "Though she must tell you to walk the path of bravery. Just as _you _must tell her your secrets if you wish to redeem yourself."

"I can do nothing until you release me," Solas grumbled back, jerking against Rogathe's hold.

"You _will_ do nothing until I am satisfied," Rogathe growled. It tugged on Solas' arm again, wresting more pain and he gnashed his teeth. Then Rosa seemed to shudder overtop of him and he heard her breath stutter. She breathed harder and louder, her grip strength fluctuating on his arm. When she spoke again her voice had lightened and lifted an octave, though Solas could still hear the deeper register lurking in it.

"You will tell the truth," Rosa-Rogathe said and then, before Solas could speak, she added in a strangled voice, "No."

_She is arguing with the spirit,_ Solas realized.

"You will stop running from the memory. It is the coward's path and it is unbecoming of you, _da'len."_ Rosa's weight on his back jerked, her hand relaxing its grip on Solas' arm even more. She inhaled sharply and then said, "No. I am not running. There is nothing to say. I don't need to mourn eternally."

"Not eternally, but a wound must be cleansed before it can heal, _da'len. _Covering it will only make it fester. You know this." She let out a little noise, breathy and strangled. "You cannot force me to speak before I am ready," she protested in a growl. "It must be _my_ choice, Rogathe!"

How long had Rosa been conscious, sharing Rogathe's experience? Had she overheard the spirit when it implicated Solas in Felassan's death? _No,_ he tried to reassure himself. _It has only brought her consciousness to the surface since they began bickering. _He hoped that was true anyway as he tried to concentrate on their argument and also plot how he would escape if Rogathe decided to truly do him harm.

"Speak the truth," Rogathe shouted and Solas felt the flare of heat from her body overtop of him. Then she slammed his head to the cold earth and he winced, stars dazzling his vision. He inhaled sharply as pain tore through his temples.

"The talisman," Solas said in a strangled voice, "is in my right vest pocket." He hoped Rosa could take control long enough to claim the talisman and don it. The words seemed to impact her like an arrow shaft. She flinched, her weight jerking over him. One hand tugged at his vest, fingers burrowing around the rough-sewn fur lining.

But then she made a hissing breath and her hand slapped onto his head instead, her palm flattening the point of his ear to his scalp. "You corrupt her, Pride. You make her fear when she was fearless. If neither of you will return to the path of bravery and truth, I must end this stalemate." Her blunt nails dug into Solas' temple and scalp, bringing the sharp sting of pain as she cut through the skin. "You are still weak…"

He gritted his teeth, heart pounding. Rogathe had begun to fall to corruption, its purpose denied until it had to pervert itself to try and achieve its goals. Felassan had charged Rogathe with caring for Rosa and Tal in his stead. Trapped inside Rosa, bound and absorbing her festering emotions and emotional anguish all this time, the spirit of bravery had been unable to make her face her fears. And it had never had any control over Solas. Now, frustrated and denied its purpose by both Solas and Rosa, it would kill Solas to remove the source of Rosa's emotional distress.

Because a spirit of bravery—a warrior—would naturally fall into savagery and bloodthirst. It would become a rage demon, a beast that could only kill.

And it would taint and twist Rosa if it turned while within her.

To stop it turning, _someone_ had to break.

"I knew your father," Solas blurted out the smallest and vaguest of his secrets. "I knew your father, Rosa." The words were strained with his emotion, with the sudden painful ache that cinched his chest more than Rosa's weight pinning him to the floor. It hurt with every breath.

But the confession had worked.

Rosa's hot hand pulled back from his head. He heard her breathing a touch ragged and her weight on his back shifted. A second later his arm was free and he slowly, cautiously, pulled it back to his side to try and prop himself halfway up form the cold earth.

"W-what?" she stammered and the voice was very nearly her own alone, with only the faintest trace of Rogathe's deeper rumble.

"May I rise?" he asked, closing his eyes as dread fisted his stomach and gripped his throat.

Rosa's weight left his back. He heard her feet scuff over the ground as she edged away from him. Slow and deliberate, Solas rose to all fours and then to his feet. Turning to face her, Solas saw the white light from her vallaslin had dimmed. It was still white, still pure. Rogathe had been appeased, for the moment.

With that in mind, Solas reached unhurriedly into his vest pocket to produce the talisman. Clutching it tightly, he strode toward Rosa, maintaining eye contact with her white, glowing gaze. "There are many reasons I have not been forthcoming," he began in a scratchy, heavy voice. _"Ir abelas._ Rogathe is right. I have been a coward."

As he lifted the talisman, letting it dangle on its leather cord, Rosa inhaled sharply and her vallaslin flared bright, as did the light coming from her nose, eyes, and mouth. She raised one palm to ward him off and spoke in Rogathe's masculine rumble. "Do not bind me, Pride."

But then Rosa's eyes snapped shut and her shoulders heaved, shaking. Her hands fisted at her sides. "This is not you, _falon._ You are Bravery, not Rage. Please. Sleep, _falon._ The warrior knows when to yield to save her comrades."

Rosa reared back then, wincing and blinking. The light in her eyes, highlighting the whorls and dots of her vallaslin, dimmed. Her body language relaxed and her head drooped forward, almost bowing. "Solas," she said, her voice her own again. "Rogathe submits." Her words wavered, as though she was about to weep.

Solas darted forward, putting the talisman on her in one swift motion. It thumped against her tunic, torn and shredded and stained by her blood. A few seconds of silence passed and then she drew in a shuddering breath and lifted her head. Solas smiled wanly as he saw her vallaslin no longer glowed. She looked weary and pale, hunched with exhaustion—and cold. She started shivering as he watched, hugging her arms around herself and then frowning. "Where's my armor?"

As she looked around and finally spotted it in pieces on the ground behind her, Solas explained, "You were wounded. The Elder One meant to kill you. I feared there could be Blight infection I would not detect."

"That was why you took the talisman off and set Rogathe free?" she asked as she scrambled to grab up all the various pieces of her armor. She grimaced as she found her breastplate, run through and splattered with red-black from her blood. Solas winced at the reminder as well. She would almost certainly have died of shock and blood loss without his help.

"Yes," he answered.

"And what did Rogathe say? About the Blight I mean."

"That you are healthy, much to my relief." Solas managed to smile as she turned round to stare at him, tightening a strap that secured her shoulder guards to her breastplate.

"Are you telling me that if I had been infected with Blight you know of a way to cure it?" she asked him, her voice flat and oddly strained.

Solas hesitated, swallowing before he nodded. "Not myself, specifically. Blight can be controlled with a certain type of magic. I am unfamiliar with it, but a spirit such as Rogathe could absorb the infection while the corruption remains small."

Rosa let out a dry, bitter laugh, shoulders shaking. "You're telling me you know the cure to Blight. Just like that."

Solas scowled and shook his head. "No. I do not know it. I know _of_ it."

"And did you learn about it while in uthenera or do you know it from Elvhenan?" she asked, shooting him a sideways glance he couldn't read as she cinched her belt.

Solas paused a moment, uncertain what he should and should not reveal. Then, dipping his chin, he decided to be truthful. "Blight is not new to the world. It is as ancient as Elvhenan, Rosa."

"But you knew the cure," she pointed out and then, snarled. "Do you know how many people died in Thedas during the Fifth Blight? Or _any_ of the fucking Blights?" She waved a hand at him, both accusing and dismissive at once. "Where were _you?_ Where were _any_ of you?" she demanded and then, rounding on him, she shouted her next question: "Did my father know the cure to Blight too?"

Solas stood his ground, locking his knees. He refused to look away as he told her, calm and evenly, "You know that I was deep within the Fade. I was not awake."

"But my father was!" Rosa roared, shaking with rage. The greenish Veilfire lit her face with its eerie light. "And you know the uthenera excuse is nugshit. You're a Dreamer. You could have gone to a Warden mage and told them what you know!" She scoffed, shaking her head with disgust. "You _still_ could!"

"I could not," Solas snapped, finally losing his patience. "Had I visited the Wardens in their dreams I would have been mistaken for a demon and ignored at best. If they believed me and learned Blight magic for themselves…" He broke off, clenching his jaw. "The cure I know _cannot_ be allowed to become general knowledge—_especially_ by the likes of the Wardens. If they understood Blight can be controlled as a form of magic..." He shook his head. "It is like blood magic. It would be abused, terribly. Blight magic is an abomination, a perversion of the natural laws."

There were few things he believed should be censured or forgotten, but Blight magic was one of them. It was one of the biggest reasons he'd imprisoned both the Forgotten Ones and the Evanuris. They had been so _fond_ of using Blight against one another, turning their slaves into ghouls and then using them as fodder until whole swathes of land the size of nations had been poisoned. They had been bent on destroying the world in their rivalries and petty squabbles. But once the Veil had trapped both sets of beings in the Fade where they could no longer command the Blight, it became a simple disease that eventually died out. The world had then known peace for a time…until Corypheus and his ilk had returned with Blight and Blight magic again.

She stared at him, both pain and anger warping her features. "You…you don't care for this world, do you?"

Solas flinched as if she had struck him. That was…frighteningly accurate. "That is not true."

"Don't lie to me!" she shouted, hands fisting at her sides. "It explains so much." She let out a bitter laugh, tilting her head toward the ice cave ceiling, the Veilfire orbs cast her in green light, making the tears pooled at the inner corners of her eye glitter. The sight was like a gut punch to Solas and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat as hot shame spread over his face. "I should have known you'd know my father. You act so much like him—and he didn't give a nug's ass about this world either—even his own damn children."

Solas winced at the comment about Felassan and immediately rose to defend the other Elvhen man. "No. That is not true. Felassan cared deeply for this world and for you and Tal." _He cared so deeply he gave his life. _

"Cared," she said, sniffing. "Past tense. Just like you _knew _him. You don't _know_ him." Lowering her chin, she shot him a bitter glare. "You know he's dead. Do you know how he died?"

Panic made his heart flutter with cold horror even as it ached with shame. He dropped his gaze and found himself lying before he'd even given the truth any consideration. "No. I know only that he must be dead as we met often in the dreaming and I have not seen him in over a year now."

"Did you know from the first time we met in the Hasmal Circle who Tal and I were?" she asked.

"No. I did not realize until Tal let slip his full name. It was only then I made the connection. I did not know all of your father's names. I had never heard _Ivun_ before. He was _Evunial_ when I knew him as a child."

She let out a little huff. Her chin wrinkled. "Are you his brother or something? Is that it? Is that why you abandoned me? Because we're actually really closely related?" Her accompanying laugh was strangled.

Was that hope in her voice? Perhaps she wished for such an easy, simple explanation. Solas should lie now and tell her that yes, Felassan had been a close relative. But this could be a trap. She might know her father was an only child. And, at any rate, if he did claim to be Felassan's brother—which would make him Rosa and Tal's uncle by blood—that would also mean pretending he was Dirthamen's son. Both ideas—accidental, unknowing incest and being Dirthamen's direct descendant—were false and repulsed him.

"No," he told her truthfully. "Felassan was my pupil. We were close friends and served Mythal together before her death."

She shook her head, her expression baffled and stunned. "I can't believe I didn't see this before." She let out a dry laugh and motioned at him, up and down. "This is…it's…" She let out a sort of hiccup and covered her lips with one hand. Speaking through her fingers, she asked, "What else have you been hiding from me all this time?"

"We will have more time to discuss this later," Solas told her. "For now, we must try to find the rest of the Inquisition." He paused, seeing her huddled body language, which spoke of exhaustion and cold. He shrugged off his vest and extended it out to her.

She shook her head, lifting a palm to push the proffered coat away. "I can use magic once we start walking."

"Please," Solas said, his voice a touch grating with determination. "I insist. Rogathe was correct that I have wronged you." _More than you know…_

"You think offering your vest will make up for it?" she asked wryly, minimal sarcasm in her voice.

"Not at all," Solas told her truthfully. "But we will have a long walk and I have greater reserves of mana. Please. Take it."

She sighed and did as he asked, shrugging on the dark green vest and pulling it tight. "Let's get going then, I guess." She twisted round until she saw a circular carved opening in the cave. "This must be the path Roderick mentioned."

"I suspect so, yes," Solas agreed. He admired her hair, frazzled and wild from the night's fighting, and tamped down the wanton desire to touch it. To touch _her._

They started walking. The Veilfire orbs followed in their wake like overgrown fireflies. Their green light glinted from the icy walls. When they came to a small, circular space where the Veil had worn thin enough to let through a few wraiths and a despair demon who'd probably been drawn to the suffering in Haven when Corypheus attacked, Solas taught Rosa to use the Anchor to open a rift and suck them back to the Fade. She hissed through her teeth and shook her hand out until the green glow faded again before they set out once more.

"Corypheus told me the…Anchor is permanent. He was using your orb, trying to remove it," she said, staring worriedly at her palm as the last green light died.

"I overheard," Solas told her softly. "But Corypheus does not truly understand the orb."

She chuckled. "Yeah, I called him on that too. The guy's great at selective hearing."

"I…" Solas cleared his throat, trying to find the courage to say something about reclaiming the orb. That _had_ been his initial plan before the dragon kicked him, after all. But the words caught in his throat. He'd insisted they start walking and he knew that was sound advice. They needed to reach safety and the warmth of a fire before the Inquisition left them far behind. They might both be powerful mages and Dreamers, but even Solas' mana might run out if they became stranded in the cold mountain passes with no food to sustain them. Magic casting for extremely prolonged periods of time could be…grueling. Well, it _would_ be grueling even to him with the Veil strangling him.

Rosa hadn't seemed to notice his brief attempt to talk and they slogged on, into the blinding white and cold of the wailing night wind. The Veilfire orbs winked out at the onslaught, plunging them into relative darkness. Snow whipped past them and the breeze tugged at their clothes. They channeled mana to warm themselves and pressed on, hunkered down against the wind despite the protective magic.

They found debris from a broken wagon, partly buried already by the snow. A bit of cabbage and a box of dried meat were still exposed. They trudged on, heading for a few scraggly pines, sighing and waving in the wind.

Weaving downhill at a slow pace for an hour, they worked in and out of stands of dark trees. In the second hour they found a hearth that had cold ashes in it. It was relatively sheltered under the tree, reminding Solas a little too much of some of the makeshift shelter spots he had chosen with Rosa as they walked across the Free Marches after escaping the Circle. He didn't mention this to Rosa and pushed the thought away as foolish and sentimental.

"The Inquisition must have halted in this spot for a brief break," he told Rosa, shouting to be heard over the roar of the wind.

She nodded back at him. "This might be where they shot the signal arrow from."

Solas hadn't seen that signal arrow, he'd been too busy trying to sneak up on Corypheus to steal the orb using his invisibility spell. He hadn't been able to do it though, as the dragon was too close and Corypheus had hidden the orb somewhere deep on his person. Still, he nodded in agreement to Rosa now. They set out again, breath fogging in front of them, puffing as the path led uphill now.

An hour later as the snow and wind died down wolves howled, their forlorn voices echoing from the steep mountain peaks around them. Solas shivered, not from the cold, which he kept at bay using magic anyway, but at the lonely sound. He let Rosa take a slight lead as they forded through heavier snow, entering the pass. She grunted and struggled with the effort of wading through snow up to her thighs. If it became much thicker they would have to begin melting it to get through.

When they reached another stand of trees where the snow had been swept away by the wind and the gentler slope kept it from accumulating as much, Solas and Rosa huddled in a thicket made of leafless brambles. They did not light a fire to be safe, but took turns dozing as the moon climbed higher overhead and the cold stars glittered. They alternated casting magic for warmth, close enough that one's effort could warm them both.

While Rosa dozed, her head tucked against his shoulder, Solas replayed the night's events in his mind, trying to puzzle something out. Rogathe had said: "_…your negligence placed her in clan Lavellan, allowing the Little Arrow to die."_ The Little Arrow…

"_Da'assan,"_ he murmured aloud, soft enough that he was sure he wouldn't disturb Rosa. Mahanon had said something that night about a Little Arrow as well. At the time, Solas had been confused by it and dismissed it, but then…

Mahanon's voice repeated in his memory, a taunt that he'd not understood: _"A child, am I? What would you know of children? You abandoned your own."_ He'd thought it was somehow a comment regarding his identity as an Elvhen man, a survivor and one of the ancestors a dutiful Dalish like Mahanon would revere and no doubt resent for letting their empire fall. It sounded like the sort of thing a Dalish would say to scorn Fen'Harel. Malevolent god or not, the Dread Wolf was still one of the Creators in their lore, after all.

But even then he'd known that interpretation had to be wrong. He hadn't had a chance to consider it because Corypheus had attacked then. Yet now…

His breath puffed out faster as his heart suddenly clenched in his chest with a sharp pain as the niggling suspicion suddenly bloomed into horror. _No. No, that _cannot_ be…_

He jerked his head to look at Rosa's sleeping form. She had tucked her arms around herself, hands under her armpits for warmth. Her knees she'd drawn up to her chest just as he had. Her breath fanned on his neck, gentle and regular as she slept.

"No," he whispered to her, his own breath fogging out over her face. _That cannot be the answer. _He had watched the dreams of the Dalish for ages, learning about them and trying to help in the early days. Rosa might be right that he did not care much for this modern Thedas, but he _did_ care for the elves. They were his people, just diminished and weak. They were the children of the slaves he had fought so hard to set free and it had hurt him to see them regress into…savages. If they were made whole with the Fade once more they would become his people again. The People.

In that time watching them, learning, he had come to know their tales and customs. He knew, therefore, that while they cherished their children they were also coldly practical. A clan had to keep its numbers in check or die. It was one of the single most important things a clan had to manage. There must be enough food for everyone and to ensure that meant ensuring fewer mouths. Every child born had to be allowed. _Chosen._

That was one of the countless reasons why the Keeper leading the clan was always a mage. Only mages could create the spirit magic tokens for each new adolescent that would nullify male seed and prevent unwanted children. The alternative to such tokens was unthinkably cruel, but Solas knew it happened too when tokens and charms failed or twins were born when one had been expected and could scarcely be fed. Keepers and healers would leave infants out to die of exposure or, if they were merciful and such places were nearby, take them to alienages or villages.

He had not given it serious thought—or _any_ thought, he realized with shame—while he and Rosa lived in the Circle…when they were lovers. He had _assumed_ she still had her clan's charm to prevent such unwanted conception. But the Templars had taken her armor from her and with it a blood magic charm to bind Rogathe. What if they had also taken her contraceptive charm?

_She would have told me, cautioned me,_ he thought. And in the same moment he doubted that certainty. Why would she have mentioned it? There were so many other distractions when they'd been in the Circle. She could have forgotten. Or, she could have still possessed her charm, but it had expired while she walked across Thedas. Maybe she hadn't realized it was no longer effective…?

In Elvhenan, Solas had worn his own charm for such things and guarded it jealously. He had enchanted it personally, more often than he needed to. He had been a frequent target of women who wanted to conceive children with greater power than themselves. Magic inheritance was difficult to predict and Elvhenan's class system had been so strict that a woman would be separated from her children if they were born weaker in magic than she. Countless women had tried to seduce him just to ensure that their children inherited the most magic possible. It was always the higher class's fear that their descendants would grow weaker rather than stronger. Unions were for magical strength, not love or wealth. _Magic_ _was wealth._ And an Evanuris was the strongest of all.

Andruil herself, when she and Ghilan'nain wanted to raise a child, had set out to _rape_ him for just that reason. That and he was the only bachelor Evanuris. Solas had barely managed to escape after tricking her into fighting with one of the Forgotten Ones.

Yet he had woken into this world knowing times had changed. Contraceptives were often physical-based for the humans. Mages trapped in Circle towers might still use charms, but overall the Dalish were the most consistent users of such foolproof methods. And Rosa was Dalish. He had thought on it no more than that, and then only in passing because the idea that he would have carnal relations with _anyone_ now that the world had changed so much and his magic and race made him repulsive rather than desired seemed ridiculous. But he had fallen hard for Rosa and been unable to resist her. And she, in turn, had never once uttered any concerns on such a topic.

His own contraceptive charm had been dust when he awoke and he had not made a new one. He had no purpose for it any longer. Had he stayed with Rosa in the Free Marches he would have enchanted a new charm, but their romance had been so fast, so torrid and passionate…

Had he truly been so reckless?

Had he gotten a child on her and then _left_?

He felt suddenly nauseous and had to swallow several times to keep from vomiting. Her rage and her pain and every little glare she'd shot him over the last few months flashed again through his mind's eye with new meaning. Was it true?

And if it was…where was the child? Had it died? When? Rosa seemed too trim to have carried to term or to have been gravid recently at all. But, then again, Solas knew almost nothing about gestation or infants.

He remembered then Rosa's dream he had walked through weeks ago in Val Royeaux, when he had taught her how to make a safe haven to protect herself from demons. The despair demons had taken on Mahanon's form as well as clan Lavellan's healer. The healer had shouted _vhenain,_ wailing about lost souls. He'd phased it out as the sort of thing despair demons said in a repetitive script. Now it seemed far more likely to be targeted to Rosa. _Vhenain_ could mean infants or childlike hearts—the innocent.

The clues had been everywhere. For weeks.

And he'd been completely blind to it all.

Solas covered his face with one hand and bowed his head. _Fenedhis…_

Despite the gnawing of anxiety on his guts, tying them in knots, Solas waited until the agreed upon time before he gently nudged Rosa awake. She groaned groggily and lifted her head from his shoulder. Rubbing her face with one hand a little sliver of drool leaked from one corner of her mouth. She grimaced and wiped it away with disgust. "Yuck. Sorry. I _might_ have left a little puddle on your shoulder."

"That's all right," he told her, his voice croaking. He couldn't bring himself to look at her for more than a second at a time. A voice like Rogathe's roared in the back of his mind, demanding that he ask her if it was true, even as he was already certain it was. "We should…we should…"

_You left her alone in the Free Marches, carrying your child. And now it's dead. _

Rosa's brows beetled with concern. "Solas?"

_I did not know,_ he told the voice. A weak excuse and he knew it. The voice knew it too.

_You did not care to know. _

_It was not supposed to happen!_

_But it did and your negligence killed it. Her Keeper may have forced her to kill it with no elven father to claim it. Just as your recklessness playing Dread Wolf lead to Mythal's death. _

The reminder stabbed him through the ribs, like a hot blade laced with spider venom. His eyes burned and his breath hitched in his throat. "I'm sorry," he blurted, choking on the words.

"What?" Rosa asked, perturbed. She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

"I…" He drew in a shallow, shaky breath. "…need to ask you." Breaking off, he met her violet gaze for a moment and then blurted in a cracking voice, "_Da'assan?"_

Her nostrils flared and her eyes went round. Then her jaw clenched and her chin wrinkled. "I don't know what you mean," she muttered, her voice managing to be both angry and aggrieved at once.

"Rosa," he said, his voice strangled. He averted his gaze, staring down at her bare feet. "I thought you wore a charm. If I had realized there was even the slightest—"

"Just stop," she interrupted him, flinching as though he'd hit her. Her eyes were too bright, flooded with moisture. She breathed hard, shoulders hunching. "Who told you? Rogathe?"

"I guessed," Solas said, shame still scalding his cheeks. "Mahanon said something. That I…" He choked, unable to make himself say it. _That I abandoned my child. _

"That stupid, drunken son of a skunk…" she grumbled, rolling her eyes and then, huffing, she shot to her feet and lurched away. The space beside Solas felt alarmingly cold without her presence, her touch. He watched as she stalked to the next nearest pine tree, black against the snow. The night was cold and still around them now. Not even the wolves howled any longer.

Rosa wrapped her arms around herself. Her breath puffed out in a fog Solas could just see around her left shoulder. "I didn't know until a few weeks after you left," she said, finally confirming what he'd already known and dreaded.

Solas closed his eyes and looked away. Something throbbed in his chest. His head felt swollen. Whether that was emotional or from the dragon kicking him, he couldn't be sure. _"Ir abelas,"_ he said and then, consciously, he allowed the last word to pass his lips. _"Vhenan."_

Rosa snorted derisively, but she didn't round on him or shout. Her posture was still sad, hunched with tension. Her head drooped. _"Now_ you're going to call me that?"

"I did not leave you voluntarily," Solas said, though he knew the words were a mistake—a half-lie. It was a desperate attempt on his part to deny that he _had_ abandoned her. And not just her. A child. A piece of himself. Of Elvhenan. Of the parents he had lost so long ago in his own cold calculations.

And of Felassan.

"Don't feed me nugshit," she spat, still not turning to face him. "And don't call me vhenan." She sighed, shaking her head, and then whipped around and glared at him through the cold, pale light of the moon piercing the black pines. "All right. You want to hear me talk about it and it'll make Rogathe happy—so let's do this." She was shaking, though whether it was grief, the cold, or rage, Solas didn't know.

"I wanted to drink the Keeper's herbal tea when I found out," she said, growling the words and staring at the ground. "I wanted to pretend it wasn't there." She let out a bitter, halfway hysterical laugh. "You know, my father did the _exact same thing _to my mother. He woke up weak as a newborn halla fawn, just like you. She nursed him back to health under the Keeper's orders. She was the First, then. They fell in love. Or she did, anyway."

She scoffed, shooting him a glare and Solas clenched his jaw, refusing to look away from her scorn. Eventually she went on. "When he was recovered enough to leave, he left. Same as you. She pleaded with him not to go. She had just found out I was growing in her womb. She wanted to tell him, but when her pleading fell on deaf ears she spat on him. She hated him. He left and she bonded with the Keeper, who had never liked women that way anyway but was happy enough to raise me as his."

Despite the disturbing, humiliating parallel to himself and Rosa, Solas found himself staring at her, rapt at this tale he'd never heard fully regarding his old friend and pupil. Felassan had always been a socialite. A charmer. It wasn't surprising at all that he had wooed Rosa's mother. The part that Rosa didn't know, however, was that Felassan had abandoned her and her mother because of _him._ Solas' orders had driven Felassan away time and time again.

"And so…" Rosa spread her arms, as if to embrace the whole of Thedas. "That's how I came about. And last winter, when I realized I had just done the _exact same fucking thing_ as mamae—I wanted to kill it." Her voice had hardened, darkening with anger and hurt. Solas felt his own chest aching with sympathy. His eyes burned.

She let her arms flop to her sides and let out a despairing laugh. Tears streaked down her cheeks when she blinked. "But Tal…he begged me to give it a chance. He already thought you were Elvhen because you were so much like our father and he wasn't going to let his—his…" She let out a little hiccupping cry. "His niece or nephew be killed without a fight." She drew in a shuddering breath. "And I realized he was right." Motioning to her vallaslin, she said, "I told you once that Dirthamen means loyalty to family to me. He's not a god, just an ideal to aspire to."

Her gaze locked with his as her jaw squared. "And so I kept it. I let it grow." More tears glittered like jewels on her face. "And I searched the Fade for you. Every. _Fucking. _Night. And every night—_nothing."_

Solas closed his eyes and looked away again, his chest so tight it was hard to breathe. He didn't dare speak, knowing it would just become sobbing if he did. He might tell her everything in defense of his own terrible, unfeeling selfishness. He had thought to save her from heartache with a clean cut. Instead he had poured salt into the wound.

"After another month, I gave up waiting," Rosa went on in a quieter voice. "Clan Manaria didn't really want me around, but they would feed me as long as I stayed. But I wanted to move on. So I left and struck out east to clan Lavellan with Tal and a few hunters to watch over me. Keeper Deshanna met me and took me in. She…" Rosa broke off, her voice catching. "She took me in even knowing I carried a bastard. She was so _proud, _because I was a Dreamer and because she trusted me when I said the baby would be elven. She was almost as proud as my own mother when I told her in the dreaming. It didn't matter that I told her it would be a mage. She was fine with breaking the rules if it meant she could finally have a First and that First was a Dreamer." Her voice was soft, gentle with bittersweet happiness. "I thought I was home. She asked Mahanon if he wished to be my betrothed. He leapt at the chance. He even loved the…"

Solas looked back at her, his brow furrowed and his stomach fluttering. That queasy heat of jealousy, so foreign to him, flared again. The thought of his child being raised by Mahanon…

"What's that look for?" she asked him, scowling.

Solas hesitated, trying to wipe the expression away. He drew in a breath slowly to steel himself. "If I had known, Rosa, I would have—"

"You didn't know. And you never would have," she cut him off, slashing a hand dismissively through the air. "So don't say shit that's just going to break my heart even more."

He flinched at her reprimand. "Please," he said, croaking. "Go on. What happened to…" _Our child?_ It seemed too intimate to say, though he wanted to voice it. To tell her that if he had known, if he had even _suspected_, he would have been at her side in an instant. He would not have let any child of his be raised by another man, ignorant of its true origins and, quite possibly, unable to deal with this Veiled world because demons would flock to it even more than the average Dreamer, already so rare. Rosa was trained, but she might not be able to protect it. And what if something had happened to Rosa? What if Deshanna had changed her mind and forced Rosa to give up the child to a Circle? It would be made Tranquil and…

The thought made his blood boil. He had to tamp it down and remind himself that this child did not exist. He had no reason to be angry…well, except at himself. As usual.

"Well…" Rosa said and her voice wavered. Her eyes were bright and glittering with more tears. "The clan was moving camp in the spring. To trade with the _shemlen._ Deshanna and Mahanon insisted I should ride one of the halla so I could save my strength." She broke off with a wet snort. "I spent a lot of time puking. The healer said that meant it was strong, but…" She let out a strangled sob. "It…wasn't strong enough."

And suddenly Solas remembered her skittishness and tenseness around the horses. His lips parted as emotion clawed at his throat and he said, "Rosa…_ir abelas…"_

She ignored his interruption. "The halla spooked. It threw me." She shrugged. "After that…." She shook her head and crossed her arms over herself in a hug. "I lost it. And…I didn't want it at first, but by the time I was with clan Lavellan…" She choked back another sob. "I loved it, Solas. I called it _Da'assan._ For my father. For my brother." She made a fist and thumped it over her chest. "A little arrow that cut straight to my heart."

She let out a stifled cry, a sob, and then cut it off. Turning away from him, she tucked her hands under her armpits and stalked off through the thin layer of snow, her feet crunching through the upper crust. Her shoulders shook, but she made only soft snuffling sounds as she struggled to recompose herself.

Solas stared at her back, aware of his own tears on his cheeks, slowly freezing. He had let the cold settle over himself, uncaring at the discomfort. He deserved it and more. Slowly he rose to his feet and tried to find his voice, even knowing words were so pathetically inadequate. "I'm sorry," he told her, voice roughened. "There is nothing I can say to change what I've done, or restore what has been lost." He swallowed the painful, aching lump in his throat. "But I hope you can believe that I regret leaving you. If I could change it, I would. I would have found a way to stay with you in the Free Marches. I would have—"

"Solas," she interrupted him, twisting enough to look at him over her shoulder with one violet eye, so dark it appeared black in the night. "Please, just…" Tears sparkled on her cheeks, reflecting the faint light bouncing from the snow. She sucked in a wet breath, shoulders shuddering, arms tightening around herself. "I can't…"

The sight and sound of her anguish propelled him almost involuntarily closer. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and, when she stiffened but didn't resist, he pulled her close and tucked her tight to him. She shivered and then let out a sob, shaking anew. He stroked her upper back, gentle and tender, though he knew this was little comfort for how greatly he'd failed her. Betrayed her, really.

Yet her stiffness melted as he held her and she eventually turned round in his embrace, nestling under his chin as more sobs wrenched out of her throat. Solas laid his cheek against the top of her head, feeling the cold of her hair. He closed his eyes against the burn of his own tears, feeling a few slide down his cheeks and into her hair.

As her sobbing stilled and her breathing slowly calmed, she spoke in a halting, cracking voice, "What happened…it wasn't your fault. Not really. You didn't spook the halla."

"I should have contacted you," Solas told her and meant it. "I am far from blameless."

She sniffled and let out a wet snort, pushing him away slightly. She gazed up at his face, eyes wet and cheeks glinting with half-frozen tears. "I was reckless. I—" She looked away, her lips quirking down and her chin wrinkling. "We shouldn't have done what we did."

He knew without having to ask what she meant—their passionate coupling. She had pursued him insistently and Solas had not resisted nearly as much as he should have. The attraction had been very much mutual in its reckless abandon. And although Solas regretted breaking her heart, regretted his selfishness and the barriers between them, he could not bring himself to regret their love. He had barely had the self-discipline to give it up. Give _her_ up.

And hearing her regret made his heart ache anew with loss. He had failed so many in his long life. The countless slaves he'd not saved as an adolescent when the casual horror of Elvhenan's society first impacted him. The deaths of his parents in a rebellion he'd fueled as Fen'Harel. Mythal's death at the hands of the other Evanuris. Sundering the People with the Veil because he hadn't been clever enough to come up with a better solution. Losing Felassan's devotion and then killing him. And now, this.

_Let it go,_ Felassan's voice echoed Rosa's words from his future self. _You were wrong. _

He'd vowed to himself that he would never recruit her, never risk telling her the truth…

_She is as much a part of this as I am now._ The Evanuris had spoken to her at the breach, using her vallaslin against her. They would have felt the Anchor and recognized his magic. The blood of no fewer than _four_ Evanuris flowed in her veins, drawing the attention of powerful demons like the Formless One. She was a Dreamer and Felassan's daughter. She and Tal had always been wildly attractive allies, despite being Dalish.

If he trusted her…if he told her the truth…

Another Dreamer to reshape this world might be enough to keep him alive when the Veil came down. He didn't deserve such mercy, such fortuitous luck, but that did nothing to stop him longing for it. To share his burden of loneliness, the yoke of responsibility.

Heart feeling as though it was tearing open inside his chest, Solas raised one hand to brush a thumb over her cheek and swallowed, trying to steady his voice. "I will never regret what we shared, only that I believed it could not be and that I have caused you such pain."

She stared at him, brow furrowing and eyes still moist, saying nothing but not flinching away. Snowflakes settled in her hair as the wind pushed a few errant bits through the canopy of pine trees. She was so beautiful, even while shattered with the memory of loss. The loss he had not been present to share.

_She doesn't deserve the suffering you brought her. The suffering you _will_ bring her…_

Stomach seizing, Solas forced himself to drop his hand to her side and step back from her. Shoulders hunching and head drooping, he averted his gaze. "What we had was real, Rosa," he told her. "But I left because I knew it would be kinder in the long run."

He pushed the dark truth deep down inside him where it could be caged, hidden. She must never see the truth, the Dread Wolf, for her own good. He had been selfish at every step with her, choosing his own desires. Telling her the truth would be burdening her with his curse in the selfish hope that she would still choose him, still want him. It wasn't fair to foist that upon her.

She shook her head and took a step back from him. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her features pinched with both pain and anger. "You're never going to tell me why you left, are you?" she asked, a little catch in her throat that spoke of tears—but her eyes were dry.

He couldn't meet her eye. "I'm sorry," he croaked out. It was the only thing he could say, it seemed. His mantra. His epitaph.

She laughed bitterly. "Then I'm sorry too, Solas." Rubbing her arms over herself, she turned away from him. "We've spent enough time here, wasting words."

Solas reached out to grab her elbow before she could walk away. "It was not wasted," Solas told her, solemn and sad. "Thank you," he added. "For telling me…" He didn't want to say the child's name, didn't want to cause her more pain.

She nodded once and he heard her wet swallow. Then she sighed and started stalking forward through the snow and the pines. "Come on. We should get moving." Her words were bitter, strained, but mostly just tired.

Solas followed after her, slumping with a defeat as heavy as when he'd learned his parents had been slaughtered by an angry mob of his own freed slaves. He'd have to be careful to ensure Rosa—and Tal—didn't inadvertently meet a similar fate. It seemed his own child, unborn, already had.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"One thing babae talked about a lot was Fen'Harel," Tal said from behind her.

"I don't see why," Solas said and he almost sounded…grumpy.

Tal snorted. "Because tricksters are funny and clever and he _loved_ that sort of thing. But babae never talked about Fen'Harel the way he did the other Creators. He'd talk about Andruil being insane like she was somebody's senile old grandmother, and he'd say June was so obsessed with his enchantments and creations that he'd pass out because he forgot to sleep."

Solas snorted at both names, as if he understood the stories all-too well, but he didn't add anything so Tal went on.

"Anyway, point is, babae talked about the other Creators like that so me and Rosa would know they were _people._ Just _powerful_ people. Not gods. But he never told funny stuff like that about the Dread Wolf. It was always allegories and myths the clan lore keeper didn't know."

* * *

Endnote: Hopefully no one wants to throttle Solas still for his impotency as far as confessing the truth! He chickens out in Inquisition and I think this is not too hugely different. He's got to work through the guilt and yadda yadda about burdening her. Plus the fear and expectation she won't side with him or will think him a monster. We know by Trespasser he does fess up, but this tale has the added difficulty that Solas has to wade through the metric ton of angst from the fact he killed Felassan and that's her dad. We'll get to a place where he's ready to tell her the real truth...just he'll take his sweet time about it.

Until next time!


	17. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas leads the surviving Inquisition to Skyhold. Rosa and Mahanon settle things between them. Rosa also decides to let the enigmatic spirit boy Cole stay with them. Annnnnnd, Solas struggles with his usual epic levels of guilt, shame, and angst.

"So," Tal said from behind her, speaking to Solas. "You owe me a story. _A lot_ of stories, actually."

Rosa's breathing picked up as the mountainside incline steepened. They'd been marching deeper, higher into the Frostbacks for three days now. The tattered remnants of the Inquisition traveled with them, but well out of earshot. Rosa's back felt bare without her staff—lost somewhere in her encounter with Corypheus—and her left side ached where she vaguely remembered she'd been stabbed before Solas had healed her. That frustrating, lying, bald son of a bitch had healed her so thoroughly that her scars were little more than discolorations. She'd not revealed her grudging appreciation of that and didn't plan on it, but it was just another reminder of his very different origins. None of the spells she knew of, without Rogathe's input anyway, were powerful enough to accomplish that.

"Where would you like me to begin?" Solas replied, polite and friendly, but also slightly winded. At least there was that. For all his magical prowess and knowledge, Solas had the same mortal limitations as she and Tal and any other mage, elven or otherwise.

"How about starting at the beginning?" Tal suggested, his tone painting a picture in her head of him shrugging flippantly. "How did you meet him?"

They were discussing Ivun or Felassan or Eolas. Though he head many names he was just one man: Rosa and Tal's father. Rosa had spent as little time interacting with Solas as possible since they had emerged together into the Inquisition camp three nights back. She'd revealed everything that'd happened between her and Solas with Tal in the privacy of the Fade the second night after returning and since then her little brother had become Solas' shadow. Whenever they had a moment when it was just the three of them, leading the Inquisition survivors, Tal would lay into Solas, pestering him with questions. Rosa always kept an ear tuned to them, though she pretended to have no interest. Tal would tell her everything he learned anyway.

"I met your father when he was a boy," Solas said. "I was his tutor. His given name was Evunial when I taught him."

Tal snorted. "That's dry summary, not a story. C'mon, _hahren, _you can do better_. _Details, please. Was he a good student? A prankster? Did he ever put itchweed in your trousers or singe your coattails with a well-placed fire mine?"

Solas chuckled. "If you knew your father at all, you know he did not have the herbal knowledge necessary to identify itchweed with any confidence."

Tal snorted. "Yeah, but did he ever spit in your halla butter or freeze your hot meal before you could eat it?"

"No," Solas said and Rosa could hear the frown in it. "He was a scrupulous youth and an attentive student. One of my favorites and very bright."

"Oh c'mon," Tal said, groaning. "You're lying. You know, half the pranks I pulled on my Keeper were _his_ idea when I was an elfling. He must have just been so good that you never caught him."

"I'm sorry if this disappoints you," Solas murmured. "But he had far more interest in socializing and learning than he did in trickery."

"Okay," Tal said, sighing. "So he was boring like Rosa."

She resisted the desire to turn round and frown at him. Better not to antagonize him. Tal had been distraught when he came to with the Inquisition and thought Rosa was dead. Dorian had told her that he had threatened self-harm and became combative when the Tevinter tried to stop him from running right back to Haven. He'd also been angry, cursing her to all the elven gods for putting him under with a sleep spell. But when Rosa and Solas had made their seemingly miraculous return to the Inquisition, Tal had sobbed with relief even as he shouted his rage to her face at having been left behind. Rosa had been so happy to see him that she'd never stopped smiling or crying tears of joy as she waited for him to just finish spouting his anger so she could embrace him.

He hadn't quite forgiven her for everything, even three days later. Yet he also seemed clingy, following her over Solas despite his clear interest in learning anything and everything from the Elvhen man about Elvhenan and Ivun. He was Rosa's eyes and ears now on Solas, reporting to her in private and in the Fade every night. That let Rosa keep her distance from Solas to recover emotionally from…whatever was still happening between them while Tal did the recon.

"There's got to be _some_ story you can share," Tal persisted, breath puffing as they continued their hike ever higher up the side of the mountain.

"Yes," Solas replied. "Countless, in fact. However, I'm afraid you'd find it hard to relate to anything from early in our time together. It was my task to train your father in magic and I expected impeccable behavior from my students." His words were bold with pride. "I always achieved results."

"How?" Tal asked, snorting with obvious disbelief. "I've been around kids before back in my birth clan. They don't listen very well."

"Then perhaps you are not saying the right things," Solas said, amusement coloring the words. "I regaled my students with war stories and tales from the wilds when they appeared restless. I ensured they were never bored. It opened the mind to the lessons that followed."

"So when did babae grow a personality?" Tal asked. "And how well did you know him?"

_Babae,_ Rosa noted. Her brother had resorted to the more affectionate term for _father. _Rosa never would, no matter how much she regretted her harsh last words to her father. Her babae was a man unrelated to her—Keeper Taeras, who'd bonded with her mother before he died to legitimize Rosa's birth to the rest of the clan. Not that anyone had truly believed it. Taeras was well known to have zero interest in women, but clan Naseral was happy enough to _pretend _they believed, for Rosa's sake and to support her mother.

It still left her dizzy to think of how history had repeated itself. If she had not ridden that flighty halla that day last spring she would now be bonded to Mahanon and raising a child with him that would call him _babae_.

"We were allies in service to Mythal, members of her court," Solas said and Rosa could tell from his tone that he was being cagey.

Tal picked up on it immediately. Snorting, he said, "That's a shit answer, Solas."

Solas huffed, a touch irritated. "You asked me to start at the beginning. I am doing so."

"Apologies," Tal intoned with more solemnity than was necessary…and a note of amused mockery. "Go on, _hahren."_

"Most of my students went on to lives with the nobles of Arlathan. They endured arranged marriages or became spies—not unlike the Orlesian royal court of today. But…_Ivun_—" Solas sounded as though he frowned using that name for their father. "—had no desire to be a pawn. He wanted to change Arlathan and he and I agreed that the best way to achieve that was by supporting Mythal."

"His grandmother," Tal said. _"My _great-grandmother."

"Indeed, _lethallin."_

"So, tell me about her. Did you know her as well as he did?" He chuckled. "Were you another of her grandsons?"

"I am a distant relation," Solas replied, dismissive.

Rosa felt her truthsaying talent twitter in the back of her head. Solas had just lied. She rolled her eyes in frustration, stomping her wrapped feet into the gritty hillside a little harder. _Now_ her talent emerged? Where was it the night she faced off with Corypheus? Or when Solas had professed to still love her? The problem with feeling others' lies only on occasion was that she couldn't really feel _truth. _This was Dirthamen's ability, she knew, but it had to have been stronger in her grandfather and in her father.

"So, we're cousins?" Tal prodded.

"Many times removed," Solas lied, discomfort lacing his words. It wasn't difficult to guess why, probably not for Tal either. If he'd lied about being related to Mythal distantly…who _was_ he related to? Rosa's father had described the court of Arlathan as being a tangled web of closely related nobles, fighting and fucking and spying on one another. And it was the "Evanuris" (as he'd called them) who connected them and ruled over them. Mythal, Elgar'nan, and Sylaise had the most relatives through countless children and grandchildren.

Still, the only reason she could think for Solas to lie here was if he wanted to deny the awkwardness of revealing he was actually a close relative, somehow. The idea churned her stomach with queasiness, but it also made her want to shake her head and laugh. If only something like _that_ could explain his behavior.

"Mythal was a brilliant leader and a great voice of reason in the court of Arlathan and all through the empire. I did not know her beyond a professional relationship as one of her generals, however. Ivun knew her as a mother and was therefore far more familiar with her than I."

Tal grunted. "I knew he liked her best, but I didn't know she raised him."

"Mythal mothered countless children of the nobility," Solas informed in his scholarly tone. "She is one of the few of your so-called Creators who has been remembered with some semblance of accuracy, even if the legends reduce her to something childish and simplistic."

Tal hummed, silent for a moment as they came closer to the peak of the mountain, where the gritty pebbles and gravel of the path gave way to harsh gray granite and drifts of crusted snow. Rosa could feel her heart quickening. They were almost there. She could feel it, almost as if this was a dream and she could intuit the knowledge straight from the Fade itself.

"One thing babae talked about a lot was Fen'Harel," Tal said from behind her.

"I don't see why," Solas said and he almost sounded…grumpy.

Tal snorted. "Because tricksters are funny and clever and he _loved_ that sort of thing. But babae never talked about Fen'Harel the way he did the other Creators. He'd talk about Andruil being insane like she was somebody's senile old grandmother, and he'd say June was so obsessed with his enchantments and creations that he'd pass out because he forgot to sleep."

Solas snorted at both names, as if he understood the stories all-too well, but he didn't add anything so Tal went on.

"Anyway, point is, babae talked about the other Creators like that so me and Rosa would know they were _people._ Just _powerful_ people. Not gods. But he never told funny stuff like that about the Dread Wolf. It was always allegories and myths the clan lore keeper didn't know."

"It is not hard to find tales the Dalish don't know or have gotten wrong," Solas muttered.

"Play nice, _hahren,"_ Tal chastised him in a lighthearted tone. "I know we're all idiots playacting to you and repeating bad history—trust me, Rosa and I heard that complaint all the time from babae—but we're trying our best."

Solas heaved a sigh. "Yes, you are correct. I apologize for my rudeness. It was unworthy of me."

"Water off a halla's fur," Tal said and Rosa could hear the shrug in his words. "But like I was saying, babae never talked about the Dread Wolf. What do _you_ know about him?"

"Only that he was an outsider to the court, which is precisely why neither Ivun nor I know anything of note regarding him and the so-called Great Betrayal and the fall of Elvhenan." Solas was curt and clipped, eloquent but also…irritated by this line of questioning.

_Why?_

"Seriously?" Tal asked, whining. "You don't know about the Great Betrayal? _Seriously?_ That would be like me and Rosa not knowing about the Fifth Blight."

"Ivun and I both entered uthenera before those events played out," Solas replied curtly. "We did not witness the fall of Elvhenan firsthand."

"So you saw it from the Fade. In dreams. What did you see?" Tal pressed.

"Very little," Solas said. "You should know the Fade is somewhat unreliable in portraying such large events. For example, I dreamt of Ostagar and witnessed the battle from both sides. As the spirits do, I empathized with both perspectives. But Ferelden remembers it as a simple betrayal and scorns Loghain. It was the same when I watched Arlathan and all of Elvhenan fall."

He no longer sounded irritable, but sad. Silence descended behind her as Tal apparently mulled over what Solas had said. Rosa, ahead of them, still crunching her way through the grit and snow, did the same. Solas had undoubtedly avoided sharing what he knew. Was it because it was simply too painful to relate or was it that he was trying to hide something? Or was it both?

But before she could give it any more thought, she had reached the snow and scrambled through it to mount a bit of bare rock. She shivered as a hard, cold wind whipped up from the frozen valley below. Hugging herself for warmth, she summoned magic to heat herself, and strode toward the edge, eyes narrowed against the wind. Gooseflesh prickled her skin with awe as she finally made sense of what she saw in the distance.

It was a castle. Broken and cracked in places, but intact. The fortress stood in the valley, surrounded by the glacial river, but Rosa could see greenery around the outcropping the castle had been built upon. How was there greenery in this frozen waste? Yet she could already _feel_ the answer: the Veil was thin here and ancient magic thickened the air. She had encountered ancient Elvhen magic before and had seen it preserve summer through winter, melting away snow and letting trees keep their foliage. Her birth clan had visited such places at least annually to pray to the Creators and if the weather grew especially cold they'd take advantage of the warmth there.

But that hardly made sense. The large stone blocks were a _shemlen_ design, Ferelden or maybe Avvar? She didn't know. This fortress had been built by humans, not her people.

…But what had the humans built upon? There were ruins in the Brecilian that had been taken over by humans repeatedly but Rosa's clan knew that at the base of everything were Elvhen ruins. Was this the same? It had to be if Elvhen magic sustained the little oasis of green in the midst of bare rock and glaciers.

She heard the crunch of footsteps at her side and turned her heads slightly to see Solas had joined her. Tal was just behind him and he let out a muffled gasp and then cursed. _"Fenedhis!_ What in the Void is that doing up here?"

"Skyhold," Solas said, naming it. _"Tarasyl'an Te'las,"_ he added, speaking with an inflection that gave Rosa goosebumps all over again. She snuck a quick sideways glance at him and found him staring at her with something akin to melancholy in his eyes, though his lips curled in a small smile.

"The place where the sky was held back?" Tal asked. "Cool name, but what's it mean?"

"What else would we call a stronghold in the Frostbacks, _falon?_" Solas asked, smiling wider when he turned to Tal. "This mountain range was no less forbidding when the People ruled Thedas."

"How'd you know about it?" Tal asked. "Was this Mythal's stronghold once upon a time? Did you serve here?"

"I have visited before, yes. Of course, it was very different when I last saw it." The sadness in his tone had yet to abate. Rosa stared at Skyhold ahead and below, refusing to give in to the desire to look at his face.

"Whose fortress was it though?" Tal persisted.

"Mythal's," Solas said. "At first. After her death I am unsure who claimed it. Perhaps no one until humans chanced upon it ages later."

Rosa doubted that was the full story. Solas never seemed capable of revealing everything. "Let's get to the keep," she said, squaring her shoulders despite the bitter, biting wind tearing at her clothing and hair. "At least it looks warmer down there."

* * *

The fortress was in rough shape. Ages had clearly passed since it was last inhabited and cared for. Birds and mice and nugs had made countless nests in the stone walls and portions of the exterior had collapsed. Still, the remnants of the Inquisition were rejuvenated and worked tirelessly to clear it.

Rosa worked with them, Tal constantly at her side. Mahanon was often with them, but he spoke very little. The tension and strain from their confrontation before Corypheus had attacked lingered on, but neither seemed willing to address it. There was too much else to do. Every night they slept in tents scattered about the courtyard and every day they returned to the backbreaking task of removing debris, clearing animal nests, and gradually, making repairs. Food was scarce as their rations and everything they'd brought with them from Haven began to run low, but Josephine's calls for aid from their various allies began to bring supplies within the first week.

Still, dozens volunteered to go out hunting and gathering to bolster their supplies at Rosa's suggestion. They had countless humans, elves, and even dwarves like Scout Harding who were proficient with a bow or herbal gathering. It made little sense not to take advantage of that. Rosa was surprised when Mahanon took over the effort, organizing the trips with Cullen and Leliana to borrow scouts and soldiers with hunting experience from the standard security patrols through the frozen valley. She half-suspected it was because he wanted to escape _her_, but the meat and herbs he and the other hunters returned with were greatly appreciated nonetheless.

Solas became more of a recluse than even his usual after their arrival at Skyhold. He worked like everyone else to help clear the rubble, but he never seemed to linger in one place long enough for Rosa or Tal to corner him. Not that Rosa would have approached him—avoidance was the current tactic now that he wasn't guiding them to Skyhold. Tal did apparently manage to have some chats with the Elvhen man, pestering him about Ivun and Mythal and Elvhenan. What little he learned he reported to Rosa at night, but it wasn't anything beyond what he'd already admitted.

About a week after they'd reached Skyhold, Rosa decided to volunteer on one of Mahanon's hunting trips in at least a half-hearted effort to reconcile. Since she wasn't ready to face Solas again, dealing with Mahanon seemed like the next best strategy. Mahanon didn't protest or show any reaction when Rosa volunteered on his hunting expedition, only explained that they would leave at dawn.

For once, Tal decided to let her go alone and stayed sleeping at Skyhold while she rose a half hour before dawn and went to Skyhold's rusted gate to wait with Mahanon and the other scouts. She found half a dozen human scouts already waiting and saw Mahanon stringing his bow and checking over the fletching on his arrows. When the sixth member of their party showed—a mousy elven woman lacking vallaslin—they set out.

It took several hours of walking through the frozen valley before they reached a forested section of mountainside where life clung here at the top of the world. Rosa tried to ignore the way the four scouts stared at her with wonder and adoration. She still remembered the way the humans had sung and bowed to her, kneeling in the snow after Mother Giselle had coaxed them into song the night she returned from Haven. She'd sensed Solas' sympathy from afar and had seen Mahanon's disturbed look as he watched the scene. At every turn, the humans clung to her as a symbol of their faith. That hadn't stopped when they discovered Skyhold. In fact, it'd only grown.

Now Rosa couldn't go anywhere with soldiers or scouts without getting that _look._ It made her regret volunteering to hunt with them. Oddly, however, she noticed that the young elven woman who'd joined them didn't look at her like that. Instead the woman seemed to pay her no mind at all. Only occasionally Rosa caught the woman smirking at her, as if Rosa had snot hanging from her nose or her hair was sticking up on end. She always seemed to be moments from chuckling, as if Rosa was _funny._

"Who is the woman?" she asked Mahanon when they finally split up to check the traps set the previous day. Rosa deliberately followed Mahanon though he had not asked her and the others had moved singly into the pines.

"She's an herbalist. Her name's Lanalle, I think," he replied without slowing. He grunted as he forded through a snowdrift, swiping irritably at a bramble obscuring his way. Rosa caught the branch as it swung back and brushed her thumb over the buds. Spring was coming, even here at the top of the world. But one wouldn't guess it looking at the depth of the snowdrifts.

"Hmm," Rosa answered with a hum and trudged after him through the snow. The sunshine streaming through the pines was comforting and the exertion kept her warm enough that she didn't need to call magic. She did it anyway, shivering as her mana engulfed her in its pleasant embrace. "Thank you," she told him. "For leading these hunting parties."

He paused in his trek, twisting slightly to look over his shoulder at her and smile tightly. "You're welcome." Then he sighed and pivoted round to face her, crossing his arms over his chest. He still held his bow, making the position a little awkward as it jutted out to one side. "Rosa," he said, "I know you came out here to talk to me in private. Whatever you have to say, say it."

His tone wasn't harsh but his word choice felt…confrontational. Yet, contradicting that, his expression was one of pain and dread. Rosa stared at him, resisting the desire to fidget as she struggled to find the words she'd rehearsed. Her shoulders sagged. "I…wanted to apologize. For that night when you…" She scowled, wrinkling her nose. "Before Corypheus attacked."

He turned his head away, sniffing. His breath fogged out several times before he nodded. "I figured you'd say something like that." He drew in a breath and uncrossed his arms, tapping one end of his bow into the snow and then knocking it against a nearby sapling. "But the truth is we both know I should apologize as much as you. I was…" He grimaced. "Drunk."

"I know," she agreed, forcing out a tight chuckle. "You told him about…"

"I did?" he blurted, jerking his gaze back to her. His cheeks, already red from the cold air, flushed brighter crimson. "I'm so sorry, Rosa. I was just so angry. I didn't think…"

She lifted a hand, palm up. "It's okay." She frowned, swallowing to try and wet her throat, to ease the aching of grief that still rose inside when she let herself consider that spring and what she'd lost. "I'm…" She stared down into the disturbed snow around her feet where Mahanon had tread. "I'm kind of glad you told him. I had a chance to confront him about it."

"And now you've decided to take up with him again?" Mahanon asked, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable—but also the sadness.

"No," Rosa said with a firm shake of her head. "That's what I came here to tell you. He made it clear to me that what happened between us is finished." She had to stop and breathe deeply several times to keep her voice steady and compose herself. Old fury toward Solas churned in her gut and made her face burn.

Oddly, Mahanon chuckled dryly. "He's a contrary flat-eared bastard."

"Yes," Rosa agreed, growling. "He is."

Mahanon sighed and Rosa glanced at him in time to see him flick away what might have been a tear from around his eye. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose. "My feelings for you haven't changed, Rosa, but I think _you_ don't know how you feel anymore."

"Han," she said, taking a step closer, her heart suddenly pounding. "I've had a hard last couple months. We both have. Neither of us ever could have expected…_this."_ She lifted her marked left hand and wriggled her fingers.

"Yes," Mahanon agreed, dropping his hand back to his side and shooting her a small smile. "But I'm no fool, Rosa. You agreed to bond with me because of _da'assan._ You were happy then, but after…"

She closed her eyes against the burn of tears. "Han…" she said, but it was a weak protest.

"You never loved me the way I loved you," Mahanon said, voice trembling. "Your heart still belonged to him."

"No," she insisted, fists clenching. She strode closer to him, closing the gap. Mahanon watched her approach, his eyes locked with hers and glistening with tears. "I will always love you for the way you prayed over me last spring—the way you loved…" She couldn't bring herself to say the name.

He smiled sadly. "Like I said. You loved me for _da'assan._ I understand." He sniffed and turned his head away. "But there's no sense in denying it, Rosa. If _he _had come for you, if _he_ had been straightforward and honest, you'd never have considered bonding with me. And that's why I've gone hunting. I'm…letting you go."

She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the aching, burning lump in her throat. "I think I understand, Han. I wish I didn't feel anything for him. I wish…"

Mahanon shrugged. "Maybe someday you will change your mind and return to me." He smiled and sniffed, brushing his eyes to clear the tears. "But honestly, it was obvious to me that that flat-eared bastard is as hung up on you as you are on him."

Rosa stared down at the snow, shaking from some uncomfortable, unnamed emotion. "Will you be leaving?"

"Not right away," Mahanon said as he started to turn away, resuming his trek through the forest. "I'll devote myself to helping the Inquisition—_you_—for a while." He glanced over his shoulder, smiling that same miserable smile. "Just in case you change your mind."

"You'll go back to the clan," Rosa guessed as she too started walking once more.

"I will," he said, nodding. The snow crunched and crackled underfoot. They made no attempt to be silent yet. His arrow quiver flopped against his hip.

"Good," Rosa said, smiling warmly now. "Deshanna will be glad to have you back. I know they must be missing their best hunter." He wasn't the _best_ but she felt like flattery was called for. He _was_ a good hunter, though, and the clan would probably have missed his skill.

Mahanon snorted. "Mamae will be happy to have me back to grind herbs for her again. _She_ is the one who will have truly missed me."

"Well," Rosa said, sighing with bittersweet memories. "When you see her, make sure you give her my love. I still think she saved my life."

Mahanon slowed and turned to look at her over his shoulder again, his expression somber now. "Mamae didn't save you, Rosa. She could only give you strength. _You_ were the one who survived, the one who chose to wake up again and keep living."

Rosa nodded, though she found it difficult to meet his gaze. She had spent the better part of a week barely eating or drinking once she knew the little one had perished. She searched the Fade, calling to her brother, demons and spirits, her father, her mother, and anyone or anything that would listen if only they could bring her child back. But of course none of them could. Tal had shooed away demons that flocked to her whenever he slept, as had her mother, and spirits of hope and compassion and love had tried to offer comfort—as had Rogathe.

And in the end, Rosa had chosen to waken rather than wallow and wilt away. She had swallowed the grief and buried the memory of _da'assan _to survive. But now…nearly a year later, she felt as though maybe she could face it and accept it. Overcome it. She could consider the little life she had lost without feeling as though she was about to fall into a despair demon's maw.

"Thank you," Rosa said, smiling at Mahanon. "For being there for me."

Mahanon returned her smile. "No need to thank me." His shoulders slumped as he motioned with his bow to the forest. "We should get moving though. Daylight's burning and we have people to feed."

"You're right," she agreed and stepped forward to walk at his side. "I've missed hunting, honestly."

"Same here," Mahanon agreed and let out a small laugh. "But I think you're out of practice. We have to be quiet or else all the game will be gone for miles."

"Point taken," she agreed, flashing a real smile as she fell silent. They slowed their pace to walk quietly, moving from tree to tree.

* * *

It was dusk when Rosa and the rest of the hunting party finally reached Skyhold again. She and Mahanon had nabbed a few partridges while the scouts had taken down a boar and the elven herbalist had collected several bags of elfroot and arbor's blessing. The traps had yielded a single hare and a pair of sleepy, skinny chipmunks newly wakened from hibernation.

She was barely through Skyhold's gates, the chipmunks hanging limp from her belt, when she spotted Tal waiting for her, leaning against the stone wall. Rosa untied to chipmunks and passed them to Mahanon with a nod of acknowledgement, then moved to meet with her brother. "What's going on, _isamalin?"_

He cocked his head to indicate a spot further into the courtyard by the stairs leading further up the keep. "The Enchanter, Cassandra, and Solas are all bickering about the…" He frowned and shook his head. "Whoever or whatever that boy is."

Rosa arched a brow. "What boy?"

"The one who cared for Roderick when he died and the one who warned us about the red Templars and the darkspawn magister." He squared his jaw as he looked off into the courtyard. Rosa followed his gaze and indeed saw Cassandra, Vivienne, and Solas standing at the foot of the stairs, speaking together. Their body languages varied but Rosa could read discomfort in the stiffness of their statures.

Yet…she couldn't quite pinpoint what Tal had been talking about. Roderick had died, attacked by Templars, but…

"What boy?" she repeated.

Now Tal shot her an unreadable, troubled expression. "You don't remember him?"

She bristled though she tried to tamp down the reaction. "I had a lot on my mind that night, remember?"

"Yeah," Tal grumbled. "I did, too. _A lot._ Like, I thought my sister was dead. So I was in the infirmary and Dorian was trying to calm me down and…the boy was there. With Roderick, caring for him when he died." Tal's soft brown eyes glazed over with memory. "And he turned to me and told me it was all right, that I had done everything I could have. He said you wouldn't have wanted me to torture myself and you'd sent me ahead because you wanted me to live and…" He broke off, choking back tears.

"Tal," Rosa said, grasping him by the shoulders. "It's okay…shhh…" She pulled him into an embrace and he reciprocated, wrapping his arms tightly around her and burying his face into the crook of her shoulder. His breath tickled her and she shivered, stroking and patting his back.

After a moment Tal pulled back from her, sniffling and rubbing at his nose. In that moment Rosa felt her heart tighten anew at the glimpse it gave her of what Tal must have been like as a boy. Her own child, the Little Arrow, had been a boy according to Ashani, though it was too young for her to be certain. Would it have been as much of a sweetheart as Tal?

She pushed the thought aside, focusing on the present as she squeezed her brother where she still held him by the shoulders. "I'm glad this boy helped you until I was back. I'll have to thank him."

"That's just it," Tal said, frowning. "Cassandra is probably going to boot him out because of the Enchanter. She protested him, says he's a demon."

Rosa snorted. "That can't be."

"I know," he said, chuckling. "If he was a demon you'd be puking your guts out and going around here groaning in pain. Solas is trying to stop them but…"

"I'll stop them from getting rid of him," she promised and with a last squeeze to his shoulders, turned and trotted across the courtyard to where the Seeker, the Enchanter, and her ex-lover stood quietly debating.

"This thing is not some stray puppy you can make into a pet," Vivienne argued as Rosa drew within earshot. The Enchanter motioned to a spot beside the stairs where, when Rosa turned her head, she finally saw a boy with a wide brim hat digging about in the dirt. It was…childlike. Odd. He plucked at the bits of grass, not snapping them, but seemingly trying to make them stand erect.

"It has no business being here," Vivienne insisted, looking between Cassandra and Solas—and then to Rosa.

"Wouldn't you say the same of an apostate?" Solas countered, cool and even tempered.

Vivienne was silent, considering, so Rosa butted in. "What's this all about?" she asked, gazing between the three of them.

"I thought perhaps Cole was a mage," Cassandra explained. "Given his unusual abilities."

"He can cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him," Solas put in.

_Well, _Rosa thought, _that might explain why I have so little memory of him. _

Solas' blue eyes swept over her, a knowing glint hidden in their depths. "These are not the abilities of a mage. It seems Cole is a spirit."

"It is a demon," Vivienne insisted, arms crossed over her chest.

Rosa rolled her eyes. "It's not a demon. If you're going to argue against it, come up with a better reason than that."

Vivienne's sour look momentarily cut through her otherwise stately mask, but she quickly righted it again. "And you of all people should know, my dear, that demons can hide themselves very convincingly. Have you spoken with this _Cole, _my dear? Perhaps you can read the truth of his disguise as you did with the Lord Seeker in Val Royeaux?"

"Yes," Rosa said, shifting uneasily from one foot to another. "I _can_ ferret out demons in disguise. That's _exactly_ why I feel confident that Cole is not a demon."

"Without having even spoken to it?" she asked, arching a brow.

"If he was a demon, I'd feel it," Rosa hedged. She eyed Vivienne warily, aware that the enchanter probably knew about Dreamers from extensive studying in her Circle. She caught Solas' tense expression to her right, watching her. There were times the humans thought Rosa suspicious enough without revealing her nature as a Dreamer. Grinning falsely, Rosa lifted her marked palm and showed it off to Vivienne and Cassandra both. "Herald of Andraste, remember? The Anchor senses demons for me."

This seemed to ease both Cassandra and Vivienne's body language. They could accept divine aid, but relying on a mage's power was…worrisome.

"Besides," Rosa said, her hand slapping back down to her side. "Cole warned us at Haven. He went out of his way to help us. If he wants to stay, I'd welcome him and so should you both."

"If you are certain this thing is not and cannot _become_ a demon…" Vivienne said grudgingly, "then certainly."

Rosa looked to Cassandra expectantly, seeking her approval next. The Seeker nodded. "If you feel we can trust this…_Cole_, then I have no objections."

"Good," Rosa said, nodding to the other two women and then to Solas. "Then I'll go give him the good news." She turned in a slow circle when she saw that the boy wasn't where she'd last seen him. Scanning about the courtyard, she finally caught sight of him among the tents they'd set out to serve as an infirmary. She strode off for the tents, following the sight of his wide brimmed hat as Cole stooped, moving between patients.

As she drew closer to the heat and orange light of the fire beside the infirmary tents, Cole stood up and began speaking in a quiet, soft voice. "Haven. So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape." It wasn't clear if he spoke to Rosa or to himself or…someone else. Rosa slowed her approach, listening and observing.

"Choking fear, can't think from the medicine but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat." A healer sitting at the fire stared into it forlornly, showing no reaction to Cole's words. She _did,_ however, gaze at Rosa with a look of awe.

"Your Worship," the healer greeted Rosa with a deep dip of her chin.

Rosa nodded back to the healer, then heard Cole begin speaking again. "Hot white pain, everything burns. I can't. I can't. I'm going to…I'm dying. I'm…" He trailed off for a second and then motioned to a man lying motionless across the fire. "Dead."

A chill passed through Rosa. Solas had said Cole was a spirit, but…what _kind_ of spirit? Had he only come to Haven because he was drawn to death? Or was it…no, he'd been reading the man across the fire, speaking aloud while he couldn't. That must have been why he stayed beside Roderick as well.

"You're reading them?" she asked, hoping to confirm what she suspected. "You can feel what they feel?"

"Yes," he replied. "I hear the hurt. I try to help. I came to help." He strode around the fire, moving to stand over another man, murmuring. "Every breath slower. Like lying in a warm bath. Sliding away. Smell of my daughter's hair when I kiss her goodnight." The man slumped, slack and lifeless. "Gone," Cole declared, then turned and began again. "Cracked brown pain, dry, scraping. Thirsty." He moved to a small bucket and ladled out a cup of water, then knelt and handed it to a different soldier, who thanked him in a painful rasp.

"It's all right," he told Rosa as she watched. "She won't remember me."

"You're a spirit," Rosa said, making it come out not a question.

"Yes," he agreed. "I used to think I was a ghost. I didn't know. I made mistakes…but I made friends, too. Then a Templar proved I wasn't real. I lost my friends. I lost everything. But I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different, but stronger. I can feel more. I can help."

"And we'd be happy to have that help," Rosa told him, smiling politely. "If you're interested."

"Yes," he agreed again, still without looking at her. Rogathe had always been so much more direct…the thought of the spirit of bravery made her stiffen, remembering that she still had to find a way to get it out of her—before it grew frustrated to the point it twisted into a demon.

Cole lifted his head then, looking at her with his sad, round blue eyes, though his gaze was glassy. "Fear like ice in my belly. A thousand needles in my skin, pricking and poking, hot and stinging. Chest tight to burst. _'Abomination! Abomination!'"_

Rosa frowned, fidgeting. "Yeah, can you maybe keep that to yourself?"

He blinked at her. "What?"

She took a step closer, lowering her voice. "Cole, you know about Rogathe, right?"

"Bravery," Cole said and nodded. "Yes."

"And you know the humans would kill me if they found out?" she asked, lowering her volume even further to ensure none of the healers working nearby could overhear.

"Yes," Cole said, growing somber. "But I won't let them. I can help. Solas knows."

Rosa licked her lips, her heart suddenly pounding with new interest. "You can help? How?"

"I can talk to Bravery. I can help it understand. It doesn't like Solas, but if we can make it see, make it _understand_, it can let go," Cole said, rambling.

"Is that why it won't leave me?" Rosa asked, frowning. "Because of Solas?" She had suspected as much, but while the spirit was bound within her she had little way of communing with it directly without letting it share control of her body. She'd feared Rogathe would reveal the truth of what'd happened to her the previous spring and she'd been certain the demon would lash out at Solas if given the chance. Now, after coming to without control of her body in the ice cave after the avalanche, and realizing she was sitting astride Solas and holding him down with the promise of violence, she knew Rogathe most _definitely_ would attack him.

In the Hasmal Circle she had gotten Rogathe to leave by tricking it into thinking she fought a Templar she feared in battle and won. It had been a duel in a dream, but she had unwittingly killed him in real life by killing him in the dream. She hadn't known Dreamers had such power until that moment.

_"'__Savage. I'll _take _you, all right,'_" Cole said in an artificially deep voice, laced with hate. "Hands pinching, fingers poking, eyes lashing. I'm just a thing to him and there's nothing to stop him. If I fight, I'll die—but better to die than give in. We are the last Elvhen."

Rosa swallowed the annoying lump that tightened her throat. It wasn't grief or loss now but simple tension. "Cole," she said with a tight chuckle. "Can you do me a favor and stop reading me, please?"

"Oh," he said, blinking at her as if he hadn't realized he'd been doing it. "I'm sorry."

"Well," she said, smiling. "I'd be willing to take any help you can give me regarding my friend Rogathe. When do you want to start?"

"Soon," Cole said, still staring at her, making actual eye contact. "Solas knows."

_I guess I'll be talking to Solas then, _Rosa thought with a sigh. She nodded and thanked the spirit boy again. Turning round, she saw Cassandra and Vivienne had left…and there was no sign of Solas either. Her fingers found the raven talisman, tucked under her tunic, and she let out a long breath as she looked up to the sky and saw the sun had set, leaving streaks of orange to light up the wispy clouds high overhead. Rogathe had waited this long, it'd just have to wait another night.

* * *

The next day, in the morning, Solas watched from one of Skyhold's exterior walls that he had been helping rebuild as, in the distance, Cassandra sprung a surprise that'd been long in coming to Rosa. The cold wind from the frozen valley and the Frostbacks all around them tore over the stone wall and bit at his hairless scalp, but Solas felt only warmth as he watched Rosa accept a ceremonial sword from Cassandra to become Inquisitor. The other workers with him—Blackwall among them—clapped and cheered at the sight, despite their distance. The walls of Skyhold reverberated with the sound of celebration.

How long had it been since an elf had openly wielded such power? Rosa was everything the _shemlen_ reviled: an elf, a mage, a _Dalish_ apostate, technically. What they didn't know about her made it even more astounding and amusing—that she was a possessed Dreamer, the granddaughter and great-granddaughter of false gods, and former lover to a rebellious figure who'd been mislabeled a god as well. She would have been born a leader, a noble, in Elvhenan, but modern Thedas should have scorned her as little better than vermin.

She had been groomed for leadership as the First to her birth clan and then to her new clan in the Free Marches, but he hoped she would be able to handle this responsibility. He hoped she would not wilt under it or be wracked with unhappiness. She deserved better.

She deserved the best.

Shame and guilt rode heavily on his shoulders as his thoughts turned again for the umpteenth time to how many times and in how many varied ways he had wronged her. Which crime was worse? Killing Felassan or abandoning her, which had indirectly led to the loss of her—_their—_child? How long until his Anchor threatened to consume her? How long before some skirmish with the Venatori or Corypheus wound up killing Tal? All of those eventualities were _his _fault at the root.

And, like an addict, he seemed unable to stop. He spent almost every waking moment considering her whenever his mind was unoccupied for even a moment. He'd learned tacitly from Tal that she and Mahanon were ending any relationship they'd had beyond friendship and clansmen and he hadn't been able to deny the little thrill of excitement that caused him. He should have been sad, wishing her happiness with another man. Instead he found himself fantasizing about ways to approach her, to show her how deeply he regretted leaving her last winter and all he wanted to do to make it right somehow…

Knowing she and Mahanon had ended their relationship only made the temptation intensify. Had he not been able to simply will them away with a thought, he knew desire demons would have plagued him, asking why couldn't he go to her? Why couldn't he give in when it was what they both wanted?

_Because she does not deserve the burden. Because I cannot go to her without telling the truth. _

So he watched her become Inquisitor from far away and, though one half of his mind fantasized about seeking her out to confess everything in the vain hope she might still want him despite it, he did not go to her. Because she deserved better than what he could offer her, better than what he had already done.

And that night the desire demons were indeed waiting for him.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Pain, stabbing, hot. Crushing my chest whenever I look at him. _He doesn't know. He doesn't care,"_ Cole babbled. "But he _does_. He cares but he _can't._"

Solas winced at the spirit's reading, feeling his cheeks heat with shame. He concentrated on blocking off his own emotions. The last thing he needed now was Compassion exposing him to make things more awkward than they needed to be.

"Yeah," Rosa said with a dry snort. "Thanks, Cole."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Endnote: I have enjoyed writing Cole's enigmatic rambling, but it is tough. A few times I've slipped in references that specifically come from the prequel, or a pop culture reference. This chapter the "Abomination! Abomination!" reading was from Rosa's memory of escaping the Circle, in case no one caught what it was referencing. Rosa is especially disturbed in that scene because it's a glimpse of what she could have become and she knows it. Oh, and Mahanon and Rosa ended things with such grace. I didn't entirely expect that scene to play out as it did, but I wanted to make it clear Mahanon isn't just a tool or a third wheel I'm using to make Solas jealous. He's his own distinct character, with flaws as well as strengths. One strength is that he is loyal and was willing to accept and raise another man's child, no questions asked and no judgements. He's insecure as all get-out and petty and possessive and racist, but he has a big heart. Because complex characters, ladies and gents. 


	18. Walk the Path of Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Rosa, with a bit of help from Cole, decide to tackle Rogathe. But the question is, what does a spirit of Bravery need in order to return to the Fade?

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to come along on this one, _isamalin,"_ Rosa said, frowning as she blinked against the drizzling rain falling from the darkening sky. They were standing at the edge of their camp about an hour still shy of Crestwood proper, staring out at the road ahead. It was late in the day, nearly dusk, but Rosa was impatient to reach Hawke's Warden friend before something could happen to him.

"I can handle it," Tal protested, jaw clenching.

Rosa let out a little huff at her brother's stubbornness. "You were puking less than half an hour ago."

"Because it caught me unprepared," he said, cutting a hand sideways dismissively. "I handled myself well enough in the bog, right?"

"Yes," she admitted, grudgingly. "But I know it stressed you. I don't see why I should let you go through all that again. You could just stay here with Dorian and guard the camp for when we return." The first reports of undead in the area had reached them shortly after they'd arrived at camp and it shed new light on her brother's sudden illness and exhaustion. Tal's bizarre new talent—or curse, really, since so far Rosa had only seen it have negative effects—hadn't come up in weeks, but now Rosa found herself cold with a dull horror as she remembered seeing Tal possessed in the dark future at Redcliffe. He had controlled everyone infected with red lyrium, somehow. Now she wondered if this sensitivity to the undead and whatever dark magic he'd learned in that alternate future were somehow related. It made her want to keep him as far away from it as possible. Unfortunately, Tal wasn't cooperating.

Tal rolled his eyes. "You think I rode all this way from Skyhold just to sit on my ass?" He shook his head fervently. "Not a chance. Dorian's been letting me read up on necromancy. I can help you cut through people or scare them away with horror spells. I _need_ to experiment."

Rosa grimaced, arms crossed over her Keeper armor. That was the _last_ thing she wanted to hear right now. She opened her mouth to confess her fear—she'd been trying very hard to behave in a way that would please Rogathe to keep the spirit appeased until she could finally get it out of her—but then snapped it shut again. She needed to consult with Solas and ask just what kind of magic the possessed Tal of the future had used. Was it a form of necromancy? But that didn't make sense. The red lyrium was killing those infected with it, but they weren't dead yet. What Tal had done had been more akin to blood magic, but it seemed clear he could only use it on people who had red lyrium infections.

Too bad Solas had been struggling to avoid her, doggedly so. Cole had said he and Solas could help her get Rogathe out of her at long last, but either Cole was just saying things to make her feel better or Solas didn't know she was waiting on him. And she was getting damn sick of it.

"You'll just get yourself killed if you're out there groaning and weak and puking," she warned Tal, still frowning.

Tal gestured at himself up and down with both hands. "Do I look weak right now? Am I puking?" He broke off, looking over his shoulder at the fire where a big cauldron of stew bubbled. The faint meaty smell reached them even here, several meters out. "Actually, I'm kinda hungry. Ravenous actually." He grunted, as if that was interesting.

"Considering you just hurled everything you ate for dinner onto the rocks back there, I'm not surprised at all." She smirked at him.

"No, see, that's my point," Tal went on, flapping his hands excitedly. "I cast the spell Solas taught me and I get a few hours reprieve. It's like a barrier. I wouldn't get hungry if it wasn't working."

"And I don't see why I need to take you closer to the source of that stress," Rosa persisted, arms still crossed over her chest.

"I already told you," Tal said, shifting so that he cocked one leg out and gripped his hips in a posture of confidence. "I need to experiment. I need to learn what in the Void this…" He gestured toward himself. "…this whatever it is can do."

"Nothing good is what my gut says," Rosa said. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she finally relented. "All right. You can come. But the first sign you're not feeling great and Mythal help me, I will have Iron Bull hogtie you and drag you back to camp. You understand me?"

"Hogtie me, huh?" Tal asked, grinning. "Sounds like a date."

Rosa groaned with disgust and rolled her eyes. Spinning about, feet splashing in the mud and wet grass, she marched back to the light of the campfire to pick her other companions for the push out to the Warden's position. She'd brought most of her inner circle: Blackwall, Iron Bull, Dorian, Solas, Cole, Sera, and Varric. Cassandra, Vivienne, and Mahanon had chosen to sit this one out to attend to various duties back at Skyhold. Most of the others had leapt at the chance to travel. They might regret that choice now though, after days of traveling in drizzling, soggy spring rains.

"Time to move out," she announced in her strongest _no arguing or else_ voice. "Iron Bull, Varric, Cole, and Solas—you're all with me. Everyone else can stay fresh and rested here at camp. I'll send a scout if I need you."

She received a chorus of affirmative noises and nods. Only Cole decided to say something else: "They want to go home. That's why they take the bodies."

Sera snarled at him from across the fire. "Oi—shut it, _thing."_

"Can I grab a snack before we go?" Tal asked from behind her.

"Only if you eat on the way," she said, shooting him an irritable look.

"You got it." He trotted to the fire, scooped up his empty bowl from in front of where he'd been sitting beside Dorian and began hurriedly ladling soup into it. The other people Rosa had chosen for her party were already getting to their feet, gathering supplies and readying weapons. Rosa waited in the rain; head bowed to keep the water from her eyes and hands on her hips.

When everyone had assembled a minute or so later—with Tal still slurping loudly from his wooden bowl—Rosa set out on foot through the open terrain of Crestwood.

They encountered their first undead fighting a pair of Wardens and threatening an elven woman they were protecting. Varric's crossbow bolts slammed into the nearest of the corpses, staggering it. The skeletal figure turned its bow on them, slowly moving to fire again. Iron Bull roared out a challenge as he charged for them, horns down and battleaxe lifted high. Solas flung up barriers over them and Cole disappeared, phasing into invisibility to cut the corpses down.

Rosa launched Fade stone at the corpse hefting a sword at the Wardens furthest down the path, knocking it over. Glancing to Tal just behind her, she saw he had his staff ready and one palm out, but nothing happened. His face was creased with concentration. It struck her hard, the memory slamming into her like one of her own Fade rocks. That same look of concentration was what she'd seen in the dark future, too, minus the reddish stone he'd worn.

_Calm down, _she scolded herself. _He makes that face any time he's working something out. _

The corpses fell easily under everyone's combined attacks. The last one just fell flat after Varric's bolt hit it in the chest. Rosa was about to congratulate the dwarf on an excellent shot when she felt the chill of gooseflesh run through her and recognized the touch of Tal's magic. Looking to him again, she saw he was grinning with triumph. She was about to question him in elven when Iron Bull interrupted her. "Nice one, Varric!"

"Thanks," he replied, chuckling as he reset Bianca with a clack.

_Let them claim it,_ she thought and turned instead to face the Wardens as they approached. They learned the Wardens were seeking Hawke's contact…and it didn't sound friendly. No one revealed their mission, not even Cole, thankfully, and the two Wardens went on their way.

Following the Warden's warning that Crestwood village was under attack; Rosa decided to swing through the village to mop up the corpses. They found the village gates barred and, in the muddy field outside, a dozen corpses shambled about. Their lipless mouths grinned obscenely and Rosa could see the demons inside had twisted the bones into claws so that even the unarmed ones could be deadly. They were clumsy and a tad slow, but there were still more than enough of them to be a threat.

Rosa smashed three of them standing together to the ground with a Veilstrike. The corpses splattered, fragile wet bones cracking as they landed. Solas incinerated one, catching it aflame despite the constant chilly drizzle. Iron Bull roared and went to hack and slash the nearest one with a sword. Cole disappeared again and went to work with his blades. Tal was the one who supplied barriers this time over everyone and then, as Rosa prepared to use winter's grasp, she felt Tal cast again. It was an unfamiliar spell in the spirit school…or close to it. This time she saw the effect right away as a corpse with a bow that hadn't been attacked at all suddenly jerked spastically and then collapsed, dead for real this time.

"Fuck yeah!" Tal exclaimed with a whoop.

Behind her, Solas chuckled as he casually lobbed an ice spike at a corpse, spearing it to the wooden gate. _"You've learned a new spell, _falon," he commented to Tal.

"Yep," Tal answered, not bothering to use elven.

The exchange between them eased Rosa's tension. Solas wouldn't have been so calm if this was deadly magic for the user. Despite Tal's comment that Dorian had been educating him, it might be _Solas_ who was actually teaching him most of what he knew. Solas had said he was a teacher as well as a general and had taught their father.

Refocusing on the battle, Rosa switched to fire and then lightning. The corpses fell quickly to their combined efforts and the people of Crestwood hurried to open the gate and burn the bodies. Tal and Solas stayed on the battlefield to help with magefire while Rosa went to visit with the village's mayor.

* * *

"So," Rosa told them, lifting her voice to be heard over the crackling of their campfire. "We have to drain the lake, but Hawke's Warden buddy comes first." They'd set up a camp after marching a few hours past Crestwood village, southeast through the rocky boulder-strewn hills. It was too dark to ford ahead and everyone was tired and soaked to the bone by the time Rosa had selected a spot tucked beside a rocky outcrop and an abandoned, decrepit hut overgrown with bushes.

In the dark they could all see the rift a ways off downhill, beside an old farmhouse. Feral druffalo grazed nearby it and undead crept through the boulders on the flat. None of them had the energy to tackle that now, though. It was approaching midnight, Solas guessed, and long since past his usual sleep time.

"The people of Crestwood need our help," Cole said, emphatic about helping the innocent people of this village—just as Solas would expect from Compassion. Despite his weariness, he smiled toward the spirit boy.

"We'll help them," Rosa agreed with a nod. "Though, honestly, the mayor is lying about something."

"How'd you figure that, Violet?" Varric asked. "I mean, he seemed a little nervous but Crestwood's been through _a lot."_ He chuckled dryly. "I still can't believe this place survived the Blight!" He had Bianca in his lap and was, in spite of the rain, oiling her down and cleaning her moveable parts. Magic was so much cleaner than machinery, Solas thought. Though the dwarf's studiousness and care for his weapon reminded Solas that his staff needed a little care. The handle wrapping was coming off and he'd soon be getting splinters if he didn't attend to it.

Rosa shrugged. "My gut tells me he's hiding something," she said, but Solas suspected it was far more than that. She was Dirthamen's granddaughter, after all. And Felassan had been a clever man as well; enough that he had hidden much from Solas over the years. As if to further emphasize his thoughts, Solas found himself admiring in a somber way the pallid vallaslin on Rosa's face. The fire highlighted the marks and made her violet eyes glitter.

"I agree, Boss," Iron Bull put in with a grunt. "That guy was twitchier than two nugs humping."

Varric burst out laughing, along with everyone else but Cole. "That is an _incredible_ image, Tiny."

"Hey," Tal said, elbowing his sister. "Hey, _asamalin, _remember those two bogfishers?"

She was still laughing, gasping to catch her breath as she nodded. Her hand clutched at her chest, probably to her talisman that kept Rogathe bound.

"What bogfishers?" Varric asked, smirking.

"Well," Tal said, clapping his hands together. "When Rosa and I were walking across Thedas, we had to cross a big swampland at the edge of the Waking Sea in Northern Orlais. And we saw these two bogfishers batting their eyes at each other." He paused to demonstrate, exaggeratedly blinking and puckering his lips. "And sure enough, they start going at it. The male mounted the female and he was so into it, but she looked bored. I thought it was great, but then it got even better when he humped himself right off her back and fell off the slope back into the swamp." He clapped his hands to imitate the sound of a splash. "Splat!"

Everyone laughed again, though Cole looked confused and Solas' fatigue tamped down his own amusement. As the laughter died down Rosa motioned to their soggy tents. "All right. Time to turn in. I'll take first watch. Tal, can you take second?"

"You got it," Tal said, grinning. He was the first up and moving to the tent he would share with Rosa.

"I'll take last watch. Not that I'm going to get any sleep tonight," Varric said with a longsuffering sigh as he began putting away all of Bianca's components. "You snore, Tiny."

"_I_ snore?" Iron Bull asked and then let out a loud guffaw. "You sure you're not just hearing yourself? Look—" He motioned out to the undead shambling about the flat in the distance, beneath the dormant green glitter of the rift. "—you woke the dead!"

"Ha-ha," Varric said with mock-laughter. "But I think that was you."

Solas was already halfway to the tent at the far end, which he would share with Cole—though the spirit had no real need for sleep—when he heard Rosa call his name. He turned and saw she had moved away from the fire, her expression hard set and her posture stiff. "Inquisitor?" he asked, using her new title though it felt awkward in his mouth still.

She frowned, apparently unaccustomed to it just as much as he was. "Can I speak with you and Cole?" she asked, cool and even.

Despite his bone-deep fatigue, Solas nodded. "Of course." He saw that Cole had not left the fire, but seemed absorbed with it, watching with rapt attention. "Cole?" he called for the boy and immediately his head swung toward them, blinking startled blue eyes. "Can you come here for a moment?"

"Yes," Cole said and rose out of his spot to walk across the camp to them. He tugged at his sleeves, as if anxious. Solas suspected he was sensing emotions from Rosa—she seemed high-strung despite their long trek and her tense posture hadn't let up yet. Solas tried not to consider all the various reasons _why_ she'd be uncomfortable, though there were many, especially around _him._

Rosa motioned to the rocky hillside sloping off above them to the left of the tents and the outcropping. "Let's…uh, take a little stroll. Shall we?" she asked, eyes flicking between the two of them. The camp was empty now except for the crackling fire and the slow, rhythmic rise of Iron Bull's first rumbling snores. But the way Rosa's eyes darted about and one hand was at her chest told Solas easily enough what was on her mind: Rogathe.

They hopped the low, crumbling wall that held back some of the large, loose rocks that were calving from the outcropping and sliding downhill in the slow motion of geology. Solas let Rosa and Cole go ahead of him, scrambling over the stones to climb higher on the slope. The grass and stones were slick with rain sluicing down, glistening in the occasional flicker from lightning and the orange cast of firelight from below.

A bush shivered in the wind high up, tucked against the outcropping. Rosa hesitated when she reached it and then, after a nervous glance toward camp and then to Solas, she pushed her way through the wet branches. Cole went in after her without hesitation and, after a few grunts of effort ascending the hill, Solas followed.

In the wet, dripping darkness the bush let out a musky odor, pleasant and reminding Solas of the long years—ages, quite possibly—he'd spent in the wilds. Rosa plopped down with her back to the outcropping behind her and wrapped her arms about herself. Cole scrambled to join her but did not sit. Instead he crouched to stay hidden inside the relative shelter of the bush. The awkward position looked uncomfortable but he made no complaint. Solas stayed at the edge, just inside the brush.

Rosa made a gesture and a second later Solas felt the familiar caress of her magic wash over him. She'd activated a sound-dampening spell over them, to hide the sounds of their conversation. Cole let out a little gasp and tried to touch the faint shimmer of the blue sound bubble overtop of them.

"The song's different now!" he exclaimed. "Quiet, muffled, soft."

"Yeah," Rosa said, chuckling. "That was the plan." She stopped, clearing her throat. It was difficult to see in the gloom with so little light penetrating the brush and the clouds obscuring most of the moon, but Solas could still make out the wet glistening of her skin and eyes. "Cole told me he could help with Rogathe, Solas. So, I wanted to see if we could…"

"Yes," he agreed at once, though his heart hammered in his chest. "Cole may be able to pacify Rogathe. With the breach closed it may finally decide to part from you."

"I hope you're right and the breach was what kept it trapped," Rosa said, blowing out a breath. "But I think you and I both know that's only part of it at best."

"Pain, stabbing, hot. Crushing my chest whenever I look at him. _He doesn't know. He doesn't care,"_ Cole babbled. "But he _does_. He cares but he _can't._"

Solas winced at the spirit's reading, feeling his cheeks heat with shame. He concentrated on blocking off his own emotions. The last thing he needed now was Compassion exposing him to make things more awkward than they needed to be.

"Yeah," Rosa said with a dry snort. "Thanks, Cole."

"You're welcome."

"Okay," Rosa said, shifting on the rock. Her armor scraped on the hard stone. "The last time Rogathe was unbound it wasn't exactly friendly. It doesn't like you, Solas. Do you think it will attack you again?"

"I suspect it is highly likely, yes," he said, sighing out his fatigue. This needed to be done. He'd been avoiding it and so had she, but it seemed since she'd been made Inquisitor she'd been rejuvenated and had a new determination to solve longstanding problems. Still, that didn't make it any easier. Rogathe was probably the single greatest threat to his secrets—aside from Cole, though Compassion spoke in such riddles Solas doubted he had anything to worry about from him.

"All right," she said, nodding. "Then I should be tied up or we can put me in a spirit trap or a mana drain." As she spoke, she dug into one of the small pouches at her waist and produced a chunk of charcoal. "The rain will wash it away pretty quick, but it will at least give you some protection."

She set to work before she'd finished talking, scratching the charcoal in thick black lines around herself. Cole lifted his feet and stepped clear of the circle, making a little noise of fear as he brushed against the bush. Solas watched the circle take shape and silently applauded her rune. He cleared his throat and dared ask, "Did your father instruct you in this?"

"Yep," she replied, her back to them now as she drew up the outcropping behind her to finish the circle. She had to drag the charcoal hard over the stone to mark it in spite of the rain, but the black lines held for the moment. The water would eventually wash them clean. They'd have little time. The idea made Solas stiffen, stomach cinching tight. He almost missed it as she elaborated her answer. "_Lenalin_ taught me this rune, definitely. It'll hold both spirits and demons. And…if I add a few more marks—here and here—it'll drain mana, too."

Finally she finished and passed the charcoal over to Cole, letting it roll downhill. The spirit boy scrambled to catch it, but he was careful not to touch the runes. He handed the charcoal to Solas.

Next came the raven talisman. Rosa tugged it out of her armor with a grimace and then tossed it out straight to Solas. He caught it and tucked it inside his vest pocket alongside the charcoal. Noticing that the sound-dampening spell had failed once Rosa closed herself into the rune circle, Solas reactivated it using his own mana.

In the rune circle, Rosa breathed deep and even. Her shoulders rose and fell rhythmically. Slowly Solas began to see the white light build. It glowed first through her vallaslin and then through her closed eyelids and out her nostrils. Once the light had built enough to make Solas wince against it, she at last opened her eyes and gazed between them.

"Hello Bravery," Cole said with a comical little wave. "I'm—"

"Compassion," Rosa said in the too-deep rumble of the spirit of bravery. "Yes. I know." It swung its head, eyes moving in the brilliant white orbs of Rosa's glowing sockets. Her teeth and mouth glowed like torches as she snarled. "Pride," it growled. "So we meet again."

"Yes," he said, keeping his tone calm and even as he concentrated on keeping himself closed to the spirit. "I wish to speak with you."

"That much is obvious," it replied, still snarling. "But I know these marks." It waved a hand at the charcoal runes. "You have caged me with my ward. You fear me."

"It is Rosa who fears what you will do," Solas countered patiently. "She fears for you, Rogathe. You have been too long on this side of the Veil and too long inside Rosa. Tell me, how did you come to be with Rosa and why do you remain?"

Rogathe scoffed. "I came to her because she called to me. She needed me."

"At the Conclave," Solas said. It wasn't a question. That must have been when she was possessed.

"Yes," it growled, baring its teeth in bright white. "And unlike you, Pride, I do not abandon those I devote myself to. I am no coward."

"Solas is no coward," Cole defended him, vehement yet still soft. "He didn't want to leave. He had to. He thought he was helping, not hurting. He didn't know."

"Compassion cares even for cowards," Rogathe grumbled. "You are useless."

"I am here to help," Cole insisted, unbothered by Rogathe's scorn. "I help the hurt."

Rogathe regarded him for several seconds and then slowly nodded. "I can see from her memories that you have been helpful. You gave Talassan courage the night he thought Rosa dead, the night the darkspawn magister came to claim Pride's Anchor. You have my thanks. You were present for him when I could not be."

Seeing an opening, Solas said, "You have been charged with protecting Tal as well as Rosa, is that correct?"

Rogathe swung its attention back to Solas, glaring. "Yes. I must care for them now that the Slow Arrow no longer can. That is my purpose—and _you_ are my enemy."

"No," Solas said, shaking his head. Water from the bush dripped onto his bare head and he shivered. "I have never been your enemy and I have no desire to harm either Rosa or Tal—quite the reverse, in fact. I left her and Tal to protect them from myself. Just as Felassan did not tell them of…" He broke off, unable to speak so baldly of his alter ego in case Rosa was somehow still conscious enough to overhear. Switching back to his original thought, he said, "While you are inside Rosa you cannot protect Tal. What if she is parted from him and he comes to harm? You will have failed in your purpose."

"You could become a monster," Cole said, a shudder in his voice. A cold, quiet horror borne of experience. "You could forget what you are."

"Yes," Solas added, nodding to Cole. "And if that happens you will harm Rosa. She will be killed. You will have failed entirely then in your purpose."

Rogathe shifted from side to side. Rosa's Keeper armor scraped as it moved her body about. It grunted, frowning. "I understand. This is much the same difficulty as she and I faced in the Circle."

"Yes," Cole agreed, nodding vigorously. "You can watch her from the Fade. Her voice is loud there. She will call if she needs you."

Rogathe huffed. "I cannot release her until she has walked the path of bravery—until I know she will be safe and can defend herself against what she fears."

Solas resisted the desire to groan or frown. This was likely the same problem they had faced in the Hasmal Circle. She had dueled a Templar she was afraid of there in the Fade, accidentally killing him in reality, to get Rogathe to release her. It seemed that was the ritual Rogathe needed to let go of its hold on her. Unfortunately, based on his previous encounters with it, Solas knew that Rosa and Rogathe had fixated on _him_ as the enemy that needed to be defeated.

Resigning himself to whatever was coming, Solas asked, "What will satisfy you that she is safe and has faced her fears?"

Rogathe glowered at him, eyes narrowing to slits of light. "She does not wish you dead, Pride. And although my desire is to see you far away from her—she believes she needs you. As such, a duel to submission is required. A fair engagement where neither party holds back." It leaned forward slightly, a sly grin spreading over Rosa's lips. "Do you agree, Pride? Can you face us in a fair fight?"

"Certainly," Solas agreed. He'd just have to let Rosa win, of course—and they could stage it in the Fade, where there'd be no wounds to worry about the following morning.

Now Rogathe grinned wider and let out a cackling laugh. "I can see what you're thinking, Pride. You and Rosa will attempt to deceive me. That is not the way of bravery. I have dwelt on this side of the Veil long enough to know your tricks, and hers." It sat back, armor clanking against the wall. "Furthermore, I know the advantage you hold with magic, so it is a test of brawn and brains, not mana that I propose."

That was…annoying. And it complicated things. Yet, it was still doable. Solas nodded, arms crossed over his chest. "Very well, Rogathe. Perhaps we can—"

"You are about to suggest this will wait until tomorrow, when you both are better rested. But in reality, you will then stage this in the Fade where I will be none the wiser. No." It snarled at him. "This duel will happen now. Tonight. Where I know you are both out of the Fade. I will not be bound again. You will both walk the path of courage tonight."

_Fenedhis._ All Solas wanted was a chance to sleep. Unfortunately Rogathe seemed determined to keep him from that simple pleasure. Staring at Rosa, her vallaslin, eyes, nose, and mouth all aglow with Rogathe's influence, he nodded. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe. "Very well," he agreed. "But this is not the proper place for such a duel and you must not be seen in your current condition. Can you allow Rosa to share your consciousness?"

Rogathe screwed up its face for a moment, concentrating. Rosa's eyes drifted shut and the glow from her vallaslin slowly dissipated to being only a slight glimmer. When she opened her eyes again they were a bright pink, the irises visible again from the surrounding whiteness. "Am I glowing?" she asked, her voice an unnerving mix of her normal pitch and Rogathe's masculine rumble.

"Yes," Cole said, sounding perplexed. "You always glow."

"It isn't as noticeable," Solas reassured her. He hesitated a moment and then asked, "Were you…aware during the conversation, Rosa?"

That dangerous coy smile he both loved and hated spread over her lips. "Not really."

_Why do I not believe you?_ He thought sourly. There were times he was certain she was not conscious during his interactions with Rogathe and other times he couldn't be sure. This time he felt she _had_ been aware. He'd walked a dangerous line in this conversation but felt confident he hadn't said anything truly damning.

"Thoughts spinning, shiny and sharp. Bright, like sun off the lake," Cole rambled.

"And on that note," Rosa said, lifting a finger as if to interject a point. "Can someone get me out of the circle? And tell me what's going on? Rogathe is feeling antsy." She fidgeted, as if impatient.

"Rogathe has agreed to depart from you if you and I duel until one of us submits. It must be outside of the Fade and no magic is allowed." Solas brushed at the charcoal lines, marring the marks as he explained.

"Is that all it wanted?" Rosa asked, smirking dryly. With the runes disrupted the circle was no longer binding and Rosa rose to her feet and stepped out of it. "Well, let's get this over with then."

* * *

The ideal spot for this fight would have been in the flats below their campsite, but a rift currently shimmered there, green and iridescent. Undead also prowled, some of them armed with bows. A few druffalos also roamed, grazing and indifferent to the rain. A fistfight among enemies would simply draw attention and outside attack.

The slope where she'd let Rogathe out to speak with Solas and Cole was a bad choice because it was steep and strewn with rocks. That left them in the precarious and irresponsible position where they risked leaving their camp altogether, which meant Iron Bull, Varric, and Tal would be sleeping with no sentry at all. Their other option, also bad, was to use a sound-dampening bubble and simply brawl by the fire itself…assuming they didn't wind up falling into the hearth.

Knowing the decision would fall to her as Inquisitor, Rosa decided she couldn't put Iron Bull, Varric, and Tal at risk by leaving. Better for them to do this here, at camp. If they were discovered she felt confident her current companions wouldn't kill her if they uncovered the possession. Varric had known a possessed apostate when he traveled with Hawke and Tal already knew about Rogathe of course. Iron Bull was the least _safe_ person here. He had a fear of demons and distrust of magic, but he was also a spy and seemed easygoing about alternative ways of thinking. He could keep a secret…_hopefully._

As Rosa hopped the crumbling wall holding back the slope, she thrust one palm out at the fire and doused it with a blast of winter magic. It spluttered and then went dark. With the other hand she cast the sound-dampening spell, deliberately making it a large circle for the coming duel.

"That should do it," she said, watching as both Cole and Solas entered the spell's area of effect. She felt the bubble flicker as they passed through it. Cole gawked at it, wonder coloring his features and then he poked at it as he had earlier. She smiled at the childlike reaction.

"You intend to stage it here?" Solas asked, cocking one brow.

"I'm supposed to be on watch," she reminded him as she began to limber up, rolling her head from side to side and then moving onto her shoulders. "I don't shirk my duties."

Solas frowned and she wondered if that comment had cut him deeper than she'd actually meant it to. Oops. But he totally deserved it. They both knew that. She recalled the hazy, echoing of Solas' words through her mind from a few minutes ago: _I left her and Tal to protect them from myself._

What did _that_ mean? A mystery she'd have to work out later.

She cracked her knuckles and swung her arms. "Rogathe won't leave unless this is real," she warned him. "Don't let me win." _Or if you do, make it look convincing, _she thought only to feel Rogathe bristle inside her. She grimaced and tried to tamp the spirit down again. After having it bound so long it was easy to feel its separate consciousness, like a hot hand at the back of her neck.

"This will make for quite a challenge to explain tomorrow morning," Solas muttered as he drew closer, his posture tense.

"As long as Rogathe leaves, who cares?" she asked and then dropped into a battle-ready crouch. "Are you ready?"

Solas' expression was one of extreme fatigue as he sighed. "Yes."

She eyed him doubtfully. He hadn't dropped into the same battle-ready crouch. He appeared pale and a touch haggard in the sluicing rain and she wondered if he was prepared to fight the way Rogathe had stipulated at all. Maybe she would take him down with pathetic ease. "You sure?" she asked.

Now he looked irritable. "Yes."

"Bare fists, hard elbows, sharp teeth," Cole rambled from the edge of the bubble where he stood, watching them tensely, hands wringing in front of himself.

"All right," Rosa said and let out a breath. "Let's do this." She lunged for him, leading with her fist. Solas ducked and maneuvered away, quick and light on his feet. He could have swung at her but didn't. Rosa gnashed her teeth together and whipped around to come at him again. "Defend yourself, flat-ear! Don't dance away!"

He frowned, hands forming fists, but he made no move to strike her. So Rosa stalked closer, heart racing and blood pounding in her ears. Excitement leapt in her belly and burned through her with euphoria. She felt dizzy at the strength of it and had to shake her head to dispel it. _That_ would be Rogathe, flexing its muscles and reacting to the thrill of battle. She had to keep it under control or it'd have her barreling for him in a senseless fury.

_Go low,_ she decided. _Pin him._

With a grunt, she launched herself for him, then dove low. Solas braced and backed up, bushing the sound-dampening bubble. It shimmered and he had to pivot, trying to avoid being knocked from it. In his scramble Rosa caught him around the middle and swept out one heel as she threw herself backward. Solas let out a little strangled cry and fell with her.

Rosa tried to turn him toward the hard ground, to wind him and spare herself the jarring impact, but Solas resisted and he was just too heavy to manipulate in the fall when he was actively resisting. They fell together on their sides and Rosa's head spun with the blow. Gasping she flailed and struck, catching Solas on the jaw. He grunted and grappled with her, strong hands trying to roll her onto her stomach.

_No,_ a roaring voice raged inside. She let out a furious, wordless shout and elbowed him in the throat. He choked, wheezing, and Rosa threw her weight against him. They rolled until he was on his back and she was overtop of him. She put her forearm to his throat, applying pressure to close his airway with one arm while her other tried to pin down his hands.

Solas thrashed, panic making him finally strike without reserve. His blow caught her temple and Rosa's vision narrowed with the force of it. Her pressure on his throat failed and Solas threw her off him, gasping as he caught his breath. He clawed his way to his feet, faster than she was now that the world was spinning around her. She heard his feet crunch over the grit and pebbles of their little sound-dampened arena and dropped into a roll to knock his legs out from under him.

Solas fell askew over her, stumbling to his knees. He caught himself with one arm, letting out a little sound of pain. Rosa curled up beneath him, using her knee to hit his stomach. He choked and collapsed, though he tried to turn it into a roll to gain precious distance from her.

Despite the pounding pain in her temples, Rosa lunged after him in an awkward four-legged shuffle. She grabbed his vest, baring her teeth as she pulled him down, hitting him squarely in the nose to stun him into losing his balance. He lashed out at her but went down anyway, though he landed a hit to her cheek.

Rogathe beat a frantic, triumphant pulse inside her skull as she saw her opening. He was on his belly and vulnerable. She rushed to grab him in a chokehold from behind, wrapping her legs around his chest in a strangely intimate huddle. He fought, trying to free his arms and thrashing to knock her off, but Rosa only tightened her grip like a snake suffocating its prey.

"I submit," he shouted in a croaking rasp. When she didn't let up despite it, Solas struggled again, panic widening his eyes. "I _submit!"_

Cole was on her then, stronger than she'd ever have guessed as he pulled her backward. Rosa shoved him away, breathing hard and fast as she watched Solas get to his feet, palming his nose. She gritted her teeth, muscles tense with the desire-the _need—_to bring him down.

"You made a promise," Cole said from her side, vehement and breathy. "Remember who you are, Bravery. You _promised."_

Rosa glanced at the spirit boy, frowning with confusion. It was hard to think. Her jaw ached and her muscles were tight and tired from the brief but intense brawl. It was exhilarating. She tasted blood in her mouth and the metallic flavor was oddly alluring. It reminded her she was alive and strong and—

Wooziness suddenly hit her and the darkness of the night closed in. She fell against Cole as the world winked out.

* * *

"Bravery is leaving," Cole said in his whispery voice. "I'm glad it kept its word." Compassion held Rosa's halfway limp form upright where she'd slumped against him. The sound-dampening bubble had popped around them when Rosa passed out. Solas could see the faint light from her vallaslin had faded into nothing. He felt the Veil warping and twisting, likely reacting to Rogathe's passage.

"As am I," Solas told Cole as he brushed at his nose, which stung and had begun bleeding profusely. Humiliation still made his cheeks burn. Rosa had been a better brawler than him, of that there was little doubt. Other than his far distant childhood and the moments when he had been forced to fight in close quarters or when his magic had been sapped away, Solas had had no use for hand to hand combat. His magic had always been more than enough to protect him. The first time that had ceased to be the case, truly, was when he'd awoken from uthenera and been trapped in the Hasmal Circle. His strategy for survival there had been docility. Rosa, meanwhile, had always been fearless and spitfire.

But if this had been a duel of magic…things would have been markedly different. He reminded himself of that as a comfort to his wounded, thrice-damned pride.

Still, this was a good ending. Rogathe had needed to humiliate him and it had probably known Solas would have little experience in brawling. That was the price to pay and Solas considered it a bargain.

With a deep breath in, he reached for his mana and passed a hand over his face to heal his injuries. His next breath didn't sting or burn, though the inside of his nose and mouth still tasted of blood. Rosa—or was it Rogathe?—had hit him _hard. _He hoped he had not inadvertently harmed her.

Stepping toward where Cole still held her, Solas extended his palm out to her, glowing gold with the healing spell. As he passed it over her, letting the magic settle into her skin, Rosa came to with a gasp. Eyes wide, she reached out and grabbed his hand at the wrist. "What happened?" she asked, breathing hard.

"Bravery is gone," Cole told her, though by his tone he may also have been reading her. "A bare patch, cool where it was boiling. Hollow where it was full. Dark when it was bright. Not bad, just…different."

"I was healing your injuries," Solas told her, speaking softly to avoid waking anyone in the tents—though he could hear snoring from both Iron Bull and Varric.

"Oh," Rosa said, releasing his hand and standing up, then stepping away from Cole. She seemed to fidget, taking stock of her body with a roll of her shoulders and shifting her weight from one leg to the other and back again. "Thank you," she told him with a nod. "For healing me and for doing what Rogathe asked."

He smiled at her. "Of course," he said. "It is the least I could do." His tone came out too raw, too feeling, and immediately he wanted to take it back. It was too obvious where his mind had gone—to all the ways he had wronged her.

Her expression softened with something unclear but…affectionate. But then she smiled at Cole and motioned the two of them toward their shared tent. "Go on. Get some sleep."

"I don't need to sleep," Cole said, sounding perplexed.

"Then stay out with me and keep watch, I guess." She shrugged and then waggled a finger at Solas. "But you—I can tell you're tired. So, off with you."

Solas smiled gently at her in thanks. He _was_ exhausted and looking forward to getting out of his damp, soggy clothes. He headed for his tent and tried not to remember the way her face had changed with tenderness and how that stirred his belly with nervous excitement. And as he shed his clothing and hung them to dry from the center beam of his tent, Solas tried not to imagine how titillating the thought of sharing his bedroll with another warm body was. One very _specific_ warm body, anyway.

He fell asleep watching his wolf jawbone pendant swinging from where he'd hung it from the tent's center beam. Beside it was Rosa's raven talisman. _Ravens and wolves,_ he thought and then shut his eyes and let the Fade take him.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Tal's brown eyes dropped to the soggy, muddy earth. _"Dorian said I could control anyone infected with red lyrium when he saw me in the future at Redcliffe. But I apparently couldn't control Leliana, who had Blight."_ He shrugged, still not meeting Solas' gaze. _"Is that related somehow to what Corypheus is doing?"_

Solas nodded once. _"Yes," _he revealed and then gave into the frown tugging at his lips. _"But there is no need for—"_

"_Could I stop Corypheus?"_ Tal asked, blurting as he interrupted. _"If I knew the power he uses? Could I wrest control away from him and save the Grey Wardens?"_

* * *

As you can see from the above (see the muddy earth comment?), we're not done with Crestwood yet! More to come!


	19. She Would Forgive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa remains disturbed at the potential dark powers she senses in Tal as their party works its way thru Crestwood and meets with Hawke.

It was midmorning before the meeting with Hawke had concluded. After hearing so much about the Champion of Kirkwall, Rosa had to admit he had continued impressing her since her first meeting. He was a warrior who'd supported the mage rebellion, both because he believed in their freedom and—as far as Rosa could tell—out of devotion to his sister, Bethany. That was something Rosa would always respect.

Stroud seemed like a good man as well, honorable in a way she knew Rogathe would have liked. But this business regarding the Grey Wardens, the false Calling, and Corypheus wielding Blight magic…it left her twitchy and anxious, rattlers coiling in her belly. The memory of the dark future in Redcliffe kept slithering through her brain: the image of Tal surrounded by shadow, of the sickening weight he had in her mind that may or may not have been due to the demon possessing him, and of the way he had so casually made everyone infected with red lyrium turn on each other. They had been puppets to him, just as it seemed the Grey Wardens were to Corypheus.

But that was Blight magic. What had Tal in that dark future used? She knew she should ask Solas about it. He would know. Too bad she could barely stomach the thought. Better to leave it unspoken.

Better to take out her distress with something productive—like assaulting Caer Bronach. So, staff already in hand and mana bubbling with her anxiety, she led her companions toward the keep through the midmorning drizzle and fog. Everyone was somber after the news about the Grey Wardens so the only sound echoing through the little gorge they passed through was the squelch of their feet on mud and grass.

The keep appeared out of the fog, foreboding and gloomy. The gate was shut, sealed for the moment as the bandits inside apparently waited out the annoyance of the rain and the threat of the undead. As she heard the others settling around her, prepping their weapons and readying for battle, Rosa drew in a deep breath. The humid earth here had a distinctive scent—green and crisp—that made her think of the Brecilian. Old emotion squeezed her heart and she pushed the nostalgia away.

"Is everyone ready?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder and seeing Iron Bull behind her with his battleaxe in hand.

"Ready when you are, Boss," he told her in his deep rumble.

Rosa faced the closed gates and drew mana, calling forth Fade stone on her staff. With a grunt she launched it and the wooden gate cracked as the wood split along its grain. Iron Bull let out a roar and charged for the gate, axe slicing as he spun and slashed. Solas and Tal spread barriers out over everyone and then proceeded to hurl fire and ice—or Fade stone in Solas' case—for the gates. They cracked, falling inward as Varric and Cole sprinted to be closer to the action.

Shouts of alarm echoed through the keep as the bandits roused for the attack. Armored mabari met them first and Cole went invisible in a green fog, cutting through the nearest canine. It yelped and fell to the ground, bleeding out from the cut in its neck. Iron Bull's barrier shimmered as arrows impacted it, but that didn't stop him from slamming his axe into the second armored mabari.

Trotting forward to cast through the confines of the gate, Tal sent a purple, shimmering horror spell onto the archer nailing Iron Bull's barrier. The man yelped and scrambled to flee as the spell took hold—only to slip on the rain slicked roof and fall off into the mud with a sickening splatter. He didn't get up again because Varric sent bolts thudding into his side, including his unprotected neck.

Rosa Fade-stepped through the gate, passing through the splinters, and froze a rogue who'd snuck up on Iron Bull and Varric while camouflaged with invisibility powder—a magic all in itself. He froze as she passed, but only for a moment before recovering enough to try and defend himself—but he was too slow as Cole stabbed him through the back.

They hurried deeper into the keep, hoping to catch the bandits still somewhat unprepared. More archers and rogues met them at the base of some gloomy, gray stairs leading to the ramparts and towers. Rosa used chain lightning to fry them, teeth gritted and breathing fast. Solas froze them solid with a strong winter's grasp, allowing Iron Bull, Cole, and Varric to shatter the two rogues and archers in quick order.

"Yeah," Tal whooped in celebration. "We're kicking these guys' asses!"

"Don't jinx us, Stoic," Varric reprimanded with a dry laugh. As if the bandits had heard Tal and Varric's exchange, Rosa saw them running on a level above, shouting amidst themselves. The fog and drizzle muffled the words but Rosa was certain they weren't retreating—just regrouping.

"C'mon," she said and pointed to another set of stairs. "Up that way."

"You got it, Boss," Iron Bull agreed.

They passed through a hall lit by guttering orange torches. The view through the narrow windows was unclear, obscured by thick gray fog that probably had rolled off the lake. Up another set of stairs they reached the highest ramparts, where the keep would have flown the Ferelden flag in better times. Now the enormous flagpole was empty, as dreary and depressing and lifeless as the rest of this place.

Except it _wasn't_ lifeless. An archer, two rogues, and a warrior waited for them. Behind them, as if guarding the flagpole itself, was a massive man hefting a two-handed hammer and wearing full armor. He was taller than everyone else, nearly as big as Iron Bull. An Avvar then, probably.

"Aw shit," Varric grumbled, seeing this last ditch effort by the bandits.

_My sentiments exactly,_ Rosa thought as she and Tal flung barriers over everyone. Solas covered them in turn and Rosa threw him a brief look as she felt the sheer _weight_ of the barriers he'd put over them. It felt…_twice_ as powerful as what she could have managed at maximum. Maybe more.

_How strong _are_ you?_ She wondered at him.

But then the fighting began. Arrows flew from the archers but Varric countered with his own acrobatics and rapid-firing from Bianca. Cole went invisible only to reappear with a deadly stab to the back of the warrior. Iron Bull bowled over the two rogues, who scrambled to escape his path, and raced straight to engage the giant. They clashed with roars, battleaxe and hammer clanging. Rosa knocked over one of the rogues with a block of Fade stone before he could go invisible. Tal immersed the other in flame and Solas used winter's grasp. Solas' spell was so powerful that the man simply fell into pieces rather than unfreezing.

Tal whistled. "You don't mess around, _hahren."_

Solas didn't answer as he froze the archer next and Varric's next crossbow bolt shattered him. Rosa spun her staff to unleash chain lightning over everyone—including the brute squaring off with Iron Bull.

Soon the warrior and the rogues had fallen to their group's collective strength, leaving only the Avvar giant. As Rosa, Solas, and Tal turned their spells on the big man he soon weakened, slumping and unable to protect himself as Iron Bull's axe found a gap in his chest armor and sliced clean through it. The giant fell with a strangled wet cry to the cold, damp stone.

In the aftermath Rosa breathed fast and hard, heart pounding. As her companions looked to her expectantly, she straightened and smiled at them all. "Excellent work. Now—let's find the dam controls and drain that blighting lake."

"You got it, _asamalin,"_ Tal said, cracking his knuckles.

"I think I saw the door the mayor meant," Varric put in, still holding Bianca at the ready.

"Lead the way, Ser Dwarf," Rosa told him, motioning back to the stairs.

As Varric scurried forward on his short legs, Iron Bull sauntered up next to her. He had a spatter of blood over his chest and neck. A bruise had started to form on one cheekbone and there was an arrow sticking out of his shoulder guard. "You know," he said, lips quirking. "The Inquisition could use this place."

She nodded in agreement. "I'll make sure I pass along a message when we're back at camp. Our people will come and claim it before more bandits can."

* * *

After draining the lake they had to hike through the soggy, waterlogged remains of Old Crestwood. Stone foundations and slimy wooden structures remained, as did corpses both animated and grave-bound. The sun had started to come out, peeking through the clouds and burning away the fog with golden light.

Solas could feel the Veil was thin and warped here, splintered by the nearness of the rift in the lake and the presence of death en masse, which lured spirits. It was just the sort of conditions he would expect to set off a talent like Falon'Din's deathspeaking. He watched Tal as they passed through the village and, sure enough, saw the young elven man staring at the piles of remains with an unusually somber expression.

When they split up to begin searching for the caves that would lead them underground and hopefully to the rift still out in the lake, Solas tailed Tal. The other man seemed to sense his interest and, after shooting him a tight look over one shoulder, walked into one of the mostly collapsed, sodden homes. Inside the dripping, stinking ruin, Solas found Tal knelt beside a skeleton with one hand outstretched.

"_You're troubled, _falon," Solas said quietly. _"Have you cast the spell I taught you?"_

"Yeah," he replied, using common. He wrinkled this nose with disgust—Solas agreed silently that this hut stank of decay and rot and filth—but Tal did not remove his outstretched hand. Clearing his throat, he spoke in elven next. _"I still hear them. I heard them in the bog, too. It doesn't bother me like it does without the spell. It's just whispers, but…"_

Solas waited patiently, trying to guess at the strength of Tal's talent. He was Falon'Din's great-grandson, but deathspeaking seemed to be a stubborn trait that didn't lose potency until five generations or so. Despite researching the talent heavily with his fellow Evanuris in Elvhenan when they had fought with Falon'Din, Solas knew very little about this specific magic. Falon'Din and his descendants had always claimed they did not speak with spirits, but _souls_ of the departed themselves. It was necromancy, but of a kind unseen for ages.

On some level Solas had always suspected Falon'Din and his descendants with the gift had lied. They _must_ be hearing spirits that had absorbed the knowledge and consciousness of the dead. Souls departed the body and passed through the Veil and through the Fade to disappear forever. It was…a plane of existence Solas had never heard of anyone truly breaching. Still, because Falon'Din and others had claimed it was truly the dead speaking, that was what Solas had told Tal.

"_Best not to dwell on it,_" he cautioned.

Tal shook his head now and rose to his feet, turning to stare at Solas with a hard, solemn look. Solas tried to stifle the sudden tightening in his stomach and failed as his body flushed suddenly cold with dread. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like whatever Tal did or said next.

"_What the Warden said about Corypheus,"_ Tal began, motioning over his shoulder in the vague direction of where they'd met with Stroud a few hours earlier. _"About the Elder One using Blight magic to control the Wardens or make them hear things…"_

"_Yes?"_ Solas asked, fighting the desire to frown.

Tal's brown eyes dropped to the soggy, muddy earth. _"Dorian said I could control anyone infected with red lyrium when he saw me in the future at Redcliffe. But I apparently couldn't control Leliana, who had Blight."_ He shrugged, still not meeting Solas' gaze. _"Is that related somehow to what Corypheus is doing?"_

Solas nodded once. _"Yes," _he revealed and then gave into the frown tugging at his lips. _"But there is no need for—"_

"_Could I stop Corypheus?"_ Tal asked, blurting as he interrupted. _"If I knew the power he uses? Could I wrest control away from him and save the Grey Wardens?"_

Solas shook his head, still frowning deeply. _"You cannot control Blight such as Corypheus'."_

"_Why not?"_ Tal asked, a sharp note in his voice and a dark look in his brown eyes, making them appear almost black. He drew a step closer, posture stiff, and Solas steeled his spine against the instinct to back away—as if Tal was a threat. The truth was, in this hazy gray light and gloom of the ruined hut, Tal _did_ remind Solas powerfully of Falon'Din's courtiers, who were actually spies and assassins.

"Babae_ told me that the People used the Blight in a war. We could control it, like Corypheus."_ He hesitated, licking his lips. _"My grandfather controlled it."_

Solas frowned. Felassan had been tightlipped with his children in many things, but he had not neglected to educate them about their grandfather—Dirthamen. He had left Falon'Din out, but had probably expected or worried that Tal would one day display some of his grandfather's talents, just as Solas suspected Rosa possessed Dirthamen's truthsaying ability.

Any chance Solas had of weaseling out of this conversation without giving Tal details seemed to have vanished. In as calm and even a tone as he could, Solas said, _"The Blight that Dirthamen controlled is not the Blight that Corypheus wields. There are two strains, used against one another in the war your father mentioned."_ He hesitated a moment before adding, _"The war I fought in."_

This drew a reaction of surprise from Tal as his eyes widened. He grunted with interest. _"Two strains,"_ he repeated, eyeing Solas with a sober curiosity.

Solas nodded. _"Yes. One was used by the Forgotten Ones to prey upon the People. They acted as gardeners. The Blight was a means to control population. There was little malice in it. The Evanuris—Dirthamen—coopted the Blight and transformed it into a weapon they could use. Then they went to war on the Forgotten Ones and their followers. And then, when that quieted, they turned the Blight upon each other."_ He stopped speaking when he heard the bitter anger in his voice.

Tal's lips had parted slightly with his surprise, but he was a quick study and nodded as he said, _"So the Blight my grandfather could control was the other strain. Corypheus' Blight magic is from the demons."_

Solas nodded. "Yes."

Now Tal scowled. _"How is that related to red lyrium?"_

"_It is infected with the strain of Blight Dirthamen created,"_ Solas revealed and bit the insides of his cheeks when he saw the way Tal's eyes widened even more.

"_It's infected with Blight? You mean…lyrium is alive?"_ He gawked at Solas.

Solas opened his mouth to reply only to hear footsteps squelching in the mud just outside the mostly collapsed hut. Varric's voice called out, "Hey! Chuckles, Stoic! The Kid found the entrance to these caves. You guys coming or what?"

"Yes," Solas replied and then, turning for the door, shot Tal a last somber look over his shoulder. _"Please, _falon,_ do not consider Blight magic any further. The corruption of those days must be allowed to die."_ It was the Evanuris' reckless and depraved use of Blight that had driven Solas to act—aside from Mythal's murder, of course.

"Gotchya," Tal agreed, rolling his shoulders and grinning as the stern demeanor of moments before vanished entirely. It was…another disturbing reminder of Falon'Din's courtiers, who had been experts at deception. How much of Tal's carefree nature was assumed and feigned?

Yet, as they stepped out of the hut, bare feet sucking wetly in the muck underfoot, Tal's grin at Varric seemed entirely genuine and Solas had to quash the paranoid voice still in the back of his mind. Tal wasn't Falon'Din's spy sent to get close to him for assassination. He was Felassan's son and although the Evanuris' blood ran in his veins, he had been raised Dalish primarily. Acting was a good defense mechanism in all cultures and Solas could not believe that Tal wasn't at least _a little_ genuine when he behaved in his usual carefree, easygoing way.

"You have _awful_ timing, Varric," Tal said with a mock-pout.

"What's this now?" the dwarf asked, chuckling as he looked between Solas and the younger elf.

"Solas was just about to tell me all his favorite sex positions and tips," Tal said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "He's a real master, you know."

Now Solas spluttered, cheeks immediately growing hot. _"Excuse me?"_

Varric laughed as they began walking up the slope toward where, in the distance through the lingering wisps of fog, Solas could see Rosa, Iron Bull, and Cole waiting. He felt Tal's mischievous stare but refused to meet it as he took the lead, trying to separate himself from the dwarf and the young Dalish. He wasn't fast enough, however, as Varric said, "Why, Chuckles! I'd have never guessed you'd be the one Stoic would go to for advice."

"You remember our drinking games in the Circle," Tal said, stooping to dig his elbow into Varric's shoulder. "He's done it all—men, women, spirits, demons, halla—he's just being modest when he refuses to talk about it."

"Enough," Solas snarled, glaring at them briefly over his shoulder. _This_ was why speaking to people alone in reality was always less enjoyable than in the Fade. In the Fade he and Tal wouldn't have been interrupted and Tal wouldn't have had this opportunity to tease him using Varric, who was sadly all-too willing to play along.

As they entered the caves, taking a spiraling boardwalk into the dripping, sopping depths, Solas tried to let the cool darkness calm his nerves. Rosa was in the lead, lighting torches as they descended with a casual flick of one wrist. Iron Bull and Tal were next, both walking with surprisingly soft treads over the boards. Varric and Cole were after them and Solas deliberately stayed in the rear to escape potential conversation for a while. Sadly his plan worked for all of about five minutes.

When Cole lost his footing and slipped on the slimy boardwalk his high, young voice echoing from the dripping stalagmites, both Solas and Varric rushed to help him. As they righted him, Rosa's voice called up from down below: "Everything all right up there?"

"Yes," Solas replied, keeping his volume low to avoid disturbing the cave with too many echoes.

Cole shivered and gripped the glistening, wet wall. "_His name is Talassan_," he said in his breathy voice. "Ravens and wolves. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives." The spirit boy's eyes looked deep blue in the gloom. "Let it go. You were wrong."

Solas grimaced, releasing his hold on Cole to retreat back a step. "We must hurry or the others will get too far ahead." He concentrated inwardly a moment, cutting himself off from the spirit so Compassion could no longer read him.

"Go on, Kid," Varric encouraged and Cole started walking again, a little less surefooted than before and with one hand still on the slimy wall.

"They heard the water roar like a dragon," he said as he went. "Fear, cold, crushing. _I can't breathe!"_

Varric was now behind Cole, in front of Solas, and as Cole continued to mutter and whisper nonsensically, the dwarf grunted. "Kinda spooky what he does, but I get it, I think. I've seen enough shit in my day that it doesn't freak me out. I saw plenty of this sort of thing with Hawke."

"Indeed," Solas said, reluctant to engage in much conversation. His own footing on the rotted boardwalk was less than ideal, though his bare feet gave him excellent grip. He wanted to stay focused on walking. Varric, despite having boots on, was better for his short stature and his low center of gravity.

After a few moments of silent walking they reached the base of the boardwalk and began walking over water-worn smooth cave flooring. They passed torches that'd been lit by Rosa far ahead and heard the faint echoes of their comrades conversing in whispered tones. At this point, for some reason that was entirely unfathomable to Solas, Varric turned and struck up conversation using the most awkward, unwelcome topic he could think of.

"So…how are things between you and Violet?"

Solas scowled, glad the dwarf wasn't able to see it—and when Varric did turn to look at him, Solas wiped his expression clean. "There is nothing to discuss, Child of the Stone."

"Oh c'mon," Varric said, drawling out the second word. "You might fool the others, Chuckles, but not me. I was there in Hasmal, remember? I know you broody elf types don't like to talk about—"

"The Inquisitor and I have a purely professional relationship," Solas said, cool and even. "We are—"

"Oh don't feed me that nugshit," Varric said with a lighthearted scoff. "I see the way you look at her when you think she isn't looking. _And_ I see the way _she_ looks at _you."_

Solas huffed. "This is not one of your fictional tales, Master Tethras," he chided, a cold air of haughtiness in his voice. "You cannot paint us with motivations and emotions we do not possess simply for your amusement."

Varric laughed, slapping a knee. "That's just it, Chuckles—I don't think it's funny."

"And yet you laugh," Solas quipped, arching a brow. Ahead he saw the cavern give way to the dark gray-black stone with red glass lighting that marked ancient dwarven ruins. He leapt at the chance to change the subject. "Varric—how interesting. Do you know this place?"

Varric laughed dryly again. "I'm a surface dwarf. Not a clue." Still, as they walked on, picking up speed to catch the rest of the group, Varric spun his head about, taking in the distinctly dwarven construction. "Trading outpost, maybe?"

That made sense to Solas. Crestwood had been within June's lands and he had indeed encouraged trade with the dwarves to obtain their rare metals for his projects and enchantments. But, of course, he could not share that with Varric. So, instead, he said, "I suspect you are correct, Master Tethras."

They rounded a corner and found the green glow of the rift waiting inside a large room with no other outlets. Solas wondered distractedly at the original purpose of the room. Storage maybe? But then Rosa led the way forward with a shout and the Anchor crackled as it came alive in her palm.

Wraiths and despair demons manifested first and Iron Bull charged through the nearest, cleaving it into ether with his axe. Tal flung fireballs at the despair demon, catching its robes afire. Rosa dodged spirit fire by rolling and ducking until she had positioned herself in the middle of three wraiths and then she unleashed a mindblast that made all three demons shiver. Solas used chain lightning to finish them off for her.

Cole and Varric worked their way around the edges of the battle, picking at the terror demons and the rage demons that came in the next wave. Solas tossed up powerful barriers over Rosa and Tal to protect them as the rage demon barreled down on them. Rosa Fade-stepped through it, freezing it, and Tal sent an ice spike through it.

Iron Bull tore into a terror demon until it fled, digging into the stone in a flare of green. "Damn demon," the Qunari shouted with frustration and jogged toward the center of the room where the rage demon was still recovering from Tal's ice spike.

The terror demon reappeared beneath Cole in a flicker of green, but the spirit boy became invisible and incorporeal. The demon didn't knock him down and its first few swipes with its claws found nothing but air. Cole shouted almost in glee, "You can't hurt me!" and then he had rematerialized and lashed out with both daggers.

When the last of the demons had finally succumbed, Rosa charged up the central platform in the room and thrust her left palm up to the rift. With a whine and a crackle she began to seal the rift as Fade ether poured from it and landed in globules on the stone. Finally, when the rift had shrunken down, she clenched her fist and jerked back with a _boom_, sealing it.

The room was darker now with the rift gone—and so quiet it was _loud_. The only noise was the slosh of water around their companions' feet and the drip of water through the cavern and the ruins. Solas watched as Rosa shook out her hand as the glimmer of the Anchor died away. She was strong, courageous, smart, and so beautiful. The thought of the pain she must endure whenever she closed rifts made Solas grimace with guilt.

Into the silence came Cole's voice, whispering and tight. "_Ir abelas_, all the pain I have caused you—you deserve so much better."

Solas winced, focusing on girding himself against Compassion's constant reading of others' pain. He shot Cole a look over his shoulder, hoping to convey with his eyes that this was inappropriate to voice aloud, but Cole wasn't paying attention. The spirit boy's gaze was directed toward the left corner of the room, behind the dais…where Tal stood.

Solas blinked, baffled as he wondered whether Compassion had been reading him or Tal. Was Tal thinking the same thing as Solas in regards to Rosa? But, how could that be? The only pain Tal seemed to cause his sister was in her worrying over his wellbeing. Or maybe it was Rosa who was thinking that of her brother? Tal had certainly been upset when she'd forced him to leave her, facing Corypheus without him by using a sleep spell.

But then he caught Rosa staring at him from the dais as she tugged at the chainmail about her wrists and fidgeted idly with other parts of her armor and the pouches at her waist. Her expression was unreadable but he thought he detected confusion and…maybe affection. The same tenderness he had seen the previous night after Rogathe had left her.

Then Iron Bull grunted, breaking the spell. "Do you _have_ to do that?" he asked Cole and let out a little shuddering grunt. "Creeps me the fuck out."

"I'm sorry?" Cole said, uttering the apology as a question as he glanced at Iron Bull with confusion. Clearly he didn't understand what he'd done wrong. "I'm only trying to help." And then he said, "She would forgive if you asked."

Forgive what? That he had abandoned her in the Free Marches, inadvertently letting her wind up losing the child he hadn't realized existed? Or perhaps Cole meant that if he confessed to killing Felassan that Rosa would forgive _that?_ Or maybe the spirit referred to his identity as the Dread Wolf and his involvement in the fall of the People…or all the other lies and omissions he had spun for her?

No, Compassion was too upbeat, too hopeful to understand reality. Cole was a naive boy.

"All right," Rosa said in her no-nonsense authority voice. "Let's get out of this dank cavern."

"Can we loot it first, Boss?" Iron Bull asked, smirking.

"Just what I was thinking, Tiny," Varric said, chuckling.

"I don't see why not," Rosa said. "If we have your permission to loot this dwarven tomb, Varric, I'll take you up on it."

Varric snorted. "It's not a tomb, I don't think. Probably not, anyway. And it's not like _I _have any authority to grant permission. Bertrend and I sacked a thaig with Hawke for crying out loud." He shrugged his broad shoulders and then rubbed the back of his neck. "Andraste's nickers, I _hope_ I haven't been pissing off some ancestor. Ugh."

"We can loot it for you," Tal put in, tromping up the dais and then splashing into the water to move past them for the door. "Not like I hold anything sacred here…or anywhere." He let out a slightly bitter laugh.

"Same here, Stoic," Varric added. "Same here."

Solas frowned to himself as he moved to follow.

* * *

The sun had come out, making Crestwood a damp but golden place now in the later afternoon. Rosa relished the crisp, fertile smell of the loamy earth underfoot as she jogged across the rocky plain. The undead had fallen with the closing of the rift, no longer trudging out of the lake to assault the village. The road where they'd met the Grey Wardens seeking to apprehend Stroud the previous night was quiet now.

The village of Crestwood had thrown open its gates now and the humans Rosa walked by were grinning with relief and laughing—even as in the next breath they'd exclaim, "The mayor's gone!"

"You mean he died?" Tal asked from just behind her.

"I don't think so," the peasant man told them, scratching at his head. "He's just…gone! Disappeared some time late last night. Just up and ran away, even with the rain and with the undead!"

Tal hummed in the back of his throat with interest. "Weird."

"My thoughts exactly," Rosa agreed and then, to the peasant, she nodded her thanks. "I will have my people look for him." She kept her polite smile up as she added, "For his protection. I hope he's not come to harm."

"Aye," the man agreed. "If he'd just held his nerve a few more hours he'd have seen you come in and save the day!"

As they walked further into the village, making their way to the mayor's house, Rosa motioned to the Iron Bull. "You want to go in there and have a look for clues?"

The one-eyed Qunari nodded. "You got it, Boss."

While he was gone Rosa stared off into the field outside the gates from their elevated spot on the hill and sighed as she saw the villagers dragging corpses into a central pile for burning. So many had died here in the Blight. Many more had died in this mess. How many of the corpses the villagers added to the pyre would be their own friends, family, and neighbors? This was one way her people had an advantage over the _shemlen._ Her clan, both Naseral and Lavellan, had readily moved when conditions didn't favor their current location. They had no attachment to any one place, save important burial locations and ruins where they might uncover secrets from the past.

"Something's fishy," Tal muttered nearby.

Varric chuckled. "You can say that again. The whole village smells fishy."

"I meant the mayor leaving," Tal elaborated, though he snorted with amusement.

"I know, Stoic," the dwarf said, winking at him. "And I completely agree."

"His shame takes the shape of the dam controls," Cole added in his usual enigmatic whisper. "I don't know why."

Solas was standing near the base of the stairs, further away than the rest of her companions. Arms crossed over his chest, he watched the villagers working in the field with a mild frown on his face. Cole's words in the cavern reverberated through Rosa's head: Ir abelas, _all the pain I have caused you—you deserve so much better. _And then he'd said: _she would forgive if you asked. _

_Would I?_

She wasn't entirely sure, and yet…

The grief and regret and shame she'd seen in his face that night after Haven when she'd told him the truth had seemed so real. It was the same sort of expression she'd seen on her father's face the last time she saw him in the Fade, deep in some dark Elvhen ruins. He'd been worried for her and Tal, but unable to help as usual. She'd spit in his face, scorned him in bitterness for his past abandonment and betrayal. He had left her to die on the Storm Coast, possessed by Rogathe and clanless in exile. Like Solas, he could have reached out in the dreaming but hadn't.

…What if he truly couldn't? What if Solas truly couldn't have contacted her as well? Whatever secrets they kept, whatever obligations they both had…

These two men were so alike, both sons of Arlathan. Something kept them bound to the old world. She knew there was some kind of conflict, a goal or a plan—probably in service to Mythal, who she knew from her father lived on in some form. And yet she'd begun to suspect Solas was not Mythal's creature any longer. Who did he serve then? What kept him—and what had kept her father—from embracing some semblance of happiness in this modern world?

Some stubborn desire built inside her, swelling under her breastbone, that she would _force_ Solas to come around and change his mind. He had abandoned her once, but he had also told her in the Circle as a reassurance that he was _not_ like her father. He and Ivun were indeed very different men at a core level. Solas was not as sociable or easygoing. He seemed world-weary in a way her father had not been…or, if he had, her father had disguised it better. Ivun had been glib and jovial, his dry humor and quick tongue drawing laughter while his keen intelligence earned him respect from _most_ Keepers. Solas was…somber and eloquent and polite to a fault. He exuded wisdom and quiet _pride. _

She believed him that he'd spent the time since last winter alone. He hadn't fallen into another woman's arms as her father had after leaving Rosa's birth clan and her mother. Whatever his other responsibilities to the old world, he hadn't forged any other connections in this one.

She remembered the dreamlike words she'd overheard through Rogathe the previous night, when Solas had let slip a cagey explanation for why he'd left her in the Free Marches: _I left her and Tal to protect them from myself._

Clenching her jaw, she thought, _I don't need protection from you, flat-ear. _

"Boss," Iron Bull said, startling her into flinching. She blinked as she turned to regard him and saw him clutching a damp note, the ink smeared. She took it from him and scanned it quickly.

"A letter of confession," she said and nodded. "I thought so."

"What is it?" Tal asked, reaching one hand out to take the note from her.

"The mayor flooded Old Crestwood to stop the Blight and the Darkspawn," she explained with a sigh.

"Well, isn't that just lovely?" Tal said with a roll of his eyes. "Typical."

"Well, shit," Varric said as he read the note next. "That…sucks, honestly." He offered to pass it to Cole but the boy just stared at it and made no move to read it. Rosa wondered if he even _could_ read. Eventually Varric passed it back to Rosa with a grunt and a shrug.

"Nothing left to do here, then," Rosa said as she folded the letter and tucked it into one of the pouches at her waist. "We should get back to camp." She started for the stairs, passing Solas without glancing at him though she felt him stiffen as he walked after her.

At the gates, however, as she passed the peasant who'd told her about the mayor, he called out to her. "Inquisitor! Where are you going?"

She stopped and pivoted around, feet crunching wetly over the gravel. Putting on her friendliest smile, she said, "We must return to our camp. Our work here is finished and I must tell my people to begin searching for the mayor."

"Aye," he agreed with a nod. "But can't you stay a while? Sedgwick and Tam were going to bring out our best drinks to celebrate…" He grinned. "On account of us not being dead and all." He motioned to her. "We have you to thank for that, your worship. Least we can do is show our gratitude."

Tal nudged her from behind. "I say we take them up on their offer, _asamalin._ It'd be rude to refuse."

Rosa resisted the desire to roll her eyes at her brother—just barely. Of course he wanted to stay and celebrate if there was alcohol involved.

"I agree with Stoic," Varric put in, grinning.

"We couldn't possibly impose," Solas said with a dip of his chin toward the peasant man. "There is no need to go to any excess to thank us."

"Ain't no excess," the peasant insisted. "`Tis just the right thing to do is all." He looked at Rosa again and grinned. "We have mead and ale. And Sedgwick has Antivan wine."

"_Please,_" Tal begged, using elven.

"The Inquisition has piss poor booze," Iron Bull added with a grunt. "What's the harm, Boss?"

Rosa bit back her sigh and nodded to the peasant. "Thank you, ser. We accept." She lifted one hand, index finger raised. "On one condition."

"Anything, your worship," he replied.

She motioned to the ever-growing pile of undead corpses. "We help you burn the corpses."

The peasant laughed. "Deal, Inquisitor! Maker bless you!"

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Solas _pretended_ not to be watching as Rosa sized up her human dance partner and then extended her hand. "If you think you can keep up _sh—_ser…."

"It didn't look too hard," the man said, flashing a cocky smile as he accepted her hand. Rosa gripped it hard and they set off to the spinning, twirling dance, energetic and hopping with each step. Rosa's cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright.

"She wants to dance with you," Cole said next to Solas.

* * *

Endnote:

We're slow-burning now...things will start heating up! My beta is a dancer and really enjoyed the inclusion of a dance in the next chapter! I hope you all will as well!  
  
---


	20. The Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Rosa begin a flirtatious dance around each other, both literally and figuratively. As they leave Ferelden and head into Orlais, Rosa also learns that Tal has been hiding something from her.

Despite the dampness in the village from the hard rains the previous night, the villagers managed to start several pyres and then bonfires. Partly they had no difficulty with it due to Solas, Rosa, and Tal's help. Magefire had a way of taking off almost anywhere.

The village had plenty of dried, salted, and smoked fish from the lake and they offered it up now with an assortment of side entrees made of cabbage or wild rice and turnips or carrots. It was simple food, seasoned with wild growing spices and it immediately made Solas recall the meal clan Manaria had served he and Rosa the night he had left her in the Free Marches. He tried not to consider that night, tried not to let his body react with selfish longing. Most of all, he tried not to look at Rosa now for fear she would see or sense what was on his mind.

Especially because every time he looked to her, Solas wanted nothing more than to join her…to have _fun._

She'd apparently never indulged in mead before and had, as a result, discovered a new favorite. Solas had watched from where he sat through most of the evening, keeping Cole company beside one of the pyres, as Rosa drank one mug of mead after another. He had consumed only a few cups of wine comparatively, just enough to wash down the generous meal the villagers provided.

Now Rosa was dancing with Tal in a Dalish jig, spinning about with locked arms and then twirling round into the opposite direction. When Tal sat down for a break she beckoned Iron Bull, even though the Qunari warrior was drunk to the point of stumbling. Still, he managed to take up the dance after having seen her perform it with Tal. The villagers of Crestwood watched as they danced, clapping and pounding their hands on their knees to provide a rhythm.

When Iron Bull reached the point in the dance when he was to release her and whip around to grip her and spin in the opposite direction, the horned giant fumbled and staggered toward the flames of the nearby pyre. "Shit," he cursed as his arms flailed comically. Rosa casually employed magic to steady him with a jerk of one fist, using an altered Veilstrike to knock him sideways—away from the flames.

Iron Bull lurched away, falling to his hands and knees. Rosa laughed above him even as she reached to help him up. "You all right, big guy?"

"Yeah," he said, his deep voice rumbling and thick. He snorted and shook his head as he got to his feet. "Think I need to sit down though. Might puke if I don't. Sorry, Boss."

As Iron Bull left the fire, Rosa motioned at Tal. "Come on, _da'isamalin,_ put that…" She screwed up her face and laughed, a touch hysterical. "Put it down."

Tal was sitting beside Varric, who looked bleary eyed and drowsy with all the ale he'd been drinking. Much like the dwarf, Tal was currently taking a big swig from his ugly, chipped mug. He lowered it and let out a belch, grimacing. "No more dancing, _asamalin,"_ he said, waving a hand sloppily in her direction.

"I'll join you," one of the peasants announced. He was a young, smiling man with black hair and blue eyes. Solas tried to ignore the little pang of that sadly familiar emotion that lanced through him: jealousy. He took a drink from his own wine and sighed. Better than the Inquisition's brew but not sweet enough. In Elvhenan, without enchantments, it wouldn't even be considered drinkable by anyone short of slaves.

Solas _pretended_ not to be watching as Rosa sized up her human dance partner and then extended her hand. "If you think you can keep up _sh—_ser…."

"It didn't look too hard," the man said, flashing a cocky smile as he accepted her hand. Rosa gripped it hard and they set off to the spinning, twirling dance, energetic and hopping with each step. Rosa's cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright.

"She wants to dance with you," Cole said next to him.

Solas eyed the other bonfires, seeing additional couples dancing a Ferelden styled fast-step. Laughter echoed from the village gates and the fires crackled, smelling of wood smoke and…well, burnt flesh. Despite the alcohol and the food it wasn't easy to forget what this celebration was about.

"You should dance with her," Cole cajoled in his own way, smiling. "It would make her happy."

_She appears happy as she is,_ Solas thought and frowned at his own pettiness. The human had managed to keep pace and Rosa was laughing with him now. They switched direction, the hop in their steps almost in-sync, as though they had solid chemistry. The other villagers hollered and cheered with support. Someone had produced a drum and now beat out a rhythm to match their steps.

Now they had completed the reverse spin and moved into more twirling. The human still showed no sign of fatigue or faltering. Solas watched their every movement, swallowing hard to tamp down his own mounting, impulsive desire. If she were to look over and see how he watched, fascinated and enthralled…he would never be able to resist. His emotion would surely be writ large on his face.

He _knew_ this dance. It had belonged to the middle class of Elvhenan, once. He had danced it with his very first crushes as a boy. His mother and father had coached him through the steps and each of the four phases as a child. The dance had grown a tad sloppy over time judging by Rosa's imprecise footwork, but it was the same pattern from his youth, the same rhythm. The thought of dancing it again—and doing it with Rosa—made his heart hammer and his stomach loopy with anticipation.

And then came the last phase, the one Rosa had only demonstrated once with Tal before he had bowed out. She broke away from the man and pushed him to skip right around the fire while she would go left. The human stared at her, baffled and laughing as he spread his palms wide in his confusion. "What? What do I do next?"

Before Solas had realized what he was doing, he was on his feet and stepping in. "Pardon me," he said, smiling politely. "I can demonstrate." He looked to Rosa and felt his smile broaden and his stomach flip-flop. She smiled back at him, closed-lipped. Her violet eyes glimmered in the firelight.

"You know the next part, flat-ear?" she asked him in a lilting, teasing tone.

"I do indeed," he told her. "I'd be happy to show him." He nodded to the peasant who grinned back at him in welcome.

"Be my guest," he said, ducking in a little bow as he backed clear of the pyre to give them room.

"Then let's…" she broke out with a laugh, interrupting herself and revealing she was more than a little intoxicated. "Let's do it." She reached for him and Solas gripped her back, firm and possessive. The villagers cheered and began the beat again as Solas started the spin. His feet remembered the dance as easily as he could cast spells. He led, setting the speed and tempo of their steps. Rosa was sloppy in comparison but her eyes were locked with his, her hands and arms sweaty where they touched. Her breath rushed and her nostrils flared.

Then they parted at just the right moment, moving into the twirl. Solas held her around the waist, using one foot to pivot around while she circled outside of him. Then they reversed with Rosa acting as the pivot point. She was close enough to him now that he could smell her natural lavender scent. The memory of her taste—from her skin, her mouth, and…well, other places—set him sweating from more than just physical exertion. He kept his grasp on her tight to keep his fingers from wandering.

Now came the reverse direction spinning. Solas led again, pushing her to go faster this time. She laughed as her steps fumbled, but Solas' hands on her kept her from toppling into the flame. Once more they parted only to spring back together for the reversal that followed.

Now it was time for the segment the peasant hadn't understood. Solas released her and sprang right around the fire, continuing the same fast stepping pattern. Rosa went left around the fire. When they met on the opposite side they linked arms at the elbow and swung one another around three times before letting go. Solas finished his circle around the fire still heading right until he reached their original dancing spot. They clasped elbows again for another swing, balancing their weight outward, tugging on the other.

When they'd completed three circles they snapped apart to reverse, opposite arms wound around each other's waists. Now, shoulder-to-shoulder and facing one another, Solas could smell the sweetness of mead on her breath and see beads of sweat at her hairline. Her violet eyes locked with his and their heads were close enough that he could feel her breath puffing on his cheeks. Her lips were close enough that it would be so easy to just extend his neck a little and close that gap…

And then she stumbled and her full body weight pulled him forward unexpectedly as she yelped with surprise and scrabbled with both feet, clinging to him. Solas stiffened and tried to keep them both from collapsing—managing just barely to avoid the fall. As they stopped the stumbling, still gripping one another and breathing hard and fast, Solas heard the clapping and laughter of the peasants. The romantic spell vanished as he released Rosa and took a step back from her.

Rosa laughed, a touch intoxicated, and brushed at herself as if she had actually fallen into the mud. The Crestwood man she'd danced with earlier stepped forward to try his hand at the dance, but Rosa shook her head. "I think that's more than enough dancing for me tonight," she said, grinning.

"Is it time to bed down, yet?" Tal asked from where he sat on a log the villagers had drug over for just that purpose. He looked bleary-eyed and exhausted. Solas wondered if he needed to cast the spell they'd discussed again to block out the influence of the dead.

"Yes," Rosa agreed. "I think it definitely is."

Rosa thanked the villagers and, with some help from Solas who was the soberest of her companions aside from Cole, they rounded everyone up and marched for camp through the still night. Solas intended to walk behind their group with Cole, but the spirit insisted on helping a very drunken Iron Bull by himself and Rosa, unexpectedly, had taken the rear. Though Solas had half-thought to avoid her after the…_flirtation_ of the dance, he somehow found himself walking at her side, watching together as Cole somehow managed to support the hulking, slumped form of their resident Qunari.

"So," Rosa said as they trudged up the rock and muck of the main road. "I keep meaning to ask you about _lenalin."_

He tamped down the desire to grimace as something snapped taut inside him with worry. "What would you like to know?" he asked, making her supply the topic more specifically.

She crossed her arms over her chest. The moon overhead made her eyes glitter. "You said I was wrong when I said he didn't care about Tal and I." The infamous coy smile tugged at her lips as she cast him a look that was too sharp, even in the dark. "How do you know? What made you think that? Because I thought you said you didn't know we were his children when we met."

"I did not know," he told her firmly. That was the truth. He willed her to feel it and nothing else, because he was reasonably certain he would need to spin a lie here. Rosa wouldn't understand why Felassan had never mentioned his children to his longtime friend. Weren't children the sort of thing friends discussed together, after all? He couldn't tell her that Felassan had chosen to die on the insignificant chance that he might save them by changing Solas' path…or that Felassan had died rather than betray this world and the people in it any further.

That he had died at _Solas'_ hands.

"Felassan told me he had taken several charges under his wing," Solas half-lied. He would lump Briala in with Rosa and Tal. "He did not reveal their names, but he spoke of them with pride. I know one of them could not have been his childn as she was already an adolescent when he encountered her just after awakening from uthenera."

At Rosa's arched brow and contemplative frown, Solas went on: "I…suspected you might have been one of Felassan's charges when you mentioned being trained by another Dreamer." That was a lie, actually, and he hoped she didn't pick up on it. Solas had not expected Felassan to have any wards other than Briala and the thought of him having _children _had been completely unexpected.

Rosa's lips quirked and she looked away, gazing at the moon as he continued. "There are so few of us now…I should have surmised the truth much sooner than I did."

Now Rosa turned her head to stare back at him. "But _lenalin_ talked about us?"

"Yes," Solas said, lying again despite the risk she might sense it. His voice softened as he struggled to swallow down his own guilt and loss. "He spoke of you with pride when I was…despondent regarding the future of this world." Thinking fast of the raven pendant that he had, even now, tucked away in the small backpack he carried, Solas added, "He called you Rasean."

"Raven?" Rosa asked, translating. The elven word literally meant shadow bird.

Solas nodded, willing himself to remember this lie and continue it, though his heart pounded. He hoped she could not see sweat beading at his temples or on his pate. His usual strategy was to tell half-truths or slightly altered truths. This was an outright lie. Felassan had never mentioned his children—a purposeful omission to protect them form the Dread Wolf. But he could not tell Rosa that and so, to defend Felassan, he had to come up with another story.

Rosa snorted, shaking her head. Her shoulders hung. "Rasean," she said with a little shuddering breath. "He would give me a nickname like that."

Sensing a story behind that comment and, eager to change the subject, Solas asked, "Oh?"

She sniffed and brushed at her cheeks, her head turned away. If she'd been crying there was no sign of tears when she faced him again. "I didn't know he was my father until I was eight or nine. Everyone kept it a secret from me. He was just my mentor until, one night, I ran into Fear and Deceit in a dream."

"You encountered Dirthamen's demons?" Solas asked, eyes widening with surprise.

"Yep," she said, nodding. "They told me my father was alive and he wasn't the old Keeper the way everyone told me. I confronted my mother and Rogathe but they still wouldn't tell me the truth. So…" She grinned at him. "I went back to the ravens and I tricked them. They wanted my blood and told me how to summon them from the Fade."

Solas' skin crawled at the tale, his stomach lurching with visceral fear for the little girl of this tale—even knowing she had emerged fine. Fear and Deceit would have torn her limb from limb if she'd made a mistake.

"I tricked them into telling me what I wanted to know. Then I sent them back to the Fade," Rosa said, still smiling to herself.

Memory clicked in Solas' mind and he made a humming noise in the back of his throat. "You shared an altered version of this story with Varric and I in the Hasmal Circle."

She nodded. "Yes, I did." She let out a small laugh. "It wasn't like I could tell you the truth. Who would believe it? _I met up with Dirthamen's ravens, which are actually ancient demons. Oh and, by the way, Dirthamen was my grandfather."_ She chuckled again. "Right."

"You could have trusted me," Solas told her, his tone almost chiding. The endearment _vhenan_ was at the tip of his tongue but he bit it back. "You knew I was Elvhen. I would have believed you."

Rosa scowled at him and shook her head. "I…" She wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something foul and then faced forward again with a sharp sigh. "I guess I could have, but I didn't know that then." She motioned ahead. "I can see camp up ahead. I need to go issue a report about Caer Bronach."

As she trotted forward to reach camp first, ahead of Cole, Iron Bull, Tal, and Varric, Solas found himself staring after her, perturbed. That conversation had ended with an abruptness that made him think she wanted to avoid that particular topic. Rosa had been so tightlipped about her heritage in the Circle…maybe she was still growing accustomed to him knowing the truth now?

Or…was it something else?

* * *

They set out the very next morning for the Western Approach to meet Hawke and Stroud where the other Grey Wardens had gathered to summon their demon army. It would be a long, grueling journey. Ravens arrived from Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen alerting them to supply caches and allies they could find succor with along the way. The ravens also carried news that Cassandra would be joining them from Skyhold, rendezvousing with them on the road. The ravens arrived with news every evening, always carrying scrolls with news, keeping Rosa abreast of important events and seeking her instruction as Inquisitor.

One of the reports Rosa received as they made their way north to the pass through the Frostbacks was that clan Lavellan had reached out to them for aid. Deshanna reported well-armed bandits harassing them. All three of Rosa's advisors found the situation alarming or odd, but their proposed solutions varied. _Well-armed bandits,_ she thought when she read over the letters, scowling in the candlelight of her tent.

Tal was with her, gnawing on meat rations where he sat at his bedroll with his pack in his lap. "You're making that face where that crease over your nose shows up," he warned her between bites. "I know you hate that."

Rosa heaved a sigh and lowered the letters away from her face. "I think the situation warrants it," she admitted and passed him the letters.

Tal took it in his free hand and scanned quickly over it. His expression darkened as the seconds ticked by and his chewing ceased. Finally he swallowed with a grimace and plucked Cullen's letter from the pile. "Send troops," he said, his voice urgent. "And then send Leliana to investigate who the bandits are and if they've spread throughout the Free Marches."

She eyed him curiously, seeing the somberness and hint of desperation in his brown eyes. "You're worried about clan Manaria, aren't you?" she asked. Had he written to his Keeper even once? He was supposed to be their First and the clan had been understrength. They could scarcely spare him for the Conclave spying mission. Rosa loved having Tal with her, but she _hoped_ her little brother had done his due diligence and at least _communicated something_ to his Keeper.

"I'd be worried for any clan," Tal said, stiffening as if she'd offended him by suggesting he cared for the clan he'd joined. "But…yeah. Lavellan was strong. Manaria was vulnerable."

Rosa clenched her jaw and nodded. "I'll send Cullen's men. I'm not sure I can also send Leliana's spies. They're a precious commodity and I can't show an _excessive_ amount of favoritism."

"Why not?" Tal challenged with a shrug.

"Because I don't want the humans to balk at how I use the power I've acquired," she explained, firm but patient. Although really, if she was being honest, the humans had _given_ her the power she had. And she'd somehow accidentally been bestowed with the Anchor from Solas' orb. If the humans ever uncovered that connection…she might follow Andraste all too literally by being burned at the stake.

Tal shrugged again. "Fair enough, I guess." He stared down at the letter, biting the corner of his lower lip in an anxious expression.

"What's wrong?" Rosa asked him, ducking down slightly to try and meet his lowered gaze.

"Nothing," he said, snapping to attention. He rolled the letters and then, thinking better of it, folded them along the creases already there.

As she accepted the letters back from him, Rosa caught his hand and squeezed it. "Tal," she said softly. "I'm sure Manaria is all right…have you been writing to them?"

He grunted and pulled his hand out of hers. "Yeah," he said and shrugged. Then, with an exaggerated yawn, he stretched his arms out and arched his back. "Well, I'm tired. Dawn comes early and—"

"Tal," Rosa said, clucking her tongue and frowning. "You're lying."

He abandoned the stretch and yawn preemptively, blowing out a breath. "You felt that?" he asked, frowning.

"No," she said, smirking. "I just guessed."

"Cheat," Tal grumbled, rolling his eyes.

She edged closer to him, confused. Why would he lie about his clan? "Tal? What's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped, shaking his head. "There's nothing _to_ talk about, okay?"

This time Rosa did feel the buzz of a lie in the back of her head. "Now I know you're lying, _da'isamalin."_

He huffed irritably and lifted his eyes to glare at the canvas above them. "I _have_ written to Manaria, yeah. I let…them know I wasn't coming back right away and that we lost Arvin when the Conclave blew." He screwed up his face, scowling. "They're…not too happy with me…so that was the only letter I've sent."

Rosa's eyes widened with shock. "This is the first I've heard of _any_ of this! Are you still First? Has the Keeper exiled you?"

Tal scrubbed at his face and groaned. "I'm…I'm not talking about this with you, _asamalin."_

"Why not?" Rosa insisted, reaching for him.

Tal jerked back from her, lifting both hands palms out in a defensive gesture. "Because...because I don't want to." He scrabbled for the pack still on his lap, tearing open the top and digging through it until he grasped a wine bottle.

"Tal," Rosa said, reaching for him again, but once more her brother brushed her off as he got to his feet and stalked for the closed tent flap.

"I'm going to get some air," he announced as he fumbled with the cork in the wine bottle. "Don't wait up on me." He disappeared through the canvas flap with a heavy rustle of fabric while Rosa stared after him, blinking with bafflement at how quickly things had changed.

She blew out a breath and then, gazing down unseeingly at the letters in her hand, she grunted as an idea came to her. The words on the parchment swam into focus. She saw Deshanna's scrawl, a touch spidery with disuse as the Keeper had likely not written anything in months. Deshanna only needed to write when they were trading, after all. Clan Lavellan didn't trade with the humans in the winter unless forced to do so by lack of supplies. The humans knew they were most vulnerable in the winter, which meant they'd be overcharged and abused if they approached the humans in winter, the season of rarity. Now that spring was in full swing Deshanna would be closer to human settlements and writing up inventories on furs, ironbark, gems, ores, and anything else they had to trade.

Rosa had been somewhat negligent in writing to her Keeper over the winter. She would amend that now—_and_ she would write to clan Manaria's Keeper. If Tal wouldn't come clean with her, Rosa would just have to go around him. It'd probably make him angry but…what choice did she have? Tal had kept this to himself for _months_ apparently. It was chance now that the subject of Manaria had come up and she'd glimpsed even a little of whatever was bothering him.

Rosa folded the letters and tucked them away in her travel pack. Tomorrow she would send word to Cullen to march his men to the Free Marches to defend clan Lavellan, and she'd ask him to send elven runners—Mahanon, specifically, if he was up for it—to investigate clan Manaria as well.

* * *

It was cool and drizzly as their caravan traversed the Imperial road through the northern Dales and then to Orlais proper. As they'd exited the Frostbacks and entered the mixture of forests and rolling grassy hills that marked the Dales, Rosa remembered making this journey over two years ago. In those days she'd been alone and bitter, careful and cautious and wary as she made her way through, always avoiding humans. She'd swung south to find Tal's clan, hugging the Frostbacks because she knew, from communing with her little brother in dreams, that he was in the pine forests at the foot of the mountains just north of the Emerald Graves.

Now Tal was avoiding her, but in those days he had been all smiles and laughter when they'd met in the Fade. And, when she'd finally walked into his clan, Tal had beamed as he'd announced to his Keeper—who glared the entire time—that he was leaving with Rosa to join a new clan. When they'd set out again, north and west to circle around the Waking Sea, Rosa had been so happy to have Tal's company. So much of her misery walking by herself had been loneliness, she realized.

Now she had plenty of companions, but Tal had grown distant. It went against her instincts, but Rosa let him ride with Dorian, let him share a tent with the Tevinter, and just resigned to give him his space. Let him be infatuated with the human, Dorian seemed harmless enough—albeit pompous and arrogant, too. Together Tal, Dorian, and Iron Bull formed a clique that traveled well, filling the air with laughter and chatter.

In addition to her gloomy thoughts about Tal, it was hard not to pass through the Dales without considering the depressing past glory of the People. They passed ruins made of elegant, perfectly shaped blocks. They were brilliant white or tan in color. Rosa wondered if they had been bleached by the sunlight or if the People had always made them this way. Were these ruins from the Dales when the elves had ruled it, or were they from Elvhenan?

She tried to covertly observe Solas' reaction to these ancient structures, long collapsed, but he seemed unaffected. Stoic and blank, he rode near the back of their retinue with Cole, in silence or occasionally speaking quietly enough that she couldn't overhear from her spot ahead of them.

They passed through small hamlets that made a living by trading on the road. These villages had high populations of elves, vallaslin-less "city elves." They watched the Inquisition's caravan pass through with wide eyes, mouths agape with awe. Some dropped to their knees and others cried when they saw her. Rosa knew how she must look to them: a goddess sent by Andraste to save the world and their people. These elves would follow the Chantry, more likely than not, but they might also remember the Creators. They'd see her as a gift from heaven, sent by Holy Andraste to bless them. Her elven and Dalish heritage would only be further marks of divinity, for city elves both feared and celebrated the Dalish.

Inquisition soldiers and scouts walking alongside their mounted caravan had to fend off the more fervent in the crowd. Both humans and elves tried to charge forward to touch members of Rosa's inner circle. Some of them didn't seem to know who the Herald was, exactly. The humans seemed to mistake Cassandra for Andraste's chosen and reached for her, crying for her blessing. It seemed they didn't notice that Cassandra rode in a position guarding another—Rosa. Cassandra steadfastly ignored most of them, though she did occasionally say something like, "Maker bless you."

The elves, however, all knew who the Herald was. They must have heard the Inquisitor was a female Dalish and Rosa was the only one who fit that description. But very few of them reached for her or challenged the guards. They knew their place—and it was not pushing against guards or stirring dissent. Still, their eyes followed the caravan, glued to Rosa. Rosa, in turn, wanted to shrink down and hide in her armor. This kind of adoration was…intimidating. She'd been raised as a leader in her clan to one day become Keeper, but being a symbol for _all_ the People—_and_ the humans—was a little overmuch.

The settlements were bigger as they entered Orlais, continuing ever westward. They didn't stay in the inns in any of them, choosing to stay in the wilds well out of civilization in the interest of saving money. Still, one night when their encampment was close enough that the lights of a nearby city were still within sight as the sun set, Varric and several others decided to head back to visit the tavern they'd seen riding through during the day. They refused Inquisition soldiers as an escort, preferring to be incognito.

Tal, of course, was one of those determined to go. Rosa watched from her spot sitting around one of their several campfires, trying not to frown as she watched her brother laughing as Dorian said something witty. Iron Bull was apparently in on the joke as well, grinning and stooping slightly to elbow Dorian in the side. Sera and Varric were there too—the elf looked baffled and irritated while the dwarf was snickering into his hand. They were waiting on Blackwall to gather up his coin purse from his travel bag. When the Warden returned to their group they set out. They were all armed, ready to defend themselves if they encountered danger or thugs, but Rosa's stomach still felt tight with fear as her brother's shape disappeared along the road.

"He loves you," a breathy voice said from next to her.

Gasping, Rosa jerked her head to look over and found Cole sitting next to her, his blue eyes locked on her and his expression tender. "Cole," she said, laying a hand over her chest and her pounding heart. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry," Cole said, tilting his head down. His broad-rimmed hat obscured her view of his face. "I just thought you'd want to know."

She frowned as what he'd said hit her finally. "Who—did you mean Tal?" She'd been thinking about Tal just before Cole spoke, but sometimes the spirit had a way of adding in other topics unexpectedly. What if he'd meant…?

Cole lifted his head again, blue eyes glazed as the orange firelight flickered over them. "Yes—but him, too."

Rosa sighed, grimacing with displeasure and embarrassment at the spirit boy's comment. She was alone at the campfire except for a few scouts nearby who _might_ overhear what Cole had to say, but chances were high they'd not see him or understand the conversation even if they did hear it. Still, Cole always seemed so eager to read anyone who was in the slightest pain or emotional turmoil and that was the _last_ thing Rosa wanted to do with her evening.

Although…

"Do you know what's bothering my brother, Cole?" she asked, shifting on her spot to face the spirit boy more directly.

Cole blinked at her and gave a little nod. "Yes…?"

Despite the way he'd phrased it, as an uncertain question, Rosa felt confident he _did_ know. He was a spirit, after all. She edged closer. "What's bothering him? Can you tell me?"

Cole's voice went breathy and fast as he answered: "Tears in her eyes. Glimmer, glitter, gleaming jewels shed for me. Because of me. Choking, pressure in my throat, tearing and burning. _Fenedhis! _I can't do this. I can't breathe!"

Rosa chewed her lip, considering Cole's words and trying to puzzle them out a moment before she shook her head and asked, "Who is she? Was this about me or someone else?"

"Yes," Cole said.

"It was about me then?" she asked, a touch exasperated at Cole's confusing reply. "Or was it someone else? Another woman?"

Instead of giving her a proper answer, Cole began rambling again: "He's too much like his father. He flows like water, free and flowing, wild and wanton." Then Cole's eyes fixed on her and he motioned toward her slightly with one hand. "He's ashamed and it hurts—twisting and stabbing."

"You're never going to tell me straightaway, are you?" Rosa asked, shoulders sinking.

Cole stared at her, blank and unreadable. It was all the answer Rosa needed.

Scrubbing at her face, she groaned with frustration. The only thing she truly understood from Cole's ramblings was the comment about their father. Tal _was_ quite like him. Even though the image Solas had gradually revealed to her and Tal in his limited, cagey details was of a man devoted to Mythal and to learning from Solas when he'd been a boy, Rosa suspected there was a lot more. Ivun—or Felassan or Eolas or whatever name he took for himself—had always been witty and clever more than scholarly that she'd seen, but he _was_ smart in a way Rosa hadn't seen in anyone until she met Solas. Her father had been a decent mentor, though Rosa _had_ learned a lot from Solas that her father probably should have imparted and, oddly, had not.

Like that he had, according to Solas, loved her and Tal deeply. Yet, she thought bitterly, he'd not been present very often to show it.

"The wind never stops. Rain lashes the wood. The ceiling leaks." Cole's voice was melancholy and aching. The sound of it started a lump in Rosa's throat as she watched Cole, frowning. "Night and day, week after week, rain and wind. Alone. Hungry. The first snow and then the last. Alone."

"Can you _please_ not do that?" Rosa asked him, her words hoarse. She knew exactly what Cole had been reading then: the long winter she spent alone on the Storm Coast, waiting for her father to meet her so that they could get Rogathe to leave her body. He never did show up.

"Do what?" Cole asked, clearly baffled at her comment. And then, likely sensing her pain at the memory, he quickly added, "I'm sorry. The Slow Arrow must fly where it is aimed."

She snorted at that. "Right, well." She clapped her hands together and tilted her head up to look at the stars. "I think I'm going to turn in. Enjoy the evening, Cole."

She left the campfire, stooping to press her way through the tent flap. Her eyes were heavy and tired, gritty from the long hours of riding with the wind that'd kicked up since they'd entered the drier Orlesian countryside. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself it was as she found her bedroll and sat on it.

_The Slow Arrow must fly where it is aimed._

In the dimness, she sat cross-legged and stared at her travel pack, lying where Tal's bedroll would have been had he still been sharing her tent. She'd written a letter to clan Manaria and to Deshanna after sending word to Cullen days ago. Tomorrow, at the next cache point the Inquisition had sent her word of, she would pass these letters to a scout to send by raven if one was available. To Deshanna she had written reassurances that Cullen and his forces would soon join her. To Manaria's Keeper, a woman named Nola according to Tal, she had asked after her brother's position in the clan as politely as possible. But should she really send it behind Tal's back?

The Slow Arrow and Two-Hundred Arrows. So similar and yet…what Cole had said in his reading of Tal didn't feel accurate for their father. Wild and wanton, sure. But free and flowing? Felassan had traveled a lot but Rosa had always suspected he had some hidden purpose, a higher calling. An agenda.

She had been there when he tried to rally the People at the last Arlathvhen a little over a decade ago, hoping to convince the Keepers to help him locate a certain eluvian in a ruin deep within the Arbor Wilds. The Keepers, including Rosa's mother, had refused out of the belief that the ruin was sacred and under guard by demons and protective spirits that would kill them for approaching. Rosa had watched helplessly as a frustrated Felassan mocked the Keepers for their fear and they, in turn, scorned him. She'd fought back angry tears when her mother, who knew the truth about Felassan's Elvhen origins, had kept silent and let the other Keepers chase him out of the Arlathvhen.

What had her father wanted with that eluvian? Did he ever manage it?

These were questions she should ask Solas, though she suspected he would be cagey and elusive with any answers. He was hiding something regarding his past, her father, and…_everything_ it seemed. It made no sense for him not to have admitted that he'd known Ivun once he realized whose children they were. Why would he want to hide it?

The only answer she could come up with, repeatedly, was that he and Ivun were blood relatives. It explained a lot—why Solas had left her so suddenly, why he had never revealed that he knew Ivun, why he continued avoiding her despite it being painfully obvious there was still _something_ between them. Yet, when she'd asked him, Solas denied it and she'd not sensed a lie. But her talent was fickle and…

She blew out a breath and cursed under her breath. Resting one palm on her bedroll, she imagined meeting Solas in the Fade again where her talent would be strongest. She had a way of sensing raw emotion there, like picking out a scent from the air. It enhanced her truthsaying and that made it a valuable option, but meeting Solas in a dream was so…intimate. It was where they had first fallen for each other in the Hasmal Circle, after all. It'd be dangerous and awkward and—and _titillating _to meet with him there again. Was that stress and temptation worth it?

If it got her answers, _yes._

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Dorian gasped suddenly, coming awake with a cry. He struggled against the medic trying to force healing potion down his throat, turning his head and thrashing weakly. Solas had begun to heal his side, the glow from his hands apparently disturbing the Tevinter. "Hold him down!" Solas yelled.

The medics moved to do as he ordered and so did Varric and Iron Bull, hurrying forward and kneeling at Dorian's feet and shoulders. Dorian cursed in Tevene, the words slurring g together. _"Visssshantekafffffassss!"_

* * *

Endnote:

Who remembers the Big Liar game where Rosa's story was about meeting two ravens that could talk? Haha! So you heard a little more of what really happened. In Rosa's original story the ravens told her she had a brother and she'd never meet him. That actually happened too, except the ravens were obviously wrong about her never knowing Tal. And this chapter we got a glimpse of the thing Tal's been hiding this whole story, too. More to come!

Next chapter we are reaching (finally) a turning-ish point for Solas, though in his immortal glacial way of things he isn't going to act very fast...and clearly some shit goes down for Dorian!  
  
---


	21. Confessions and Concussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa confronts Solas in the Fade to learn more about what drove him away before the Conclave. Dorian and Tal have a run in with the Freemen of the Dales.

"The tensions in Orlais are as thick as Fade ether right now," Lyris told him. She stood beside her bondmate, the swarthy and broadly built Mathrel. Both arcane warriors were resplendent in their Elvhenan armor, glittering and silvered in the greenish light of the Fade. They stood like the soldiers they were, hands tucked behind their backs, spines straight and chins thrust out.

"You must be cautious," Solas told them, his gaze sweeping from one warrior to the other. "Briala will be a clever adversary. You must both show her the respect she feels she is owed as the rebel elves' leader. Endear yourselves to her as fighters."

They nodded solemnly. As arcane warriors, both elves were mages and had served as Solas' personal bodyguards for ages. He trusted them implicitly—just as he had with Felassan. But, unlike his old friend and student, Lyris and Mathrel would not be tempted or swayed by modern Thedas. They were family unto each other. Their future together now that they had woken from uthenera relied on Solas succeeding.

This particular task would be a challenge. Both of them would struggle to show respect to the shem-elves. Mathrel, especially, would find it difficult, as he was more stoic and somber in nature than his more convivial partner, Lyris. But, an additional frustration for them would be struggling to hide their identities as mages. Briala and her elves might have a more relaxed view of magic than Andrastian humans simply because they needed all the help they could get, but they'd likely still distrust a pair of apostates. Fortunately, Mathrel and Lyris' skills in combat using spectral blades translated over to swordplay easily. They had spent a few months practicing since the Conclave and now they were in Orlais and prepping to enter Briala's rebellion so they could gain access to her eluvian network.

And then, when the time was right, Solas would steal it from her.

"It is a shame Fenesvir failed us," Mathrel said, a slight grumbling tone souring the words. He'd used Felassan's pre-Veil name, a reflection of how little he had spoken to the other Elvhen man post-Veil.

Solas clenched his jaw and nodded to them. His agents knew Felassan had failed and died on his mission to control the eluvians. They knew without Solas explaining it that Felassan had been executed for defiance, having tacitly betraying their cause. They also knew that the situation must have wounded Solas. Deeply. They knew Solas had been fast friends with Felassan long before they'd come into his service.

What these two did not know, however, was that the Inquisition's leader—who Solas ostensibly served, currently—was Felassan's daughter.

"We will not fail, _hahren,"_ Lyris said, dipping her chin in a respectful motion.

Solas dredged up a smile for her. "I have every confidence that—" He broke off, feeling the sharp tug of another Dreamer's will on him. Someone was trying to summon him.

"_Hahren?"_ Mathrel asked, arching a brow.

"I must leave you," he said, licking his lips as his heart started pounding. There were only two people who could summon him with such a strong tug on his spirit—his agent Zevanni or Rosa.

"We will be here when you have need of us," Mathrel said and Lyris nodded her agreement. "The eluvians will be ours again soon, as they should be."

"Very good," Solas said, smiling with real warmth at them. "I will be in touch." Yet, as he willed the Fade to send the arcane warriors away, Solas' mind was spinning with indecision and strife. He had waffled unceasingly back and forth between deciding he must abide by his red-lyrium poisoned self's advice to give Fen'Harel up for Rosa, or to reveal everything to her in the hope that she might choose to join him. And then, inevitably, he would also decide he could do neither option and must simply remain distanced and apart from her in the ongoing quest to complete his goals as the Dread Wolf. It would be unfair to burden Rosa and selfish to try and pursue her romantically when it was glaringly obvious he had done nothing but harm her.

He let the next tug on his spirit bring him to the summoner. The Fade went grayish and opaque as the ether thickened. Then it cleared, transforming into a dream he recognized. A cool breeze wafted through pine trees in a soft hiss. Long, wild grasses rippled under the wind's caress. Moonlight lit the pale stones of Elvhen ruins in front of him where Rosa stood with one palm pressed to the smooth blocks that made up a collapsed wall to her right.

"Rosa," he greeted her, smiling slightly. "What can I do for you?" She had not summoned him like this since…he wasn't sure. Not since their time in the Hasmal Circle, probably. He'd spent a great deal of time trying to convince her to share a dream with him early on to learn about Rogathe or aid her in protecting herself from demons. Now she'd come to him unbidden. His chest went tight and his throat seemed suddenly dry. He swallowed, desperate to wet it.

Rosa wore her Keeper armor as usual. The shoulder guards were made of bloodstone and gleamed a deep crimson in the milky moonlight. She glanced toward him, brow furrowed. Her hand fell away from the white stone blocks. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Of course," Solas said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he tucked his hands behind hid back in a loose fist. _"Ma nuvenin."_

She wrinkled her nose at him for a brief second and then blew out a breath. "I'm concerned about Tal. He won't talk to me and there's been something bothering him for _months._" She wrung her hands in front of her, eyes darting back and forth. "It has something to do with his clan. He isn't writing to them, I guess. I want to write to his Keeper and ask her for details but…"

"He would see that as a breech of trust," Solas said, guessing her hesitation. She had asked him to intervene when she was concerned about her brother in the Circle as well. This new request didn't surprise him in the least as a result. "I would be happy to see what troubles him, if he will open up to me." He lifted a finger to add a caveat. "But, you should be aware that he may suspect me. Additionally, if he does confide in me, I may feel it best not to reveal what I uncover to you. It would be better if he spoke with you, directly. Do you not agree?"

She nodded, frowning. "I agree—but he won't talk to me. That's why I'm asking you." She shrugged then and slowly looked around the dreamscape. "I won't have much time, I think, before the demons start showing up. I'll need to ward this dream."

"I'd be happy to help you," Solas said, smiling even as his stomach flip-flopped with nervousness. "But that would trap me within." He cursed himself inwardly for saying that instead of just excusing himself. He had left the comment out there like an invitation for her to ask him to stay. He stared at her, willing himself not to admire the fineness of her cheekbones or the perfect plump of her lips, not to remember what she tasted like and how glorious it'd been to hold her in his arms or make her laugh or…

The way her violet eyes slid to look at him sidelong made his muscles snap taut. She was up to something and—_fenedhis!—_he had fallen right into it.

"Actually, I'd be happy if you stayed," she admitted and Solas could almost feel the viselike grip of whatever trap she'd set closing around him. "I wanted to talk to you about _lenalin_ again."

Solas swallowed the desire to groan with his anxiety. This was the _last_ thing he needed to discuss. It forded into far too many dangerous topics. But he forced himself to smile. "Very well."

They worked together to ward the dream against demons and then, once they'd turned this little space into a safe haven, Rosa settled on a large white block that'd fallen from the collapsed ruin wall she'd originally been standing beside. She smiled at him, eyes glittering in the moonlight as she reclined on the stone, using one arm to hold up her head. "Cole said something tonight that got me thinking." She used her other hand to point at the white stone she laid on, making accompanying motions as she spoke. "You said _lenalin_ loved Tal and I, but he really never showed it. I've always thought he had some…plan. Some purpose. He must have been doing _something_ beyond bedding other Dalish women when he traveled."

_Fenedhis._ Solas wished he'd ignored her summoning now. Searching around the dreamscape as if admiring the scenery rather than avoiding her stare, Solas racked his brain. What could he _say?_ Could he feign ignorance believably? He'd have to lie in some other way if he didn't feel confident he could manage it. If Rosa sensed the lie...

She lifted both brows to emphasize her question as she finished with: "Any idea what he was up to?"

This had to be a covert way of also asking what _he_ had been up to. He couldn't truthfully answer either question.

Absently feeling over the stones in Rosa's dream, he decided to evade giving her an answer with misdirection. "Felassan had a keen interest in exposing the true history of the People. He wished to educate the Dalish—a task I felt was beneath him and pointless as the Dalish have no desire to better themselves and prefer to cling to a ridiculous mythology while Thedas grinds them into dust." The real bitterness in his voice pleased him. Yes, let Rosa hear that and bristle because she knew it to be true.

"All right," Rosa said, her tone thoughtful. "That…makes sense. Doesn't answer my question, though."

He'd hoped to irritate her. He'd failed.

Pulling back from the remains of the collapsed wall, Solas stared at her and let his irritable frown crease his features. "Your people treated him poorly," he said, still hoping to rile her. He'd irritated her before by criticizing her people, though usually she reacted much as Felassan would have—deflection and dry humor. "Whatever wisdom he hoped to share they refused. I had many discussions with him regarding his frustration."

"I did too," Rosa said, the coy smile spreading over her lips. "This is old news, Solas. You know something else, don't you?"

Solas stiffened, fighting the desire to frown anew. "I know a great many things about innumerable topics. What do you wish to know?"

She sat up on the stone, her armor scraping and scratching over it. "Stop being cagey with me. If _lenalin_ loved me and Tal, why was he never with us?" She paused a moment, scowling as she motioned to him. "Why were _you_ forced to leave me just like he did? You told me it wasn't your choice once."

Solas jerked his head sideways, averting his gaze. His heart hammered on his breastbone. His mouth had gone dry. His mind raced until he grabbed at the excuse he had always fallen back on—though he knew Rosa had challenged it many times before. "I serve Mythal. Your father did as well."

"Mythal, huh?" Rosa asked, sliding off the stone and taking a few steps closer to him. She crossed her arms under her breasts as her eyes narrowed and flicked over him. The scrutiny made Solas start sweating. "What is Mythal's goal? What does she ask of you? What did she ask of _lenalin?"_

Solas clenched his jaw. "I cannot share that with you. I am…sorry."

"Well," she said, voice shaking with restrained anger. "Do you know what _I _can tell you, flat-ear?"

Solas closed his eyes, feeling nauseous. He didn't dare answer, though he suspected he already knew what she'd say. His thoughts whirled and reeled.

He heard Rosa speak from perhaps less than a meter away, close enough that she could whisper and still be heard. "You're lying—but what about and _why?" _She scoffed and Solas snuck a quick look in her direction to see her lips curled back from her teeth in a snarl of frustration. "Did you really think you could lie to _Dirthamen's _granddaughter?"

"You possess his gift," Solas said, making eye contact now. He steeled his spine. He had long surmised she must.

"Yeah," she said, still scowling. "So for the love of all that's holy—stop _lying _to me."

He turned his head to look back at her. She glared at him, nostrils flaring with each breath. Her shoulders rose and fell as she waited. Long seconds passed in silence.

What could Solas tell her? _I am the great adversary of your people. I am the one who kept your father from you. I am the one who destroyed the People. I am the one who saved them from the Evanuris though none will thank me. I am the one who killed your father. I am the Betrayer. I am the Trickster. _

"It is not my place to know Mythal's greater plans," Solas said, clinging to the role of underling, of nobody. It was also the truth to a certain extent. Solas _didn't _know Mythal's greater plans, just as she didn't know his. Yet, when he opened his mouth to try and proclaim that he still served the other Evanuris, he hesitated. Rosa's violet eyes were narrowed and her brow beetled with irritation.

_Coward,_ said the taunting voice inside him. _She deserves the truth. _

So instead he tried to remove the focus from himself. "Felassan would have known more than I," he said, treading that line between truth and lie. Felassan _would _have known more of Mythal in the past and may have brushed shoulders with her many times since waking from Uthenera. "He was her grandson and close confidante. She mothered him."

"But your task involved the orb," Rosa said, tightly. "I know that much." She shook her head and turned to stare out over the white stone bricks of the ruin. "And that's why you're here with me—with the Inquisition. Because you need us to retrieve it." The bitterness in her tone was unmistakable and it stabbed him like a hot blade through the ribs.

"That is far from my only reason for being here, Rosa," he told her, moving to meet her stare again, deliberate and somber and unflinching. "I have wronged you on many levels. My orb caused the destruction at the Conclave and has given you the Anchor, which will one day claim your life if I cannot find a way to stop it." Now he let out a breath, shoulders sinking as he gave voice to his other grievous crime against her. "My choice last winter to leave you in the Free Marches was also a grave mistake. My service to you and the Inquisition cannot atone for what I've done, but it is the least I can do."

She opened and closed her left hand, flexing the palm. The Anchor lay dormant now, showing no sign she possessed it at all. "Thanks for reminding me the clock's ticking on this thing," she grumbled. "And thanks, by the way. Wicked tool you've inadvertently given me, but really, you shouldn't have."

"It was never my intention—" Solas protested, flushing with heat.

"Never mind that," she said with a dismissive wave of her right hand. "But how's the whole _saving my ass from the Anchor_ problem coming along?"

"I have…promising leads," Solas hedged. He smiled hesitantly, relieved now that it seemed he'd finally changed the topic. "But nothing is certain yet. The Anchor may never destabilize in your lifetime."

"Considering I'll probably have a short lifetime," she quipped with a dry smirk. "You're probably right.

Solas smiled warmly at her. "You once told me you wished to die an old woman in your aravel, surrounded by your family. That is primarily why I am here," Solas told her seriously. "To ensure you achieve your dream."

"Ah," she said and chuckled. "That sounds like something I'd say. That's how all Dalish want to die, but it's a fantasy. We usually die fighting _shemlen_ or from disease or from darkspawn or animal or bandit attacks, or from starvation, or—"

"I believe _I_ am supposed to be the grim and fatalistic one," Solas interrupted, trying to make her smile. She might use a lighthearted tone to describe all the threats her people faced but it did little to fool Solas. Neither of them needed to hear the laundry list of dangers posed by the harshness of modern Thedas. Solas especially didn't need to be reminded that the People were currently on a glacial path to extinction. He knew what Rosa did not on that topic—mainly, that _he_ was personally at fault.

"You were falling down on the job," she said with a smirk. "I had to improvise. But I think I didn't do a half bad job of it."

"You did wonderfully, _vhe—"_ He cut himself off, blinking and looking away from her. She had drawn closer over this playful exchange and could easily reach out to touch him now if she wished. The thought set off a little flare of panic inside him. He took a careful, deliberate step backward. His body felt hot and his heart raced as he became acutely aware of her relative closeness.

"What was that?" she asked him, quirking a brow. "I didn't catch that last word, flat-ear." But her tone made it clear to him she knew what he'd said and what he'd felt.

"Apologies," he said, stiffly, still unable to meet her gaze. "I must leave." He could have willed away this dream in an instant, but instead he moved to walk away rather than destroy all of her wards and the entire dreamscape—but her hand shot out, gripping him at the elbow.

"Don't you dare leave now," she said, somehow both stern and playful at once.

Solas' heart was in his throat. He swallowed several times, trying to push it back down. "Rosa," he said, hoarse and croaking. His cheeks were aflame. _"Abelas,_ but I cannot—"

"Tell me you were _lenalin's_ brother," she blurted, a note of desperation coloring her voice. "Tell me I was fucking my uncle. I can handle it. I can let go if I just know the truth…whatever it is."

Solas stared off at the pines and the other broadleaf trees, shivering in the wind. The air smelled rich and loamy, reminding him of his childhood, when everything had been simple and relatively innocent. The melancholy longing rose in him—painful nostalgia and loss. Why couldn't he return to that simpler existence? If he just lied now, if he could make her believe he rebuffed her because they had inadvertently been involved in an incestual relationship, she would cease to approach him. She could let go and Solas could feel content that he had given her closure and kept himself and _her_ safe from the Dread Wolf and his plans.

Just one little—albeit _repulsive_—lie…

Unable to look at her or pull away, Solas forced the false admission through numb lips. "Yes." He meant to sell the lie, to add that he was in fact Felassan's brother, but the words stayed stuck in his throat. The only positive was how gut-wrenching the answer sounded—cracked and rough. She would believe it. She would let go and—

Unexpectedly, Solas heard her laughing. He turned his head, frowning as he saw her clasping at her stomach with her free hand and laughing, full-throated and unabashed. Was it from relief? Anger? Disbelief? Disgust? He tried to relax, tried to hide his confusion and alarm, but when she'd caught her breath enough to speak, she stunned him anew.

"You're lying," she said, shaking her head. Her hand still at his elbow, holding him in place, tightened its grip. "Why are you lying?"

"I'm not lying," he protested, feeling heat spread over his face up to his ears. Had she felt it with her gift or was she merely guessing?

"Why in the Void would you lie?" she asked, her grin hardening as she searched over his face. "Why would you tell me we're _related_ rather than just tell me the _truth?_ How _bad_ can it be?"

"I…" _How bad can it be? Bad._ He stammered in desperation. "I—I am unable—not allowed—to grow unduly attached to others. I must remain devoted to—"

"If you lie to me again and blame everything on Mythal I'm going to have to punch you," Rosa blurted and tugged him toward her as she stepped closer to him, pivoting to face him, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Let it go," she said, her breath puffing over his cheeks. "Whatever holds you back; just trust me with it. Whatever it is, I can handle it. _Lenalin_ wouldn't trust me or Tal and look how miserable that's made us. _Please_ don't do that to me again…"

"It would not be fair to you," Solas said, shaking his head emphatically. "You would be safer—happier—with someone like Mahanon Someone unburdened by the past." He tried to withdraw a step but she mirrored his backward motion with a forward one, even managing to get closer.

"Don't you think _I_ should be the one to judge that?" she retorted with a dry laugh. _"Fenedhis!_ You're probably right. After everything you've done, but…" She sucked in a breath before finishing. "I still love you because I'm a thrice-damned fool."

_You would not feel that way if you knew the truth…_

"Rosa," he said, lifting his own hands to grasp her gently by the shoulders. "Please…" His heart thumped so hard it hurt. His throat was tight and his stomach queasy. He should push her away, deny her, but instead all he could see was her violet eyes moving over his face with rapt attention and expectation, her lips parted and her breathing a touch too fast. All he could feel was the anticipation between them, swelling like an invisible tidal wave through the Fade. She was so beautiful, so strong and yet vulnerable, and so utterly brave to face him like this after everything he'd done to wrong her.

Her words the night after Haven's destruction floated back into his mind: _A little arrow that cut straight to my heart._

He could let it go. He could _trust_ her…

He _would_ trust her.

His hands on her shoulders slid up to her neck and then her cheeks, shaking slightly. Brushing his thumbs over her smooth skin, even over the vallaslin that marked her for Dirthamen, Solas felt his eyes burning with emotion. _"Vhenan,"_ he said, letting the endearment spill out as it'd longed to for so long. "I never stopped loving you. I—"

"Then tell me the truth," she cut him off, breath puffing against his cheeks and eyes darting over his features. "Why did you leave? What drove you—what drove my _father—_away?"

Solas' lips parted and his mind raced. He couldn't tell her the full truth now. It had to be done right. Too much was at stake. If he had time to plan and to feed her portions of it and then observe her reaction and adjust accordingly…

"I served Mythal, once. Since her death I have…" His throat seemed to close and he swallowed, frantic to wet it and will himself onward with the confession. He would reveal he served Fen'Harel to gauge her reaction—but if she realized Felassan served the Dread Wolf too—_no_, it was too dangerous!

"Yes?" Rosa prodded him, brow furrowed.

Solas' eyes flicked over her face, seeing the vallaslin, and his heart lurched in his chest. A half-truth. _Yes. _

"I have been rogue," Solas told her somberly. "I have had no direction but my own. There is a task I must complete." He drew in a short but deep breath, his thumbs still brushing over her cheeks. "Do you recall the Formless One?"

"Raselan?" Rosa asked, arching one eyebrow as she nodded. "How could I forget that thing? It has it out for me. And Tal…" Her eyes narrowed, flicking over his face. "…And for you."

"Yes," Solas said, nodding. "It does. I have told you I was one of those who locked its masters away." He was the _only_ one, but technically he wasn't lying. Others had been involved in orchestrating it. "The Formless One and other powerful demons-like Dirthamen's ravens—Fear and Deceit—have joined together and seek to free their masters."

That was also not a lie. Solas was confident Imshael, the Formless One, and their brethren remained keen on releasing the Forgotten Ones. But they likely considered it secondary to destroying the Veil—which was why the Formless One hadn't just asked Rosa to kill Solas in the Hasmal Circle.

"The Forgotten Ones," Rosa said, lips pinching together. _"Lenalin_ spoke of them."

"Yes," Solas confirmed with a nod. "I cannot allow them to succeed. I realized their threat when I met the Formless One during your Harrowing in the Circle. It desired my blood—and yours—in the hope it could release its masters." He paused, hesitating as he considered his next words and then licked his lips, plunging ahead. "I believe they sought Felassan's blood for the same reason."

"_Lenalin_ helped seal away the Forgotten Ones?" Rosa asked, her jaw falling open with obvious shock.

Solas nodded. It _was_ the truth after a fashion. Felassan had helped as one of Solas' top agents. He'd aided Solas and a variety of other Dreamers in designing the black mirror and its Fade-construct—the Deep Roads prison where the Forgotten Ones now languished.

Rosa withdrew from him a step, her expression warping with a wild mixture of emotions that were difficult to read: grief, disbelief, shock, and something that might have been fear. "Did the Formless One kill him?" she asked in a thin voice. "Do the demons have his blood now?"

"I cannot say," Solas said, hoping desperately that she would not feel the lie. "But I could not involve you in my duty." He looked away. "It was too dangerous. I…do not expect to survive it."

Rosa frowned and shook her head. "Why in the Void would you _not _want me to go with you_?_ Why wouldn't you tell me this before? I have as much to lose in this as you do, don't I? Raselan wanted my blood and Tal's blood, too. And, if it found a way to kill _lenalin…_" She broke off, choking.

Solas forced himself not to flinch at that. "I did not want to place you at risk," he said, carefully ignoring the issue of her father's death. "And I knew that if I revealed the truth you would insist on joining me—something I cannot allow."

"Nugshit," Rosa grumbled, fierce and determined. "I can help you kick that thing's ass and you know it."

"Yes," Solas agreed, jaw clenching. "But you are reckless, Rosa. I knew you would likely perish trying to save me." The thought of losing her stabbed at his heart and started that annoying lump up in his throat.

"I have Rogathe," Rosa insisted with a stubborn glare. "And I'm as strong as _lenalin_—or almost, anyway. We could survive it if we worked together."

"You do not understand," Solas said, speaking softly, though his mind continued to spin, weighing every word. "I planned to use the power of the Anchor and to walk physically in the Fade, Rosa," he told her. Again, not a lie. He _had_ planned to do that—just not to face off with the Formless One or the Forgotten Ones. Rather, he would have had to slay seven other very dangerous foes: the Evanuris.

Rosa's violet eyes widened at his comment about walking physically in the Fade, but she didn't say anything so Solas went on.

"It would have been far too dangerous. If you and I faced the Formless One together physically in the Fade it would not hesitate to kill us both. It was vital that I prevent the Formless One from gaining access to us both in that context." That was not necessarily the truth, but…he let out a long breath, shoulders slumping. "I did not expect I would ever see you again." Another truth in disguise fast on the heels of the partial lie to obscure it. He had played such careful games with Dirthamen himself before, after all, and won.

"But the Venatori took the orb instead," Rosa said, her eyes dropping to his chin and her fingers moving to touch the small V-shape in his tunic.

Smiling sadly, Solas moved one of his own hands to clasp hers on his chest, squeezing. He hoped she wouldn't notice how sweaty his palms were from his nervousness. His heart still hammered against his breastbone, but it seemed he had passed the test. "And I am glad for the chance it has given me to see you once more." He dropped his eyes to the grass as he added, "Though the cost is a grave one."

"Hundreds dead at the Conclave," Rosa muttered, her fingers still idly picking at the hemming in the V-shape of his tunic. "The sky torn apart and demons spilling out through rifts all over Thedas. Haven destroyed and scores dead there." She blinked, her eyes too moist. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his chest. "My death-trap left hand," she said with a choked laugh. "That _is_ a fucking steep price, Solas."

Wincing at her words, Solas lifted both arms and wrapped them around her in an embrace. "_Ir asbelas…"_ He swallowed the lump in his throat and resisted the desire to add _vhenan_. This was a _hard_ truth. "The blame for all rests with me."

She clucked her tongue and one hand moved to his cheek. Solas restrained a shudder at that touch, even though he was like a withered plant feeling the delicious return of rain after an ages long drought.

"Creators," she said with a dry chuckle, edging closer. "You do like to be gloomy, don't you?" She pressed nearer until Solas could feel her breath puffing against his cheeks, warm and moist and smelling faintly of vanilla. "What matters is you're here trying to set things right."

Had he leaned forward or had she gently pulled him toward her with the hand still laid over his cheek? Either way, her skin—her _lips—_were so close to his own he could feel the heat rising from her. Heart hammering in his throat, Solas steeled himself, trying to resist the pounding, driving need to kiss her. He shouldn't, _couldn't_ do this…

If he just pulled back from her...if he just _resisted_, he could walk away from this still able to fulfill his plans as Dread Wolf and save the elven people. He had proved himself a coward for the umpteenth time now with her when he'd failed to confess even a partial truth involving Fen'Harel. At least it had been more of the truth than his usual lies, but it wasn't good enough. If he kissed her now he'd have to live with the terrible weight of his shame and guilt tenfold that her continued love for him was based on his _lies_ to her. If he kissed her now, he would owe her that confession and consign the People to their glacial extinction.

_You will always owe her the truth,_ a dark voice in his head reminded him.

And then the Fade jerked, rippling. Solas and Rosa both sprang apart, looking around and lifting both hands in preparation to cast.

"What was that?" Rosa asked, turning in a circle to take in the dreamscape.

Distant shouts rang through Solas' mind. He grimaced, feeling the Fade warp and strain again. Judging by Rosa's frown and sudden swaying on her feet, Solas guessed she'd felt something similar.

"I'm waking up," she said breathily. "Something's wrong."

"Yes," he agreed and then, reaching out with one hand, he willed away the dreamscape and the wards protecting it from outside interference. Staring at her, he felt the shimmering connection she shared to the Fade at the far distant edges of his mind and smiled as he said, "I will see you when we are awake."

Her form had already begun to grow hazy. Solas could have willed her awake, forced her from the Fade, but he resisted. Instead, he lingered long enough in the green featureless ether around them to see and feel Rosa vanish. Then Solas shut his own eyes and snatched his own connection to the Fade. _Wake up. _

He opened his eyes and gasped as he sat up in his bedroll. The canvas walls of his tent glowed with the light from the campfire and Solas saw shadows darting over it as people rushed around outside. Voices shouted with alarm but he didn't hear the clang of metal from swords or the roar of mage fire.

Feeling the knot of tension inside his gut, Solas climbed from his bedroll and hurried to leave his tent.

* * *

Rosa woke, mana bubbling as she immediately summoned fire into one palm to lash out at the gruff hand shaking her. She heard a yelp and saw, in the flash of orange light from her palm, the terrified face of an Inquisition scout. "Worship!" the woman cried, cringing back.

At once Rosa let the fire die. "Sorry," she told the scout and sprang from her bedroll. She heard shouting and saw movement in shadows outside her tent. "What's happening?"

"The others are back from the tavern in town," the scout said in a rushed voice, gesturing frantically to the tent flap. "They were attacked."

"Shit," Rosa cursed, her heart seizing as she immediately imagined Tal with a sword through his gut or an arrow in his chest. Of everyone who'd gone out to the tavern back in the last town they'd passed, bent on going some late night drinking, Tal was the most likely to draw the locals' ire. He was elven, a mage, and Dalish. Orlesians were likely to skewer him over a dwarf, a city elf with a Fereldener accent, a towering Qunari, and a Tevinter mage any day.

Snatching her staff up and pushing past the bewildered scout, she headed outside—almost colliding with Tal. Her brother gasped and took a step backward at her emergence. His eyes were wide and grave. "Rosa," he said. "Quick—we have to pack up camp and leave. Now."

"What's going on?" she asked, scowling as she clutched her staff tighter. Her eyes swept over her brother and her stomach lurched as she saw the red stains over his Inquisition light armor. Yet his posture suggested the blood wasn't his. That revelation made her look at the camp beyond Tal and she felt her blood go cold as she saw Iron Bull, Sera, Varric, and Blackwall standing around the campfire nearest to the road, staring down with expressions of dread. Medics scurried about, dropping to kneel on the ground where, through the flicker of campfire flames, Rosa could just see the vague shape of a pair of posh boots she recognized as Dorian's.

From the tent behind her the scout edged out around Rosa and that knocked her from her frozen shock as she rushed past Tal. Darting around the fire, she saw a bleary-eyed Solas emerge from his tent and blink at the flames. "C'mon flat-ear," she yelled to him, gesturing. He jerked his head in her direction, lips parted with surprise, but immediately rushed to join her.

It was Sera who first noticed Rosa's approach. The archer turned, tears streaming down her face even as her face twisted with rage. "Inky! Help him, yeah? Please?"

Rosa saw the medics crouched around an unconscious Dorian. One held his side, leaning her weight on him to staunch blood flow. Another knelt by his head, prying open his mouth to force healing potion down his throat. Yet another sat at Dorian's other side where Rosa saw a grisly cut into the Tevinter mage's forearm. It glistened red-black in the firelight as the medic removed the rough cloth that'd been placed over the grievous wound. Through the mess Rosa saw the pale white of bone.

"Shit," she cursed, lunging forward as she saw the medic held a knife. "Stop! Stop it!"

The medic looked up at her, mouth hanging open. "Herald?"

"They have to take his hand," Blackwall said, reaching for her shoulder. "The blade severed too much to save it. It's the only way to—"

"Barbarians," Rosa snarled, knocking Blackwall's hand away. The flash of his wounded look made her wince at how harsh she'd been—but only for a moment. She had to act fast or Dorian would die.

Behind her she heard Tal groan and say, "Fucking Templars! We have to move camp!"

Hardly registering Tal's words, Rosa scrambled to push the medic with the knife away. The others cleared space for her. She gripped his hand, grimacing and baring her teeth at the mixture of slickness from new blood and the tackiness of old stuff that'd started to clot. Dorian was breathing too fast in quick little puffs, his handsome face creased with the agony he must be in despite his lack of consciousness. His skin was ashen and sweaty in the firelight.

"It'd take a miracle to heal this," Cassandra's voice said from somewhere over Rosa. She sounded dire.

_Then let me show you a miracle,_ Rosa thought and reached for her mana. It tingled as it rose through her and she shaped the most powerful spell her father had taught her—something from Elvhenan that had not survived because very few mages had the reserves needed to fuel it even with lyrium. Her hands began to flush with the heat of magic, glowing gold-white. Beneath her palm Rosa felt Dorian's skin and muscles begin to mend.

Shoulders heaving, the mana drained from her and into the Tevinter mage. Her head bowed and she gritted her teeth as the heat in her palms began to burn. Her head swam and her heart pounded. _I won't let you die,_ she promised. She'd been more irritated with Dorian than he deserved out of a strange jealousy toward him for his closeness with Tal. She vowed to change that.

The spell finished and Rosa gasped, pulling her hands back to see the pink of an ugly scar through the crimson stains. The medics and all of her companions stared with shock that quickly turned into relief and awe.

"Andraste be praised!" Blackwall said with a laugh. "You did it!"

"They don't call her the Herald of Andraste for nothing, Hero," Varric rejoined, also grinning.

Sera added her own exhilarated cheer. "Fuck yeah, Inky!"

"Don't be so quick to celebrate," Cassandra chastened everyone, still stern.

Rosa's eyes landed on the medic knelt across from her on Dorian's other side. She had not let up on the pressure there. Dorian was still bleeding from that wound and Rosa's mana core throbbed. Her head ached as her heart twisted with pain. She didn't have enough mana to finish this, but…

"Solas," she said, lifting her bloodied hands and motioning to the medic. The Elvhen man stood beside Tal and—she realized with a dull spurt of alarm—he was propping her brother up. Was he just drunk or wounded after all? Tal seemed to stare down at her and Dorian with confusion.

Solas nodded to her and shifted, trying to leave Tal's side. Tal let out a little grunt and lurched toward the fire. Sera and Iron Bull were both with him in a heartbeat, steadying him with expressions of concern.

The medic left Dorian as Solas knelt to administer further healing. The woman still at Dorian's head began her ministrations with the healing potion again. Seeing the situation was under control, Rosa tried to get up. The world spun and she felt Blackwall and Varric reach out to steady her just as Iron Bull and Sera had with Tal.

"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head. "Thanks, guys."

"What happened out there?" Cassandra demanded, looking over everyone assembled. "How was Dorian injured?"

"None of us saw the beginning," Varric said. "Except Stoic, I think, and he's—"

Dorian gasped suddenly, coming awake with a cry. He struggled against the medic trying to force healing potion down his throat, turning his head and thrashing weakly. Solas had begun to heal his side, the glow from his hands apparently disturbing the Tevinter. "Hold him down!" Solas yelled.

The medics moved to do as he ordered and so did Varric and Iron Bull, hurrying forward and kneeling at Dorian's feet and shoulders. Dorian cursed in Tevene, the words slurring g together. _"Visssshantekafffffassss!"_

"It's okay, Dorian," Iron Bull told him, his deep voice rumbling into a surprisingly soothing tone. "Solas is healing you. Everything's going to be fine."

Catching sight of Iron Bull seemed to calm Dorian and he went limp. His breathing slowed. Solas' healing continued and Rosa could see sweat lining his brow. How deep had he been stabbed if even Solas found it difficult?

Then Tal said, "We have to pack up camp, _mamae."_

Rosa jerked her head to him, her heart thundering in her ears with fresh alarm. Tal was staring right at her and for the first time Rosa saw the glint of moisture in his dark curls. Was he bleeding from the head?

"What happened, Tal?" she asked him, releasing her steadying hold on Blackwall to get closer to her brother. Dizziness made her move slowly, but she reached him and Sera without falling over. "Sera?"

"It's like he said—like Varric said," Sera said, stammering. "Lot of us was inside the tavern, right? Then Treeface—" She motioned to Tal, using her crude nickname for him, sprung from his vallaslin. "—goes out to take a piss. Doesn't come back."

"Tal?" Rosa asked, using her authoritative voice to keep the fear out. "What happened?"

Her brother stared at her, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. "Rosa?" he asked.

Wiping Dorian's blood from her hands, heedless of the way it stained her breeches and tunic, Rosa pressed close to her brother. She reached out for his face, laying a hand on his cheek. He felt warm and damp with sweat. Carefully, Rosa slid her hand back along his head until her fingers found sticky wetness. Feeling nauseous, she retracted her hand and found her fingers stained anew with fresh crimson. "Oh, Tal," she said, choking on his name.

Sera cursed. "Well, shite." She shifted, taking more of Tal's weight. "Sorry, Treeface."

"I don't have any mana left," Rosa murmured, a lump thickening her throat. Her body throbbed in time with her heart. A burning heat coursed through her blood, painful and unpleasant. This was mana burnout and any further magic use would make it worse.

"It is unwise to heal a head injury too quickly," Cassandra said, moving closer now. "If the brain swells he could die. If there is a break it is better to leave it. Let me examine him." She reached for Tal but he flinched back from her, stumbling away from Sera.

"Fucking Templar," he growled, batting at her hands.

"She's not a Templar," Rosa told him, trying to be soothing. "It's okay, _da'isamalin._"

Tal's expression warped with confusion as he gazed at Rosa. "Nola?" he asked, voice catching. "We need to move camp. _Ir abelas."_

"He's confused," Cassandra said, her face grim. "It should pass, but we must examine him."

Solas stepped next to Rosa then. Blood coated his hands and his shoulders sagged. "Dorian is healed," he announced.

Rosa glanced behind him to where the medics were still clustered around the Tevinter mage, cleaning him up and prepping to move him to a tent so he could rest. She nodded her gratitude. "Thank you."

"Can you help Tal, droopy ears?" Sera asked.

Solas nodded. "I can, yes. However, the Seeker is correct. We must examine him before we take action."

Tal was standing on his own, erect and stable for the moment. He touched the side of his head, riffling his own messy curls. When his fingers came away red he scowled. "The fuck is this?" Then, lifting his eyes to take in everyone again, Tal's mouth fell open. "_Babae?_ When did you get back?" He pointed at Solas. "There's blood all over your hands."

"What's he on about?" Sera asked.

"He thinks we're in a Dalish camp," Rosa explained, grimacing. _And he's mistaking Solas for our father.  
_

The other elf snorted. "Really isn't right in the head, is he?"

Rosa frowned with disapproval and stepped toward Tal to try and examine him herself. Tal let her reach him, a faint but bemused smile tugging at his lips. She slipped her hands into his hair and Tal hissed with pain. "Knock that off," he grumbled, slapping her hands away.

"We might have to hold Stoic down," Varric suggested.

"If he fights too much he will only further injure himself," Cassandra cautioned.

"I need a medic over here for my brother," Rosa called over her shoulder. A moment later she heard someone hustling over and recognized the man who'd brandished a blade beside Dorian. Resisting the desire to send this medic packing and demand another, Rosa motioned at Tal. "Hold his hands. We need to check his skull."

The man nodded and grabbed hold of Tal from behind. Tal grunted and squirmed slightly. Cassandra moved in to help at the same time as Rosa reached for her brother's head. He growled like a dog and tried to thrash his head but Cassandra grabbed him by the chin, holding him still as Rosa's fingers probed. She felt a tear in the skin with swelling but no sign of an actual break in the skull.

"There's no break as far as I can tell," she said, letting her bloodied hands fall to her sides.

"Then let us hope there is no brain swelling," Cassandra said gravely. "Or we will have to break it ourselves to relieve the pressure."

The idea made Rosa feel sick. She stared down at the crimson on her hands, thinking about the conversation she'd just had with Solas in the Fade regarding the significance of her and Tal's shared blood. She'd always thought the Formless One wanted her and Tal because it hoped to free Fear and Deceit, or because of their connection to Dirthamen, Elgar'nan, and Mythal in some other way. Now she had no doubt that Solas was closer to the mark in understanding the demon's motives.

Cole's breathy voice startled her into gasping, looking up to see that the spirit boy now stood beside her brother, head bowed and face hidden by his wide-brimmed hat. "Throbbing, dull pain. Pulses, like my heart." He sucked in a breath, voice dropping into an unnatural register. _"Filthy knife-ear scum."_

"What happened out there?" Rosa asked again, exasperated as she looked to Varric, then to Sera, Iron Bull, and lastly Blackwall behind her.

It was Iron Bull who answered her, rising to his feet with a grunt from where he'd crouched near Dorian, who seemed to be sleeping now. "No one else saw what started it—just Tal and Dorian. Tal left the tavern and didn't come back, so Dorian went after him." Iron Bull's one blue eye looked a bit bleary and Rosa realized he and the others must all be more than a little intoxicated still. "I had a…" He grunted, grimacing. "Bad feeling about some solider types we saw on the way in. So, after a minute or two, I decided to go after Dorian—with Blackwall as backup."

"That's right," Blackwal agreed, nodding somberly. "And when we went to the latrines we saw no sign of either of them."

"Heard shouts from the woods behind the tavern, though," Iron Bull explained and then added with dark humor, "And not the fun kind of shouting, either."

"Aye," Blackwall said. "I went back inside to get Varric and Sera while Bull went on ahead."

"And that's when I found the soldiers we saw outside the tavern earlier hauling Tal away," Iron Bull went on. "They were going through the trees, heading south. There were five of them and they had Tal bound and trussed like a deer. I took out two of them before they could react."

"We caught up a few minutes later," Blackwall said, motioning at Varric and Sera. "Finished them off. We found Dorian just inside the tree line. Bull rushed him here when Tal seemed too confused to heal him."

"I searched some of the soldiers' bodies before we left," Varric announced, moving away from his own spot at Dorian's side. He dug through his coat and extended a folded note, crinkled and damp with blood. Rosa accepted it and pried it open carefully to avoid smearing the ink inside or tearing the fragile sheet. She frowned as she found herself staring at two ink images of herself and Tal.

"It looks like a wanted poster," Varric said, chuckling dryly. "Except it's blank."

"Well," Rosa growled as she continued staring down at the note. "That's just great." Glancing between her companions again, she asked, "What kind of soldiers were they?"

"Orlesian deserters," Blackwall said. When everyone shot him curious stares, the Warden elaborated. "They had Orlesian military tunics on beneath the generic coats and mail. But all the fighting's in the south, deep in the Dales. My gut says they ran."

"They _did_ have thick Orlesian accents, too," Iron Bull added.

"Why in the Void would Orlesian deserters carry around a wanted poster for me and Tal?" Rosa demanded, shaking her head. She resisted the desire to ball up the note and instead closed it with care. Punching something would feel _great_ right about now, though.

"We will find out, Inquisitor," Cassandra reassured her, sounding somber. "But for tonight I'd suggest we double the watch and let Dorian and Tal rest."

"Agreed," Solas piped up from where he had taken over primarily in supporting Tal, who'd begun to slump again with exhaustion. "I will share my tent with him—if you don't mind, Inquisitor."

"I don't mind," Rosa replied with a dip of her chin. "You'll have more mana to help him if he needs healing suddenly."

A slight smile tugged on one side of Solas' lips and then he turned and guided Tal with him. "Come along, _falon._ Let us retire for the night."

"When did you get back, _babae?"_ Tal asked him, confusing Solas with their father yet again, apparently.

"I never left, _falon,"_ Solas replied gently.

Watching them go, Rosa saw Cole trailing behind them, as if he too wished to share their tent. The medics grunted from nearby and Rosa turned to see them trying to lift Dorian's weight between themselves. Iron Bull stepped in to aid and all the strain left their expressions as the big Qunari took over. They hauled Dorian's limp body toward his tent and Iron Bull crawled inside to watch over him for the night.

Rosa's eyes felt heavy as she made her own way to her tent, though her mind hadn't yet stopped whirling with alarm and dull anger that she hadn't been around to protect Tal herself. Still, it didn't keep her from falling immediately into a deep sleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Why exactly are you doing this?" Hawke demanded. "What do you get out of this?"

"The Elder One commands the Blight. He is not commanded _by_ it, like the mindless darkspawn," Livius said. "The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool."

"Somebody's certainly a tool," Varric snarled under his breath behind Rosa and she snorted with amusement, even though it made her stomach lurch sickeningly.

"I'm entirely certain the tool is Livius," Dorian added in an aside to the dwarf.

* * *

Solas' song and dance here is actually closer-ish to the truth than he's come before. Fighting the Forgotten Ones and their ilk like the Formless One _is_ on his to-do list and he _does_ think it's too dangerous to involve Rosa. He's working his way to a real confession, I swear!


	22. The Western Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa takes her crew to face off with Livius Erimond, to discover how Corypheus has ensnared the Wardens.

The next morning dawned cool and windy, but with no sign of rain mercifully. Dorian was too weak to ride so he joined the scouts and soldiers escorting a supply wagon. Iron Bull and Cassandra prepared a spot for him where he could lay flat and rest. Tal, meanwhile, was still groggy and pained by his head. Solas took charge of him, riding with Tal tucked up in front of him. Rosa spent most of the day craning her neck to check on him and finding her brother looked pale and exhausted, slumped against Solas' chest and swaying with the horse's canter.

Her own fear of horses had diminished as the months passed and she was forced to ride on them repeatedly. But now Rosa felt that same crushing, cold weight on her shoulders—though she knew it was fear for her brother that plagued her rather than the phobia of being thrown. He hadn't been coherent enough to explain what had happened that morning, but he _did_ show improvement in that he knew where and _when_ he was again.

They set a relentless, grueling pace through Eastern Orlais, wary of whatever group had attacked Tal and Dorian and eager to put some distance between them and that spot. By sunset they were already swinging south into the deserts of far western Orlais. It would still be days before they reached the area where they knew Hawke and Stroud waited for them, but the journey was gradually coming to an end.

By evening Dorian was well enough to recount what he recalled of the attack.

"They didn't say much," Dorian said, his voice a touch haggard. His usually lustrous skin looked pallid and dirty in the firelight. There were still bloodstains on his clothes, something he had lamented to anyone who came near his resting place on the supply wagon that day. "That's hardly surprising, of course. Cretins like that are typically so lacking in brains they can barely string together two words, let alone whole sentences."

"Were there any clues as to why they attacked?" Rosa pressed. They were sitting around the campfire as the sun went down, casting its last red-orange rays. Many of the others were scarfing food down, ravenous as wolves, but Rosa found she had little appetite and just let her bowl of stew sit steaming on her knee.

"Honestly," Dorian said with a little shrug. "It all happened so fast I can't remember." He scratched at his head, and wrinkled his nose. "I believe…I _might_ have heard them spouting drivel about elves. And they clubbed Tal over the head first. They jumped us, actually."

"Tal was their target," Rosa intuited, nodding. "Just like I suspected."

"But why?" Sera asked, shrugging. "What would they want with Treeface?"

"It probably wasn't Tal they truly cared about," Blackwall said with a grunt as he wiped at his mouth and combed a few fingers through his beard to clean out any wayward food bits. "Probably took him to use against the Inquisitor."

Rosa frowned, remembering the bloodstained note Varric had given her. She was about to say something about it when Varric did it for her. "I don't know, Hero. I found a wanted poster on one of them that had a picture of both Violet and Stoic. Pretty detailed, too. It had their tattoos and it looked accurate."

"Wanted are you now?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow as he looked to Rosa and chuckled. "Whatever did you and that troublemaking scoundrel brother of yours do, hmm?" The way he'd said _troublemaking scoundrel_ sounded more like he'd meant to say _dashingly sexy. _

Rosa snorted. "Knowing Orlesians breathing was probably enough to make them hate us because we're Dalish."

"But _who_ wanted you?" Iron Bull asked, shaking his horned head. "Was there anything on the poster at all?"

"Nope," Varric said and Rosa nodded once in confirmation. "Nothing on the poster at all. Just their images. That's the weird part."

Solas spoke up then. "Not if the men were hired mercenaries sent specifically to abduct both the Inquisitor and Tal."

"That's what I was thinking too," Iron Bull said. "When I fought on Seheron the higher ups used to give me sketches of people I needed to watch for—ringleaders and troublemakers." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "You hand out posters like that when you don't need your soldiers to know anything about their target. They have their orders and they have a sketch to make sure they nab the right guy."

Rosa gazed at the tent where she knew Cole was watching over Tal as he slept. He'd eaten a small amount before retiring to sleep but overall the pain in his head made him queasy and exhausted. He'd done little but rest. As long as he did all right tonight Cassandra believed they could heal the injury with magic come sunrise.

"So…" Sera said, smirking from across the fire in Dorian's direction. "What were you and Treeface doing out there? Together. For like half an hour…" She snickered, the insinuation blatantly obvious.

Rosa felt her own cheeks flare with heat. She was certain she knew exactly what kind of distraction her brother and Dorian had been up to.

"My dear Sera," Dorian said, thrusting his chin in the air. "I know this may come as a shock to you, but we were having a conversation. Because _some people_ quite enjoy using long sentences that involve multiple syllable words. I know that's not something you can comprehend, of course, but I'm sure you're accustomed to that."

"Oh shove off, liar," Sera said, twittering. "You were sticking each other." Altering the tone of her voice and adopting a mocking accent, she said, "Oh, Tal! Yes! Don't stop!"

"Enough, Sera," Rosa said, covering her face with one hand. The last thing she wanted was to consider her brother's sex life.

"What?" the other elf asked, grinning mischievously. "You _know_ I'm right, yeah? Course I'm right."

"You're right, Buttercup," Varric said, nodding to her as he swallowed the latest spoonful of stew. "Doesn't mean we need to talk about it."

"Agreed," Cassandra said with a disgusted huff. "We have far more pressing matters to consider."

"Tal and I are merely friends," Dorian scoffed. "I'd appreciate it if you kept such immature _insinuations_ to yourself." Sera sniggered at him from across the fire and, aside from glaring at her, Dorian made no further protests as he too turned his attention to his meal.

The next morning Solas healed Tal, relieving his lingering head pain and returning him virtually to normal. He still claimed not to remember the attack or the night before and afterward. The blow to his head had apparently scrambled his memories to the point that he remembered even less than Dorian.

The lack of information from both Dorian and Tal was disturbing. Rosa asked Cassandra to draft an update to send by raven to Leliana at Skyhold, seeking further information. It seemed the spymaster might be their only chance of discovering the truth. Rosa just hoped there was enough to go on.

The days of traveling blurred into one another with only the landscape changing. The dried grasslands gradually changed to scrub and then transformed into cold dunes. A savage wind kicked up endless dust and the horizon was hazy with it. Rosa's throat was dry and scratchy from the dust caught in it and soon she'd secured one of the scarfs from her saddlebags and wound it over her head to filter the air she breathed.

Soon they saw the enormous black scar cutting over the land, ugly and raw from the taint. Here the land had never recovered from a Blight—Rosa couldn't remember which one—and stood like a stain on the land. It was a permanent reminder of how close Thedas had come to apocalypse with each Blight.

Only the Wardens had driven the Archdemon's Darkspawn horde back with their sacrifice. Rosa had always admired such bravery. She found herself shooting Solas little resentful stares across the campfire at night, wondering if his cure for Blight, whatever its details, could be as bad as he claimed. She knew from his frequent disparaging of the Wardens that he disapproved of their methods but he seemed rather mum as to _why._ She filed it away as something she needed to question him on.

They finally reached the Western Approach, some miles outside Griffon Wing Keep, an outpost between the lookout point where Hawke would meet them and Adamant Fortress. They set up camp in the gullies, beside a pool of relatively clean water. The little speck of green that spread out from the spring allowed a few small trees, grass, and some bushes to take root.

Among the plants around their campsite Rosa recognized deathroot, a rare herb her birth clan had only been able to obtain by trading with humans or with other clans during the Arlathvhen. Clan Naseral and clan Lavellan had both used it to poison their arrows. She wanted to stop and gather some to send to both clans as a gift, but the meeting with Hawke came first and foremost.

They stayed a night at camp while the scouts went ahead to check the area and the next morning dawned early. Rosa rose just after dawn to visit the pool they'd camped near to scrub her face. The water was bitingly cold, making her shiver in the already chilly morning. A few of her other companions did the same—Varric, Solas, and Dorian. Cassandra had washed up first, right at dawn. Tal was last, scrambling from his tent to splash water on his face before Rosa made her final selection for who she would take with her once the scouts returned with their report. Sera, Blackwall, and Iron Bull were content to stay grungy another day, it seemed. Cole probably didn't need to bathe.

The scouts returned, dusty and drooping with exhaustion, but with the news that Hawke was indeed waiting and there was nefarious activity at the outpost. Rosa picked Blackwall for his connection to the Wardens, Varric for his sharpshooting and connection to Hawke, and Solas because…well, because he was _Solas. _

She expected Tal to fight her decisions, but instead it was Dorian.

"I'm sorry," the Tevinter said in his crisp, eloquent voice. "I must have misheard you. Did you just tell me you're _not_ taking me to meet with this Venatori agent? This _Tevinter _Venatori agent?"

Rosa stared him down, unflinching. "Yes. You heard me. You almost died a few days back. I'm not putting you—or my brother—" She shot Tal a stern look. "—into danger until I'm confident you're both completely healed."

"You understand I may _know_ this filth?" Dorian continued, as if he hadn't heard her reasoning at all. "Personally? I may know something vital about him that will help you. I'm sure I'll have valuable insight."

"I said no," Rosa told him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Stay at camp. Both of you. Get some rest."

Tal smirked at her. "Don't need to tell me twice, _asamalin._"

Dorian scowled at the other man. "You're certainly not taking this well, are you?"

"Oh, not at all," Tal said, making a show of stretching. "I'm so torn up that Rosa doesn't want me to go traipsing around through the dust and through hordes of phoenixes, quillbacks and verghests."

"You _should_ be," Dorian grumbled. "If I know anything about my fool countrymen there will be blood magic involved." He faced Rosa again, expression somber. "Please, Inquisitor. I joined the Inquisition to prevent my idiot countrymen from furthering the usual clichés about us. I can't very well do that sitting at camp, can I?"

Rosa huffed in a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Come along—but you're to take it easy, do you understand?"

"Of course, of course," Dorian quipped with a wave of one hand. "I am the very definition of relaxation, I assure you."

"No you're not," Tal put in, still smiling knowingly at the other man. "You'll hate yourself for begging to go two minutes after you leave camp."

"Nonsense," Dorian rejoined, smirking now as well. "I will lay blame where it's due. _I'm_ not at fault for this wretched place. The Darkspawn horde's taint created this wasteland."

Tal examined his fingernails nonchalantly. "And who was it again that unleashed the Blight that created the darkspawn? I always forget…."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Fine. You're right. But that only proves my earlier point. Men of the Imperium created this mess; we must be involved in righting it."

Rosa sighed, growing impatient. "We can blame the wind and the sand and the Blight on Dirthamen for all I care." Behind her, standing beside Blackwall, Rosa heard Solas scoff and had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. Tal also let out a little snort. They knew what these humans didn't—that Dirthamen _did_ have a hand in the Blight. Although, according to what Tal had told her, Solas claimed there were two different kinds.

"Let's just get moving," she said and pivoted round, her feet scraping on the rock beneath her.

She led her people through the gullies, sand shifting with their every step. They found signs of banditry in the busted cart that'd been stashed near an abandoned mine. Ravens and other scavenging birds flew clear of the corpses as they moved by. Rosa saw the remains of footprints in the sand around the cart and knew her own people had likely scouted this wreck already. They wouldn't have found anything, of course, as it was clear the bandits or Venatori or red Templars or whoever had attacked the caravan had plundered everything of value.

"Damn bandits," Varric growled.

"Aye," Blackwall agreed, blue eyes narrowing above the darkness of his beard. "They traveled too lightly," he guessed. "But we should still be careful."

"Agreed," Rosa said as they set off again, following the route of the gullies.

Sandstone walls bordered their path for some distance until they reached a place where the ground fell away in a steep incline. Rosa smelled water, sweet and intoxicating, on the wind. As they reached the ledge she peered over it and gave a whistle. "I hear water. A lot of it."

"Did you want to take a little swim before we meet with Hawke and his Warden friend, then?" Dorian asked her in a lighthearted teasing voice.

She shrugged and shot him a smirk. "Maybe after."

"If it isn't Blighted," Blackwall grumbled.

"It smells pure," Solas put in. "But we have little time to delay."

"Spoilsport," Dorian quipped with a cluck of his tongue. Solas ignored him, though Rosa didn't miss the slight souring of his expression.

They followed the path as it hugged the sandstone to their right and the sound of water trickling down and to their left filled the air. The smell of it was a pleasant relief compared to the constant grittiness from the dust. But, as they rounded a bend in the path and saw a magnificent tawny arch of rock high overhead, the scent on the air became foul.

"What the _fuck_ is that smell?" Blackwall complained, nose wrinkling.

"Sulfur," Solas supplied the answer. "I believe—"

He never had a chance to finish as a high-pitched animal cry tore through the sky. Rosa gasped and looked up into the cloudless blue sky as an enormous shape peeled clear of the high rock to their right and leapt to the archway stretching over their path. Dust and pebbles tumbled down in a hail, clattering. A hot wind stirred up more dust as the beast flapped gigantic, leathery wings and let out another gurgling roar.

"Shit," Varric muttered. He had Bianca out and aimed.

Rosa realized she'd grabbed for her staff as well without even realizing it. Her heart hammered as the dragon pivoted and, with a thunderous whirlwind from its wings, sprang into the air. It flew off and rapidly out of sight.

Dorian was the first to react, letting out a long breath. "Well, that's a relief. Although, I'm sure the Iron Bull will be distraught to hear about this."

"He'll want to fight it," Rosa agreed with a chuckle as she re-secured her staff to her back. She remembered all too well how excited Iron Bull had been when he saw the dragon in Crestwood fly over them when they were on the dam. Rosa's own pulse picked up anew at the thought of taking on one of those scaly beasts. Their bones and hide were worth a fortune and made the finest weapons and staves around. There was nothing better—aside from ironbark, maybe.

"That would be inadvisable," Solas said in a chiding tone, as if he could sense her temptation.

Rosa scoffed playfully and threw him a mock glare over her shoulder. "Dorian's right. You really are a spoilsport."

"If you mean that by expressing common sense I am ruining your dubious idea of fun, then _yes,_ I am a _spoilsport,"_ Solas retorted, equal parts irritation and amusement in his voice. "I shall take that as a compliment."

Smirking at him a moment longer before she turned round to resume their trek, Rosa laughed. "Whatever you say, flat-ear. But I'm sure you'd have fun fighting a dragon, too."

"I see no reason we must engage one," Solas insisted. "It is far too dangerous."

"Dragon bones make the _best_ armor and weapons," Blackwall said. "I think that's a pretty good reason."

"I'm with Chuckles on this one," Varric said with a shudder. "Last thing anyone needs is to be roasted alive or swallowed whole or—" He broke off as they saw the sulfur fields ahead. "Whoa, that reeks!"

The bubbling of boiling water tickled Rosa's ears as she stared through the yellowish fog, sneering at the acrid smell of sulfur fumes. She felt dizzy as the scent swarmed in her nose and, following the switchback of the path, turned away as she started coughing. "Definitely not going that way!"

"I second that," Dorian added, also letting out a hacking cough.

They headed away from the arch and the sulfur fields and into the rolling sand dunes outside of the Warden watchtower. They hadn't gone far when a reptilian hissing filled Rosa's ears. Blackwall let out a grunt behind her and pointed up the nearby hill to their right. "Phoenix!"

A grayish creature lunged out at them from the shadow of the slope. Rosa threw up a barrier as she grabbed for her staff and Solas did the same, erecting shields over everyone else. Dorian unleashed fire at once, letting out a cheerful laugh. "Ha ha! I could do this all day!"

Rosa snorted at his enthusiasm as she launched Fade stone at the phoenix. It was already aflame from Dorian's attacks and let out a terrified screech as it fell to the sand. It had a strange, ragged jaw that matched its seemingly malformed body. It walked on two legs and its arms had become a pair of pseudo-wings that it flapped in a scramble, trying to retreat. But it was too late as Blackwall charged at it, shield bashing the beast. As it tried to rise again, snapping at Blackwall, Varric's bolt slammed into its neck. The phoenix fell suddenly limp, dead. The bolt had severed its spine.

"Shit," Blackwall groaned, wafting his sword and then his shield through the air, as if trying to dilute a foul smell. "That thing reeks. Are we sure it's the sulfur and not this?"

"It's both, I'm sure," Dorian said. "And you may also be smelling a little of yourself, Warden."

Blackwall frowned at him. "Very funny, Tevinter."

"Boys," Rosa scolded as she tucked away her staff again. "We can bicker about hygiene later. Let's move."

They headed into the dunes, passing sandstone bluffs and half-crumbled buildings of dusty, tawny-colored bricks. The watchtower came into view as a dark, shiny spire sticking up from the golden sands at the edge of the precipice that marked the Blight tainted abyss. A bridge stretched out to it, scrubby bushes dotting the sands around it. No one spoke as they approached, but already Rosa could see figures in the structure, amidst the Tevinter statues. Further out, in the shadow of the half-collapsed remains of a guardhouse that marked the start of the watchtower's bridge, Rosa saw two familiar shapes: Hawke and Stroud.

Rosa's scouts had made contact with these two the night before by raven and runner, calling on them to move into position to meet with Rosa today. Now they were lingering at the entrance, which was apparently unguarded. The Wardens and their Venatori friend had little fear of being interrupted it seemed. The sight of it made Rosa's blood flush cold with dread. Whatever was happening here the Venatori agent's confidence was a bad sign.

"I feel like this is a trap," Rosa grumbled as they closed in on Hawke and Stroud.

"Might be," Blackwall agreed. "Only one way to find out."

She nodded more to herself than to him as she came within speaking distance of Hawke and Stroud. The Warden was the first to speak in a quiet voice. "I'm glad you made it, Inquisitor. I fear they've already started the ritual.

"Blood magic I'd wager," Hawke growled with a disgusted sneer. "You can smell it…or see the corpses."

"Lovely," Dorian quipped, already grabbing for his staff. "What did I tell you?"

"You take point," Hawke said, gesturing at Rosa and her companions. "I'll guard your backs."

Rosa nodded and then turned to regard her entourage. "Is everyone ready for this?"

"Ready enough," Varric replied with a dry chuckle that became a shudder. "Andraste's ass, I _hate_ blood magic."

"You and every sane person alive," Dorian rejoined.

"Cut the chatter," Rosa scolded them. She motioned at the bridge. "Let's get this over with."

Hawke stepped aside, allowing Rosa and Stroud to walk first onto the bridge. Rosa passed out of the sunshine and through shadow, then back out again as her feet scuffed over the bridge's stone. She heard her companions and Hawke following close behind, booted feet crunching on the grit. Except, of course, for Solas, whose bare feet made the same rough whisking noise as her own.

The watchtower ahead had a greenish haze lingering about it, reminding Rosa vaguely of the sulfur fields they'd passed. The cause, however, was far from innocent she saw as they ascended the long stairway to find half a dozen warrior Warden corpses dead along one side of the watchtower's railing. Blood spray and splatter littered the grayish stones and flies buzzed, drawn to the scent of death. Rosa's skin prickled painfully as she saw a line of simplistic demons, newly summoned from the Fade and bound to mages using blood. They stood together to one side and a ratlike man dressed in the Tevinter style stood on a dais ahead of them all like a conductor leading an orchestra.

There was one Warden warrior left alive and he seemed…terrified. Rosa had expected the Wardens were mindless at this point, slaves to Corypheus and the Calling. Instead she saw this warrior shying away from his mage comrades, hands lifted in defense and voice pleading with fear as he begged: "Wait…no!"

Ratty Venatori on his dais said, "Warden Commander Clarel's orders were clear."

"This is wrong!" the warrior protested.

"Remember your oath! In war, victor. In peace, vigilance. In death…"

The mage prepared to do the sacrifice had snuck up on the warrior in the second his comrade's back was turned and, as the man whipped around he quickly administered a killing blow. The warrior cried out, slumping as his blood splattered the stones. He fell back as the red of blood magic, drawn from the warrior's life force, hung in the air to power a green portal that coalesced from the haze lingering over the watchtower. A rage demon materialized, roaring, but the mage showed no fear as he moved to bind it.

"Good, now bind it like I showed you," Ratty Venatori said where he paced on his dais.

As the Warden mage and his new pet rage demon stepped aside, Rosa pushed forward. Her hands clenched into fists and her lips curled in a snarl. Stroud moved with her, his armor glittering in the sun. Behind her she heard Blackwall cursing as he took in the bodies of his fellow Wardens. Varric's Bianca clacked as he prepped her to fight.

"Inquisitor!" Ratty Venatori called to her from his dais. "What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service." He ducked into a bow with a little flourish of his hands that had no place on a battlefield at all.

"You are no Warden," Stroud said, stating the obvious.

"But you are," Livius huffed. "The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?"

Rosa spread her hands out, prepared to cast even without her staff. Already she could feel her mana bubbling with eagerness and tension. The demons' presence made her stomach acids curdle with nausea and a tight band of pain start at her temples. She needed to dispatch them quickly. "Are you going to yap at me as much as your master or are we going to get down to business?"

"What?" Livius asked, sneering at her. "No curiosity? Aren't you even going to try to sway these Wardens to your side, Inquisitor? Maybe garner a little sympathy?" He turned slightly and motioned at the line of Warden mages standing with their demons. "Wardens, hands up." The men obeyed in unison. "Hands down," Livius finished and let his own hand settle to his side again.

"Corypheus has taken their minds," Stroud said.

Livius clasped his hands behind his back, arrogant with his confidence. "They did this to themselves. You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked _everywhere_ for help."

"Even Tevinter," Stroud said, putting the pieces together.

Rosa fidgeted, hands opening and closing at her side as she watched the demons. They were passive currently, but slaved to the mages who'd summoned them they'd become hostile as soon as Livius commanded it. Rosa's neck felt sweaty and the chainmail seemed to pinch her. _I have to kill them quickly,_ she thought as the nausea in her stomach gradually increased. On the dais, Livius continued to prattle on, but Rosa hardly heard him as she focused on trying to calm her own reaction to the demons.

"…and together we came up with a plan. Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake," Livius said, outlying the plan as if he expected them to react by patting him on the back and congratulating him on how clever his diabolical scheme was.

At _demon army_ Rosa scowled with recognition and cued in on Livius again. "Old news there, rat-face. I saw the demon army bit coming from a mile away. Or rather, all the way back in Redcliffe." She heard a few of her companions react by snorting as they caught her meaning, but both Hawke and Stroud shot her confused looks.

But Livius' reaction was the best as she blinked and shifted from one foot to the other. "You _knew_ about it, did you? Well, then, here you are."

"Smooth recovery, asshole," Rosa told him, smirking through the dull pain in her temples.

Livius scowled at her and started to walk toward the short stairs leading off his dais. "This was a test," he said. "Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas."

"Not if I stop you," Rosa grumbled under her breath, bristling at Livius' arrogance.

"Why exactly are you doing this?" Hawke demanded. "What do you get out of this?"

"The Elder One commands the Blight. He is not commanded _by_ it, like the mindless darkspawn," Livius said. "The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool."

"Somebody's certainly a tool," Varric snarled under his breath behind Rosa and she snorted with amusement, even though it made her stomach lurch sickeningly.

"I'm entirely certain the tool is Livius," Dorian added in an aside to the dwarf.

"Tool _and_ fool," Solas snapped. "This is madness."

"As for me: while the Elder One rules from the Golden City, we, the Venatori, will be his god-kings here in the world," Livius went on, spouting his delusional drivel.

"Dream on," Rosa barked. "If your precious Elder One has his wish the only thing you'll rule over is red lyrium and ashes." Stiffening herself in preparation for the fight to come and steeling herself against the growing discomfort the demons caused her, Rosa grabbed her stave, clutching it in her sweaty palm so tightly that her knuckles flared white. "You think a half dozen mindless Wardens and demons is going to stop me from turning you into paste? Did Corypheus not tell you how I destroyed his army when I buried Haven and survived? It takes a lot more than this to do me in."

"He did," Livius said with a dip of his head and in that moment Rosa felt her stomach drop. She'd suspected there was something more to Livius than she'd expected, something that would give him the reassurance to sit here and blather at her rather than attack right away. "He also noted what he did to you at Haven."

Livius thrust out his right hand and it glowed red-orange. He curled his fingers down as, suddenly, Rosa felt the Anchor spark. It flushed hot, cutting through her with pain and tugging her toward the ground. She gritted her teeth, snatching her left wrist with her right hand to keep it under control as it shook violently.

Dimly, she heard Stroud, Hawke, and her companions reacting with gasps. None of them had seen Corypheus trying to remove the Anchor—other than Solas, of course. Rosa hoped there was something the Elvhen man could do for her now to wrest control of the mark from Livius. How was he managing this, anyway?

"The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again." He smiled to himself, smug and confident. "That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master."

Rosa glared up at Livius through the pain in her hand and in her head from the demons' presence. _Your master stole this from my people,_ she thought as rage scalded her from within, as hot as the Anchor crackling in her palm. _You stole this from Solas. _

"He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade," Livius went on, the spell still active in his right hand. Rosa's companions tensed, weapons drawn and ready to fight, but they hesitated out of fear and uncertainty. What might Livius do to their Inquisitor if they made a move?

"Oh, boohoo," Rosa snarled at Livius, though the arrogant little ratman pretended not to hear her. The magic in the Anchor settled then, despite the fact that Livius' spell hadn't seemed to have changed. Rosa found she could close her fist, feeling the pain tugging at the fine bones in her palm. It was the same sensation she experienced while closing rifts. If she closed on it and tugged back…

Grunting, she pushed herself to her feet, barely hearing Livius' ongoing rambling, and thrust her hand up at him. Calling the magic in her palm, she made a fist and jerked down violently, powering through the pain. There was a sharp _clank-bang!_ Livius cried out and the green, warped light of the Fade showed through the air between them. Rosa felt the Veil, twisting and warped, jerking on her mana core and making it pulse. The little tear in the Veil that'd allowed the Fade to show through momentarily closed almost as suddenly as it'd opened.

As Rosa glared across the watchtower to Livius' dais, she saw the little explosion of the tear had tossed Livius onto his back like a ragdoll. She grinned at him, hard and fierce. "You talk too much, Livius. Just like your master."

Seeing everyone arrayed against him, Livius lost his nerve. He scrambled to his feet and darted away. "Kill them!" he shouted at the Warden mages and their pet demons over his shoulder.

The rage demons roared, their flames rising at the command. The mages turned as one to face Rosa and her companions, hands and staves ready to cast. The shades hissed and slithered closer.

"Let's do this!" Rosa shouted and immediately tossed barriers over herself, Hawke, and Stroud. Dorian and Solas covered the others and one another. Rosa flung Fade stone at one of the mages, knocking him flat. Solas spun his staff to cast winter's grasp on the nearby rage demon. It shrank under the assault, weakened severely by the cold spell. Varric's crossbow clacked and another mage fell, a bolt through his right eye. Blackwall, Stroud, and Hawke charged forward with their swords held high. They clashed together as one into the line of shades slithering closer, hacking and spinning, shield bashing and kicking.

Wardens fell left and right, collapsing as Hawke, Blackwall, or Stroud cut them down. Varric's bolts stuck in the shades, slowing them up and sticking comically out of their hooded heads. Rosa, Dorian, and Solas worked on the rage demon and tossed barrier sup repeatedly over everyone else and each other. The fighting was heated for a minute but then quickly diminished as the demons dissolved into Fade ether and the mages died of their wounds.

In the silent aftermath Rosa panted and shivered as her body released its tension, returning to normal. She noted Solas had moved to her side in the fight as a protector, shadowing her. He had a layer of sweat over his pate, gleaming in the sunshine, but Rosa suspected it was from the fight and their long trek from camp and had nothing to do with the demons. How was it he always remained so unaffected by demons? He was no less a Dreamer than she was, after all.

She meant to ask him but Hawke reached her before she could, sheathing his sword. "So…that went rather well, didn't it?" he asked with a dry, humorless smile.

"You were correct," Stroud told Hawke, picking up some ongoing argument between them apparently. "Through the ritual, the mages are slaves to Corypheus."

"And the Warden warriors?" Hawke asked, brow furrowed. "Oh, of course. It's not _real_ blood magic until someone gets sacrificed."

"Erimond lied to the Wardens," Stroud said. "They are trying to prevent any future Blights."

"With blood magic and human sacrifice," Hawke snarled.

Stroud's expression was irritable as he retorted. "The Wardens were wrong, Hawke, but they had their reasons."

"All blood mages do," Hawke said, crossing his arms over his chest in a standoffish posture. "Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions…and it never matters."

Oddly, Rosa saw Solas flinch at the Champion's words but she didn't have a chance to consider what he might be reacting to before Hawke concluded: "In the end you are always alone with your actions."

"Elgar'nan's thrice-damned flaming asshole," Rosa growled at the two of them and heard Solas choke on the curse though she didn't stop to smirk at him no matter how much she wanted to. "I don't _care_ about assigning blame right now. We need to find that rat bastard Livius and toss him off into the abyss over there. Where in the Great Beyond did he go?"

"He's made his escape no doubt," Dorian put in. "Sneaky fellow. I'm sure he's gone to rejoin the other Wardens, wherever they are."

"I believe I know where the Wardens are, your Worship," Stroud cut in. He pointed off, across the bridge. "Erimond fled in that direction. There's an abandoned Warden fortress that way. Adamant."

Rosa nodded. "Then that's the first place I will send scouts to investigate. When we find that weasel…" She made a fist and slammed it into her other palm with a clap of flesh on flesh.

"No need, Inquisitor," Hawke put in. "Stroud and I will scout out Adamant. And confirm that the other Wardens are there. We'll meet you back at your camp when we have news."

"Let me send some scouts with you," Rosa said. "Just in case."

"I'd never turn down a spot of help," Hawke quipped, dipping his head to her. "My thanks, Inquisitor."

* * *

The journey back toward camp was slow and quiet after what they'd seen. Rosa felt gritty and tired after the nearness of demons. Her skin seemed numb and tingly, as if rubbed to the point where she'd lost all feeling. Being around the Lord Seeker—who was actually a demon—had drained her in the same way after just a few moments.

By the time they neared the archway over the path and the foul stench of the sulfur springs, Rosa let her thoughts turn to the tantalizing idea of investigating the water she'd smelled and heard deep in the gorge near this area. Her companions, however, were still caught up in the drama and horror of what they'd seen and now that a suitable period of silence due to shock had come and gone, they started bickering.

"I can't believe we would fall to this," Blackwall lamented, head drooping and voice sullen though with a hint of anger. "The Calling has driven them mad."

"The Wardens were mad to begin with by tying themselves to the taint," Solas said, the sharpness in his voice unmistakable.

Blackwall bristled. "What was that? You think making light of our sacrifice is—"

"I was not making light of it," Solas interrupted him. "I was lamenting that your order feels such stupidity is the only way to fight Blight."

Rosa glanced over her shoulder, slowing her walk as she tried to stare at both Solas and Blackwall as they continued walking along the path. Solas was treading a very dangerous, thin line here. What must it be like, she wondered, for him to see the modern world's strategy against Blight? Was it as frustrating for him as the Andrastian religion's censure on magic? She wished with a sudden pang that she could force Solas to come clean about his origins. If he could just share his knowledge of the Blight—whatever it was—he might help their world so much and save so many lives. Why hadn't he done so? Was it truly because he feared what he knew would be abused like blood magic if others learned of it? But if that was true, why did he criticize the Wardens' methods?

"And you know a better way?" Blackwall demanded, irritation making his voice gruff.

Solas was quick to deny it. "No, but there must be another method to—"

"Something you saw in the Fade?" Dorian suggested, his tone both mocking and curious.

"Yes, actually," Solas replied stiffly. "I have seen ancient memories from before the fall of Arlathan."

"Are you saying Blight existed _before_ the Magisters breached the Golden City?" Varric asked, sounding stunned.

Solas fidgeted slightly. "Yes. I believe it did."

"But the Fade is not accurate," Dorian countered. "You've said so yourself."

Solas frowned. "Yes," he hedged. "It was merely memory I saw, and ancient at that. It may indeed have been muddled. Past and present may have mixed together." They'd stopped walking now, everyone turning to stare down the so-called hedge mage apostate. "But so often the traditional line of belief is incorrect. It was only two years ago that the Rite of Tranquility was believed to be permanent. I cannot bring myself to believe that what I saw in memory was wholly incorrect."

"And what _did_ you see?" Rosa prompted now, shooting him a look she hoped pinned him hard.

Solas met her gaze without flinching. "Our people combating Blight." He dipped his chin. "But I do not know how. That was unclear."

"There is no evidence at all that Blight existed before the Magisters entered the Golden City," Dorian said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I have studied in the Imperium's finest libraries and read records from nearly two-thousand years ago. If Blight existed before the Old Gods lured the Magisters to the Golden City it would have been mentioned."

"Yes," Solas said sarcastically. "You must be correct because the Imperium clearly has recorded everything that has happened since the dawn of time."

The two men glared at one another until Rosa interrupted them. "Enough already." She stabbed a finger at Dorian. "Just because you haven't read about something doesn't mean it cannot be true." Shifting to indicate Solas with the same pointer finger, she said, "And you—lay off the Wardens. Their sacrifice has saved the world _five times_ now. So, unless you have some actual wisdom to share and not just unfounded criticisms—_shut up."_

"My criticisms are _not_ unfounded," Solas muttered, shaking his head. "Unless you agree that their insane plan to march a demon army into the Deep Roads is a sound decision."

"It just might be if the Calling they were hearing was the real thing," Rosa snapped, glaring. "I happen to have a lot of respect for the Wardens." She swiveled slightly to regard Blackwall and nodded her head in respect. The bearded human smiled and returned the gesture, his blue eyes warm.

"Killing the Old Gods before they are tainted is madness," Solas insisted, a slight snarl curling his lips. "For all we know it will only make matters worse once they are all dead."

"Five times killing the Archdemon has ended Blight," Blackwall pointed out. "That's all the evidence I need."

"Same here, Chuckles," Varric added with a grimace.

Solas frowned at them both but said nothing.

Watching the Elvhen man, Rosa sighed with frustration at the growing certainty that he _definitely_ knew what the Wardens were doing would worsen the problem of Blight. She stared at him, feeling a pressure in her chest that stabbed at her heart. _We need you, hahren,_ she thought at him, silently imploring him. _We need what you know. _

But she couldn't try and convince him here with the others.

"All right," she said with a deep breath in, only to scowl at the stench of sulfur that came with it. "Let's get back to camp." _And then I fully intend to return to the gully near here and have a bath._

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"What?" Rosa challenged with a smirk. "Are you afraid you'd have to see me naked if I got ambushed by spiders? Is that what you're afraid of?" At his unhappy and embarrassed scowl, Rosa let out a dry laugh. With a brief glance to Blackwall, who was pretending to find the cave more interesting than this conversation, Rosa switched to elven. _"It's nothing you wouldn't have seen before. Deal with it."_ Deliberately, Rosa began to tug at the restraints holding her forearm guards in place. _"You can stand guard with him or you can join me. I don't care which and I don't care who sees me naked."_

Already red faced, Solas reacted to her last word by spluttering. "Ros—Inquisitor, please…"

Dropping her right forearm guard to the sand with a plop, Rosa switched to the opposite side. "I've already made my decision, flat-ear." Her elbow guards came next and then she was fast picking at the straps for her shoulder guards. "Which will it be?"

* * *


	23. Bath Time in the Canyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa gets some unexpected insight into Tal's background with Manaria clan. And it's bath time!

When they reached camp deep in the canyons Rosa found Cassandra waiting on the outskirts, her posture anxious. "Inquisitor," she greeted Rosa with a nod of her head. Her gloved hands clutched several small scrolls that gleamed white against the dark leather. "Ravens arrived while you were away."

"Did you already read it?" Rosa asked, arching an eyebrow as she took the proffered scrolls.

"No," Cassandra said with a sharp shake of her head. "Well." She shifted her weight from side to side, revealing a touch of awkwardness. "I _did_ read the scroll Leliana tagged to my own attention as well as yours." Her brow furrowed slightly. "It is regarding what she's found about the attack on Dorian and your brother."

Rosa stopped her fumbling with the multitude of small scrolls and raised her head to meet Cassandra's gaze. "What did she find out?"

Cassandra frowned and her voice was sharp when she spoke, laced with disgust toward the men she spoke of. "Leliana has determined they were part of a group of Orlesian deserters who call themselves the Freemen of the Dales. They have grown increasingly organized in recent months and Leliana believes they have a connection to the red Templars and Corypheus."

Rosa grunted as she finally found the scroll tagged with a specific seal that _had_ tagged it as marked for Cassandra's eyes as well as Rosa's. The wax seal, although broken now, was in purple and the image was of a right hand. Rosa smiled as she lifted it up to the Seeker. "I'm guessing this is the scroll?"

Cassandra nodded. "Leliana marks my messages with that seal. I believe she is being extra cautious with this news. There's…" Cassandra's lips curled as she frowned. "Something is not right in the Dales. She believes it is connected with you." Cassandra fidgeted slightly with her hands, a mark at how uncomfortable the topic made her. "Because of your origins."

"Because I'm Dalish," Rosa said, bluntly. "My clan isn't from the Dales—but Tal's was." Tucking the other scrolls into a pouch at her waist, Rosa quickly unrolled the one with Cassandra's seal on it. Scanning quickly over the contents made her small frown deepen with bemusement.

Leliana reported that the Freemen of the Dales had laid claim to those lands. They wanted to cut themselves off from Orlais and form a separate nation. The idea of it made Rosa's guts churn with bitter hatred. Cowardly deserters claiming the rightful homeland of _her_ people? It made her blood boil. The desire to order Cullen to march troops in to slaughter the lot of them took her by surprise. Maybe Rogathe had rubbed off on her a little and now the spirit's righteous bloodlust and hate of cowards had become ingrained within her core, somewhere. She pushed it aside and read on.

The Freemen's agenda was obnoxious enough, but Leliana's scouts and spies, as well as Josephine's connections in Orlais, reported encountering rumors and more "wanted" posters. They were always empty, listing no details, yet Leliana had already been investigating this strange rumor when Cassandra reported the attack. As a result, she'd already gotten her hands on a fresh wanted poster and said its likeness to the Dalish siblings was disturbing. Her conclusion was that only someone who had encountered Rosa and Tal would be able to recreate their images so thoroughly and with such uncanny accuracy.

Their usual enemies made little sense as explanations for various reasons. Corypheus had only really interacted with Rosa briefly and Leliana doubted he could have rendered her likeness so well. He'd _never_ seen Tal. The Orlesian empress and her cousin Gaspard had no reason to circulate such drawings, either. They weren't _enemies_ technically, just unknowns. But they were _especially_ unlikely candidates because neither had had occasion to meet Rosa or Tal. The red Templar leadership, a man named Samson, hadn't met Rosa or Tal at all yet, so it seemed doubtful he could be the player they were seeking either.

Leliana's conclusion was, therefore, that the Freemen of the Dales had an association with someone else. An unknown enemy who had allied with both Corypheus and the Freemen. Whoever it was, they were interested in both Rosa _and Tal._ That was the part that made so little sense and left Leliana panicking.

"Leliana needs to know if you and Tal have any enemies we do not know about," Cassandra said, somber and quiet. "She believes whoever this person is, they have a vendetta against you both and have allied with Corypheus and the Freemen because of it." She hesitated, frowning and fidgeting. "The only connection either of us can see is that you are Dalish. Perhaps the Freemen are in league with the clans liv—"

Rosa cut off the Seeker with a harsh laugh. "Are you out of your mind, Cassandra?" She shook her head as she saw the wounded, stubborn look flash over the other woman's face, regretting her outburst. "I'm sorry. That was harsh. It's just that thought only tells me how little you and Leliana understand the Dalish. The Freemen could _maybe_ ally with one clan, but the clans are so _deliberately_ isolated…" She broke off, laughing again. "When we come together once a decade for the Arlathvhen, our leaders spend more time fighting than anything else. We can't agree on hardly anything—other than resenting the humans for taking away our homeland and enslaving us."

Rerolling the scroll, Rosa went on. "It's more likely that if my people are involved in any of this, it's by force. Someone could have hunted down my brother's birth clan to get his own mother to give them the description the artist needed to make the sketch." Speaking the possibility aloud made Rosa shudder with dread. She'd met Tal's mother when she visited his clan on her walkabout through Thedas, trying to find someone or something that could help her remove Rogathe from her the first time. Tal's mother was a gentle woman with a good soul, loving and easy to laugh.

She hadn't had much of a backbone though. Even in the short time Rosa had been there, she'd seen how easily the poor woman caved to the Keeper's demands and attentions. It was clear he'd never given up hope she would come around to bonding with him and casting Felassan aside. It was nothing short of a miracle the woman _hadn't_ caved one of the countless times Felassan was away. Of course, by the time Rosa had visited it was clear Tal was the obstacle holding the Keeper back from forcing Tal's mother to bond with him.

It seemed wholly likely that Tal's mother would have given a description of her son willingly, if asked. But, knowing _shemlen_ like the Freemen, chances were high that if clan Ghilath had come under their enemies' scrutiny Tal's mother would have delivered the information at the tip of a sword.

"But who would do this?" Cassandras asked, confusion thickening her voice. "Who would go to such trouble to hunt both you _and_ Tal?"

Tucking away the scroll and pulling out the others, Rosa gave a half-shrug and lied. "I don't know." As she picked through the other scrolls, looking for any that stood out, she asked, "Have you discussed this with my brother yet?"

"No," Cassandra said. "Tal has been working with the scouts to collect resources from the canyon."

"Is he still out?" Rosa asked, looking up from the scrolls as her heart involuntarily seized with instinctual fear.

"Yes," the Seeker replied. "But he was with Sera and Iron Bull and a dozen scouts. He is safe."

Rosa swallowed, forcing the fear down. Tal could take care of himself, especially in a group. She had to trust in that. He wasn't somewhere alone. "Very good," she murmured. "If you'll excuse me, Cassandra, I need to go read my mail." She smiled as she lifted the scrolls, most of them still sealed.

"Of course, Inquisitor," Cassandra said. "I will be in my tent if you need me." She strode off, boots hissing on the sand.

Clutching the scrolls, Rosa headed for her own tent and ignored the requisition officer's lifted hand, trying to catch her attention. _Not right now,_ she thought with a frown. A few moments later she'd ducked inside her tent and began unslinging her staff so she could sit on her bedroll. She untied the least comfortable portions of her Keeper armor—the metallic shoulder guards and the constrictive girdle at the waist, and the forearm guards. With those off she sat on her bedroll and began to go through the scrolls.

Most of the messages were minor and relatively unimportant, though nearly all of them required a reply. Rosa rolled her eyes at some of Josephine's requests for an opinion that she could relate to noble houses on this or that matter, usually something related to the Chantry and the Andrastian faith. If most of these clerics and nobles could _see_ her they'd recoil or laugh in her face. They wouldn't believe she could possibly be their precious Andraste's Herald. Some days it still astounded Rosa that _anyone_ thought her marked by the humans' divine figure. She wondered what the Dalish thought when they heard the tales. Did they even hear the truth that one of their own led a human religious group?

As she worked through the mail, Rosa used a small lap-desk to write out terse replies. Her ink was in a small glass bottle, mixed with a chemical that would make it shimmer red when held to the light to ensure her advisors could trust the replies were genuine and written by her own hand. They also had secret phrases to ensure Rosa could covertly tell them if she was being forced to write something against her will. Her advisors and their scouts and spies all had similar codes or phrases as well.

Rosa saved one scroll in particular for last. It had a heavier weight than the others and the seal was Leliana's but Rosa could tell from the bit of twine sticking out of it that this was no ordinary correspondence. Even with just a little of the twine visible, Rosa recognized its pristine white coloration. It was Dalish twine, woven from halla hair.

Breaking the seal on this scroll, Rosa found a second scroll spilled out and, sure enough, it had been bound in Dalish twine. Unlike Leliana's scrolls, the twine-bound message was made of thicker leather, sturdier than the goatskin type the spymaster used because it was made with cruder instruments. It was the same leather used in the aravel sails.

Picking up the halla leather scroll, Rosa sniffed it, trying to see if she could identify whether this came from clan Lavellan or clan Manaria. Every clan's crafter had a distinct way of preparing leather like this. The differences would be subtle, but Rosa was confident if this scroll had come from her birth clan—Naseral—she would recognize it immediately. She didn't and that meant it could still be either Lavellan or Manaria. She had written to both clans, after hesitating on whether she should contact Manaria's Keeper to inquire about Tal. It seemed a bit early for a response, though. Cullen's forces might just be arriving to protect clan Lavellan.

The twine was still sealed, but Rosa had little doubt Leliana had probably found a way to slide it off the scroll and then back onto it again. Shaking her head ruefully, Rosa turned her attention to Leliana's accompanying scroll.

_Forgive my intrusion, Inquisitor, _the spymaster's note read, _but I read this message before forwarding it to you. Commander Cullen's forces have not yet reached the Free Marches to aid your clan, so I was surprised to see unexpected correspondence from the Dalish. It was brought to us by way of one of my scouts returning from the Free Marches and is intended for Tal. _

Rosa clenched her jaw. This was a message from Manaria clan, then. And, technically, she should give it to Tal straightaway…

Before she'd even made the conscious decision, Rosa's fingers were already prying the twine from the scroll without breaking it. The twine had been secured around the scroll lengthways as well as over its middle, but it was easy to slide it off. Rosa suspected the Keeper had originally bound it with more twine to prevent this sort of tampering, but Leliana must have snipped that part and neatly removed it, allowing the scroll to be accessed with only a little patience and finesse and leaving no overt signs it'd been read.

Opening it, Rosa sucked in a breath as she found herself staring down at sloppy handwriting that, if the writer had been better trained, could have been elegant. It was easily legible, however, and the contents leapt off the page to her.

_Tal,_

_I received your letter with news about Arvin's death at the disaster that befell the Conclave. My heart aches for Arvin, but I am comforted his death was swift and the clan is grateful to learn you and your sister have both survived. We are saddened to learn, however, that you will not be returning to us soon. I beg you to reconsider. Please know that I will forgive you should you return home. The clan needs you. _

_I prepared the words above months ago when your earlier letter first arrived by messenger with the human's Inquisition. I have prayed to the Creators that we would hear more news from you soon, or simply see a messenger so that I could send this letter. But the season has long since changed and there have been no more messengers. I had no way to send my letter. _

_I can only assume that you have decided you will not return to Manaria. If this is true, I ask that you send a mage to us and perhaps some who might wish to become hunters or warriors. We have heard rumor that the Inquisition ended the mage rebellion by adopting them as allies. If this is true, you must have an abundance of mages and one of them must be of the People. We do not care if they are flat-ears. Our clan remains understrength and although you have chosen to abandon us, I ask that you do us this one favor that we may survive should something happen to myself. _ _We **must** have a First._

_I will send one of our hunters to the nearest city in the hope that he can pass this letter off to a member of the Inquisition. I pray it finds you and that you heed my request. _

_Mythal preserve you,_

_Keeper Nolava of clan Manaria_

"Fenedhis," Rosa cursed, scowling down at the Keeper's letter. _We do not care if they are flat-ears,_ she'd written and the words reverberated inside Rosa's skull. Nola had been a sweet-natured woman, who struck Rosa as quiet and practical. The clan had been severely understrength after slavers attacked them and took most of the clan's children and young adults. The current Keeper herself had been lucky to escape that fate, but the older Keeper had been killed in the raids, leaving Nola to assume control despite being no older than Rosa herself. She'd apparently decided that she wouldn't be picky in the face of possible extinction.

How could Tal have just abandoned them? The last she'd seen he'd been settling into his role as First and there'd been some growing chemistry between Tal and Nola. What had changed? She scanned back over the letter, searching for clues and settled on the second to last sentence of the first paragraph again: _Please know that I will forgive you should you return home._

"What will you forgive him for?" Rosa asked, shaking her head to herself. "What did you _do,_ little brother?"

Feeling dizzy with these questions, Rosa rerolled the scroll and began painstakingly re-securing the halla twine to it. She crumpled Leliana's note with it and made up her mind to pretend she hadn't read the letter when she passed it off to Tal. She'd see what he did with it and try to gently prod him into talking about whatever had happened with the clan.

Tucking the scroll into her bag for safekeeping, Rosa donned her armor in full again and grabbed her stave. Then she left the stuffy, hot air of her tent. Outside she found the camp busy with late afternoon activities as scouts and a few of her companions prepared dinner. Cole was with the horses, petting them and brushing them as they nipped at the green grasses growing around the spring near their camp. Varric was working on crossbow bolts _and_ fletching on some of Sera's arrows. Blackwall and Cassandra were going through field exercises in the shade of some spindly trees a short distance from the horses. Solas was sitting beside the campfire, leaning his back against a rock as he read some dusty, thick tome. There was no sign of Iron Bull, Dorian, Sera, or Tal.

Puffing out a breath, Rosa walked over to Solas and stared down at him. She waited until he turned his head to regard her, one brow arched. "Inquisitor?" he asked.

"I'm feeling elfy right now," Rosa told him, smirking as she crossed her arms over her chest. "And by that I mean I want to go collect some herbs in that gully we saw. You up for it?"

Solas closed the book and sat up. "I could accompany you, yes. But surely you need more than myself." He looked across the campfire to where Varric sat. "Master Tethras, perhaps you could—"

"I don't need to take half the camp with me, Solas," Rosa chided him with a frown. She knew him well enough to read the discomfort in his expression before he hid it. He was trying to evade alone time with her and they both knew it. Chances were high Varric and half the camp would see it too. Especially judging the dwarf's tight smile and the knowing twinkle in his eyes it seemed he was totally in on this rather unfunny, tiring joke.

"I really should finish these bolts and Sera's fletching," Varric said. Picking up one of the arrows in question, he ran a broad finger over the ragged feathers. "You know, Sera's a great shot, but she's terrible about keeping her arrows in good condition."

"Then perhaps Cassandra or Blackwall would be a better choice," Solas suggested, still holding the tome. "A warrior to balance—"

"Blackwall and Cassandra are awesome with sword and shield, but they're shit with herbs and you know it." Noticing that Blackwall and Cassandra had stopped their drilling at her conversation, perhaps hearing their names, Rosa tossed a grin their way. "No offense!"

"What's going on?" Blackwall asked, sheathing his sword and tucking his shield away. Cassandra did the same and they left the shade to approach the campfire.

"Nothing," Rosa said and made a shooing motion at them. "Sorry about that. Go back to beating the stuffing out of each other. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Cassandra threw her a dubious look but dipped her head. "As you wish, Inquisitor." She took off, heading for the spring—probably to wash the sweat off her brow.

Blackwall, however, lingered. "Were you looking to go back out, my lady?"

"I was, actually," Rosa admitted, smiling at him. "I saw some elfroot out there in that gully with the water that has my name on it. You want to come along and have a lesson on herbal gathering?" She waggled her eyebrows at him. If going with others was what she'd have to do to make Solas leave camp with her, then she'd do just that. She could always speak with him in elven if necessary, though it'd raise the others' suspicion for sure.

"How could I say no?" Blackwall asked, chuckling.

"Excellent," Rosa said and looked back to Solas. "C'mon, flat-ear. That book will be there when we get back. It's not going to up and walk away."

Solas sighed and rubbed one hand over his face. "Very well, Inquisitor."

* * *

Rosa plucked the mature leaves from a thick, juicy stalk of elfroot and tucked them into the pouch at her waist she carried for just that purpose. A few meters away Solas had knelt to harvest another similar plant. He acted with more delicate movement, careful to avoid harming the plant any further than necessary. Rosa admired his precision and the respect he clearly held for the herb's welfare. She'd left the immature leaves on the stalk of the plant she'd harvested, but she hadn't much cared if she left bits of twig for it to regenerate from. Solas, apparently, endeavored only to strip the leaf and to leave the twig behind.

Blackwall stood a few paces further up the slope, watching the ridge. His griffon helmet glinted in the light from the sun. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The wind hissed and moaned through the red sandstone of the canyons and the archway nearby. The land felt desolate and empty—but Rosa knew that was a lie. There were phoenixes and verghests and quillbacks and lurkers and hyenas patrolling the sands, ever hungry. Rosa had to admit that, although she'd wanted to go out with just Solas, Blackwall's presence _did_ give her a boost of confidence against a dangerous world.

But it _did_ complicate her plans. She could hardly speak with him now without Blackwall overhearing. Except she could just disguise it with elven, of course. Blackwall would wonder what they were discussing, but he'd likely assume it was regarding their rocky relationship as past lovers. That'd make Solas uncomfortable but…

Almost shrugging to herself, Rosa rose to her feet and slapped her hands together to get rid of the dirt and sugary plant juices clinging to her fingers. "Solas," she said and he straightened from his own work with the elfroot a little up the slope to look at her expectantly. _"Have you had a chance to speak with my brother?"_ she asked, using elven.

Solas shook his head. _"No, I'm sorry. Considering his injury I thought it best to allow him time to heal."_

She nodded, pinching her lips together as she debated sharing the contents of the letter she'd received from Keeper Nola of clan Manaria. Deciding it'd be better not to reveal that, Rosa instead moved to the primary thing she'd wanted to share with him outside of camp and well away from the others. _"Leliana says the men who attacked my brother and Dorian were called the Freemen of the Dales. She thinks the Dalish may be involved somehow and—"_

Solas snorted and Rosa paused a moment, smirking at his reaction. It was similar to the reaction Rosa had had herself when Cassandra shared it with her. They both knew that wasn't possible.

"_I know,"_ Rosa said, sobering. _"I'll set her straight. But she's trying to think of an explanation for how and why these thugs who attacked my brother had those wanted posters. As in, who would know both of us well enough to sketch us so accurately?"_

Solas was silent, but his jaw clenched and he didn't look away. The answer lay unspoken between them until Rosa uttered it at last. _"Raselan."_

"_The Formless One does possess the motive. Yet, it is still within the Fade. I have heard no rumor that it has crossed the Veil,"_ Solas said.

Rosa smirked at him. _"Do you get ravens whenever a spirit crosses the Veil, Solas?"_

He scowled. "No…" His shoulders slumped. "Point taken, Inquisitor."

"What are you two on about?" Blackwall asked, shooting them a mildly amused look.

"Nothing, ser Warden," Solas shot back before Rosa could make a reply. He sounded a little snippy and Rosa wondered if he held some sort of grudge for their little spat about the Wardens and fighting Blight earlier.

"C'mon boys," Rosa called to them as she turned and began to walk down the sandy slope into the gorge. The scent of water and the trickling sound of it lapping at the red sandstone walls sent a delicious little shiver through her. Blackwall and Solas trotted along behind her, keeping pace until they reached the water, then they split in different directions. Rosa moved to harvest the deathroot from the trees along the opposite sandstone wall while Solas knelt to collect spindleweed at the edge of the water.

"Nice little spot. The water looks clean and drinkable," Blackwall commented and then chuckled. "Didn't you say you wanted to go for a swim here, Inquisitor?"

Huffing as she broke off another crusty bit of deathroot, Rosa answered with a strained, "Yes."

"We could take turns, maybe," Blackwall suggested. "It's about time I had a bath myself I should think."

"Sounds like a plan," Rosa agreed.

When she'd finished with the deathroot, Rosa slipped out of the brush, between the scratchy tree branches, and surveyed the still water. Following the path it took down the half-circle shape of the gorge, Rosa saw the remains of a ladder on the far side of the canyon before the water disappeared around the bend. Walking along the muddy fringe where the water met the sand, Rosa followed the curve of the canyon to discover a deeper section and the black mouth of a cave.

"Creepy," she said, frowning at it.

"Indeed," Solas agreed sourly.

"I'd bet you ten royals there's giant spiders down it," Blackwall commented, gesturing at the cave opening. "Care to have a look?"

"Nope," Rosa said with a flippant shrug. "I'm just here for a swim."

"Inquisitor," Solas protested. "It is not safe."

Rosa snorted. "I'm not defenseless, Solas. If the spiders that I'd bet _twenty_ royals are down there decide to come lumbering out I'm sure I'd last long enough on my own until you and Blackwall ran to help."

"It would not be…" He broke off, his face flushing red.

"What?" Rosa challenged with a smirk. "Are you afraid you'd have to see me naked if I got ambushed by spiders? Is that what you're afraid of?" At his unhappy and embarrassed scowl, Rosa let out a dry laugh. With a brief glance to Blackwall, who was pretending to find the cave more interesting than this conversation, Rosa switched to elven. _"It's nothing you wouldn't have seen before. Deal with it."_ Deliberately, Rosa began to tug at the restraints holding her forearm guards in place. _"You can stand guard with him or you can join me. I don't care which and I don't care who sees me naked."_

Already red faced, Solas reacted to her last word by spluttering. "Ros—Inquisitor, please…"

Dropping her right forearm guard to the sand with a plop, Rosa switched to the opposite side. "I've already made my decision, flat-ear." Her elbow guards came next and then she was fast picking at the straps for her shoulder guards. "Which will it be?"

Blackwall cleared his throat and motioned back the way they'd come. "I…uh, I think I should go keep watch. Over there." He pivoted round on his booted heel and strode quickly around the bed and out of sight.

Dropping her shoulder guards with a clatter, Rosa saw Solas had hesitated, staring down at her accumulating armor on the sand. Muscles in his temples flared as if he was literally chewing over his options. Rosa unlatched her belt, releasing the girdle around her breastplate. Then, in rapid fire, she released the skirt portions, shimmying and kicking them to join her guards, belt, and girdle in the sand.

"You're still here?" she asked him, arching an eyebrow. "Made up your mind to stay, then?"

Solas' blue eyes lifted to hers and he paused a moment. She saw his gaze drop to look for a fraction of a second at the tight clinging chainmail over her legs and hips. In that brief moment she saw temptation and longing and…regret. Then he dipped his head and said, "I will be with Blackwall around the corner, Inquisitor, should you require aid."

Rosa frowned as soon as he turned and began to walk away, but she moved immediately to get out of her chainmail, taking out her frustration on it. She opened the clasps securing it in the back, slinking her way out of it. Unlike the rest of her armor, Rosa carefully folded up the chainmail and piled it atop the breastplate to avoid exposure to the sand and moisture. The last thing she wanted was to have that grating against her skin.

The smallclothes beneath all that she shed quickly and then, setting her hair loose, stepped into the water. It sloped off after the first few steps. The chill was enough to be uncomfortable, making her shiver and breathe a touch faster. Scrubbing at her scalp and then her arms, legs, armpits, and the bottoms of her feet, she imagined Solas' brief expression over and over again. She knew that if Blackwall hadn't been around the corner, aware that the two of them were alone together, he'd have given in.

Well, as the old saying went: if at first you don't succeed…try, try again!

* * *

As Solas rounded the corner of the little canyon and spotted Blackwall's broad shoulders ahead, watching the slope and the ridgelines above, the Warden asked, "Back so soon?"

Solas let himself scowl a moment before wiping the expression clean when Blackwall pivoted to stare at him over his shoulder. Steeling his spine, Solas pretended nothing was amiss and that he had no idea what Blackwall was suggesting. "Pardon?" he asked.

The Warden smirked at him. "I thought you'd stay and…keep the good woman company."

Solas inhaled sharply, letting annoyance spread over his features. "The Inquisitor and I have a purely amicable, professional relationship. Do not place any stock in foolish rumors you may hear from Varric…or Sera." He snarled the other elf's name.

"Well," Blackwall said with a dry chuckle. "Damn. I was hoping to earn fifty royals tonight."

Now Solas narrowed his eyes at the other man. "Excuse me?" Had he heard that right?

Blackwall inclined his head slightly toward Solas, dropping his voice. "I'm not supposed to let you know, but Varric started up a wager about you and the Inquisitor."

Solas felt his cheeks burning immediately with humiliation. He clenched his jaw and glared out his disapproval at Blackwall, which only seemed to make the Warden smirk even more through his thick black beard. He didn't want to ask for clarification, but the words slipped out anyway. "Regarding what, exactly?"

Facing the slope again, Blackwall made a choking noise in his throat, stifling laughter. "Regarding whether your dealings with the Inquisitor remain strictly professional, as you put it."

Solas scoffed, affronted. "Really? _Fenedhis! _Of all the juvenile, frivolous things to…" He cut himself off, grinding his teeth and glaring at the nearest partially harvested clump of deathroot.

Blackwall laughed. "Blame Varric, not me." He leaned a little closer to Solas. "Care to know the odds so far?"

"Absolutely not," Solas growled and, desperate for any excuse to get away from the Warden and the current topic, he stalked off toward the brush lining the other side of the gorge. "If you will excuse me," he snarled over his shoulder. "I have more important things to do than exchange idle _ridiculous _gossip."

Blackwall's laughter followed him as Solas slipped beneath the nearest branches and knelt to begin harvesting the deathroot there. He kept himself busy, collecting first the deathroot they'd missed earlier and then moving on to some blood lotus growing in the shallows. When he knelt in the shallows, the chilly water setting off gooseflesh on his legs, he could hear the splashing Rosa made around the bend as she bathed.

After about ten minutes of waiting in what Solas felt to be awkward silence with the Warden, Rosa finally reappeared around the curve of the gorge. She was only partly dressed, having apparently slipped into her smallclothes and chainmail and the Keeper armor's skirt. She carried the rest of her armor clutched clumsily in her arms.

"All right, boys," she said to them in greeting, grinning wide. "It's your turn." She shook out her hair and then tossed her head to knock the wet mass behind herself.

"Don't mind if I do," Blackwall said with a smile at her and a dip of his head. He cleared his throat, shooting Solas a sidelong glance, then strode past Rosa and around the curve in the canyon.

"Aren't you going to join him?" Rosa asked as she stopped on the sandbar nearby and dropped her breastplate, belt, and various metal guards down onto the sand.

Solas _did_ want to bathe. It'd been a week since they'd camped near a large enough body of water that he could fully immerse himself. He'd relied on unsatisfying sponge baths to keep himself clean all week. Yet he had no desire to bathe in Blackwall's company, far preferring a chance to be alone so that he could alleviate certain _other_ needs. His mortal body _did_ seem to have more powerful drives so that, even when despondent after leaving Rosa in the Free Marches, he'd found himself tortured with pent up sexual energy. It suddenly made entirely too much sense to him that Felassan had woken to this world and taken lovers so quickly and repeatedly. Alone, he'd shamefully relieved himself of those desires, though that brief satisfaction was anything but fulfilling. Bathing was typically his moment to give himself that brief release and he couldn't do that with Blackwall in attendance.

But it was more than a desire for privacy that kept him from following the Warden. Rosa was still partly unarmored and therefore unprepared in case of attack. And, if he left her, she'd be alone if she did come under attack. With all the countless times death had stalked her and with the presence of Venatori in the Western Approach on top of bandits and unpredictable wildlife, it seemed foolhardy to leave the single most important person in all of Thedas unguarded.

"Still here again, flat-ear?" she asked him as she began to finger comb her hair. With an irritable flick of her hand, she tugged out a snarl and, apparently deciding it was still too wet, she twisted it to wring out the excess water.

"I will remain until you are fully armored," Solas told her, tucking his hands behind his back. To keep on topic with the reason they'd supposedly left camp in the first place, he said, "I have gathered additional deathroot and blood lotus. This canyon has fertile soil."

"Yeah," she agreed, still working on her hair. "This is a nice little oasis." Her upper body was covered only in the chainmail and smallclothes—he assumed—beneath that. It clung to her enticingly, luring his gaze into following the dip of her slender waist and the swell of ample breasts. His gaze snapped back to her face when he heard her cluck her tongue and immediately felt his cheeks burn, worrying she had noticed him admiring her. "Go take a bath, Solas," she chided. "Otherwise Blackwall will think you're shy—or that you like being dirty."

Solas scoffed, turning his head to stare at the red walls and the pool a few steps to his right. "I do not care what he or any of the others think of me."

She chuckled. "Liar."

Solas was about to turn and glare at her, to make a retort insisting he spoke the truth, but then she lunged for him. Solas flinched, tensing as she pushed him and then he stumbled, arms flailing and feet kicking out against the wet sand. Gravity won out and he landed with a yelp in the water, flat on his rump and with a tremendous splash. Rosa stood at the edge of the sandbar, laughing.

The childish antics irritated him but staring up at her, seeing the glimmer of joy and hearing her peals of laughter, loosened something inside him. The water made him shiver, surprisingly refreshing, though of course he would now have wet breeches and armor. She'd pushed him into a mud hole in the Fade once, too. It'd been much easier to clean up after that, but still…

"Isn't the water nice?" she asked, grinning at him as she took a step into the water herself and wriggled her toes. ""Now you have to bathe."

Solas stared up at her, recalling the dream they'd shared so long ago when she had pushed him into a mud hole. He'd promised revenge playfully then, but he wasn't sure he'd ever exacted it. Plastering a friendly smile on his face, Solas extended one hand out. "Would you be so kind as to help me up, Inquisitor?"

"On one condition," she said, lifting her index finger.

"And that is…?" Solas asked, hand still extended and one brow arched.

"Call me Rosa." She reached forward and clasped his hand with her own, the flesh of their palms slapping wetly.

Solas grunted as she helped him up out of the water. It splashed and dribbled around them as he smiled at her, trying to hide his own mischievous lilt. "Very well, Rosa." Then he gripped her hand tighter and pivoted round to throw her into the water.

Rosa yelped and splashed into the pool, catching herself on her knee. She was silent for half a second and then let out a laugh. "Scoundrel," she called playfully and twisted round, splashing at where he stood, dripping on the shore.

Solas chuckled as he withdrew out of range. "Too slow, _da'len,"_ he taunted.

"I let you do that," Rosa retorted, still laughing as she lurched out of the water, splashing and sodden anew. She clucked her tongue in regret as she took in the wet brocade of her Keeper skirts. "Well, shit. I guess I get to be soggy tonight."

"As will I," Solas reminded her, smirking. His own rump was soaked and still dripping from his knees to the middle of his back. His backpack had absorbed a lot of water as well, weighing it down. His shoulders protested the greater burden and, seeing no reason he needed to carry it currently, he shrugged out of it.

"Worth it, though," Rosa commented and the warmth in her voice set off that damnable ache of longing inside his belly. Solas glanced up and saw that her grin had faded slightly, becoming less playful and more loving. His heart started pounding as all the emotions he'd experienced last winter raced to the fore, stronger than ever. This playfulness was something he'd not seen since their time in the Circle and it moved his ancient, careworn heart toward something dangerous and freewheeling, impulsive and joyous.

"Yes," he agreed with her, his voice emerging husky. He swallowed, finding his throat had gone tight. His chest seemed to have swelled, constricting his lungs. His stomach was tying itself into a big knot.

She was only a few steps away from him, close enough that he could just extend his arm out and pull her to him…

And, without conscious decision, he suddenly found himself doing just that. She moved for him when he reached for her, closing the gap without hesitation. Then the heat of her lips met his and her taste washed over him, sweet and more delicious than he remembered. He slipped a hand about her waist and she pressed even closer, her body melding to his so perfectly it was as though they had been crafted out of Fade ether for this very purpose.

She made a little noise of satisfaction, her breath sighing out against his lips. Solas felt her hands slide to his waist and then up to his back, her fingers deliberately caressing the outline of his spine, ribs, and all the muscles over them. Her lips parted for him and Solas explored her more deeply, sucking her lips and tasting her tongue.

A voice cut through the air then: "Am I interrupting something?"

They sprang apart so fast Solas' head was still spinning and his heart hammering wildly. He gawped, out of breath from the excitement, and stared dumbfounded for a moment at Blackwall, who'd emerged from around the corner almost fully clothed. The Warden clutched his breastplate, shield, and sword and wore a stifled grin on his face.

"Blackwall," Rosa said, recovering from being interrupted in an intimate moment far faster than Solas. She cleared her throat and cast Solas a brief sideways glance before she said, "So—the spiders didn't get you either, I see?"

"No, my lady," he said, smiling broadly now that Rosa had reacted smoothly despite the interruption. "I think our resident apostate should be able to manage just fine." He winked at Solas. "Pool's all yours."

Solas gave a stiff nod. "Very well. Thank you, ser Warden." He clenched his jaw and offered Rosa a dip of his head in acknowledgement. "Inquisitor." He strode off, trying to fight off the scalding heat of embarrassment creeping over his cheeks, down his neck, and up to his scalp. He heard Rosa strike up a conversation about the Wardens as he rounded the curve in the canyon, disappearing out of sight.

Swallowing a groan, Solas scrubbed his face and stared at the pool against the red sandstone walls and heaved a long sigh. Time and time again he gave in to desire. This was the second time he had kissed her since their paths had unexpectedly crossed again. Both times she had, inexplicably, reciprocated. Their confounding mutual attraction didn't seem to care that they had every reason to lay their ill-advised and doomed romance to rest. He had betrayed her, abandoned her after getting a child on her, and sentenced her to death at the hands of his Anchor. That was just the terrible things she knew about, not even mentioning her father's blood on his hands and his hidden identity.

None of it mattered to her, apparently. She still loved him. She'd said as much. On his end he'd never stopped loving her.

He stripped and entered the pool to bathe as quickly as possible, his mind still spinning with the memory of the impulsive kiss. His body, already titillated by the bath, reacted against his will. Flushing hot with shame, sexual frustration, and pent up desire, he gave in to his baser needs and quickly found release with his own hand.

Afterward, frowning at the sandstone walls, he cursed himself. _"Fenedhis."_ This could not keep happening. Yet, he already knew that history had an alarming way of repeating itself. Unless he evaded Rosa entirely or left the Inquisition, he would fall to temptation again and again.

He could only redouble his efforts and hope to endure until Rosa and the Inquisition defeated Corypheus. That would just have to be enough…

...Unless he told her the truth.

He needed to plot out the best way to do that, preferably feeding it to her in pieces. _Yes._ If he could reveal his true motives, not the ones ascribed to him by the Dalish and then gradually reveal more of his mission…

Yes, it _could_ work—but only if done right. It would take time and careful planning. But if he told her the truth slowly, she'd be more likely not to reject him outright. He wouldn't lose her but would instead gain a powerful ally…and lover.

There was no reason not to return her advances if he intended to tell her the truth. He should wait, he would _try_ to wait, but…

The heat of her lips against his swelled in his memory and made his mouth water. He knew himself too well and knew he would be weak. Just the memory of her again had him hardening despite the recentness of orgasm. Pushing his thoughts away to quiet his overeager body, Solas left the pool and dressed again.

When he rounded the bend in the canyon and saw Rosa and Blackwall still chatting about the history of Blight, he found himself smiling, feeling lighter than he had in…well…honestly, he couldn't recall. Rosa met his eye and returned his smile and the sight of it had his stomach flip-flopping. "All squeaky clean, flat-ear?"

"Indeed," he agreed. "And I survived the giant spiders."

"They must be sleeping," Rosa said, chuckling. "They're falling down on the job—missing out on my scrumptious ass. Not to mention the two of you."

"Perhaps they prefer dwarves," Blackwall said with a laugh. "Or Qunari."

"We could always bring Bull and Varric down here for a swim," Rosa suggested, grinning as she set off, heading upslope.

"An excellent idea, Inquisitor," Solas teased. "I have always wanted to study giant spiders."

"Then it's a date," Rosa said, laughing.

"Except you'll need to convince the Iron Bull to bathe," Blackwall said. He fell behind Rosa, moving to walk beside Solas. His blue eyes crinkled with humor as he matched strides with Solas and elbowed him in the side. "Thanks for earning me that fifty royals, Solas."

Solas immediately scowled and felt his face heat up. He bit back his retort and picked up the pace, moving to flank Rosa in the middle position. _Damn._ Now he was certain never to hear the end of this.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Over the clatter of boots in the enclosed stairwell, Rosa heard the Venatori mage at the top shouting. "We are ready to serve our god, Inquisitor! In this world and the next!"

Unable to resist, Rosa pressed herself against the left wall and yelled, "Then I hope you packed your bags, asshole! You'll be serving him from the other side!"

Arrows whistled as they flew by, clattering as they hit the wall next to her. Doubtless, they'd been aimed at her voice, missing Cassandra and her team by a wide margin. Rosa snorted. "You missed!"

From just behind her she heard Solas' voice growl, _"Fenedhis,_ Rosa. You are giving away your position."

She shrugged even though he wouldn't see it. "Worth it."

* * *

I quite enjoyed having a repeat of the mudhole pushing scene, but this time in reality. Anyway, Solas is finally going to come round. It'll take a hella long time, but you'll see him start feeding her more info now in the lead-up to unveiling the truth. Because in case I haven't said it before, this story WILL involve the truth coming out. I'm at "Here Lies the Abyss" now in writing so I have a fairly comfy lead on you all and some big plans are being set in motion!


	24. Griffon Wing Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa forms an unconventional plan for assaulting Griffon Wing Keep. Also, she confronts Tal when he lies about what's been going on with clan Manaria.

"_Asamalin,"_ Tal called, jogging toward her from across the canyon camp.

Rosa halted and waited for him to reach her as Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian shuffled by her to disarm themselves and rest after the long day they'd spent scouting about the canyons, slaughtering Venatori hiding in the area and fording into the flats within sight of Griffon Wing Keep. She dredged up a smile for her brother even as, almost against her will, her gaze swept the camp trying to find Solas. She'd let him join the hunting party rather than her own group today. There was no sign of him. He might not have returned yet with the other scouts.

Tal reached her, red faced from running, puffing a moment before he said, "Rosa, I need to ask a favor."

She shrugged. "Name it."

He drew in a breath, squaring his shoulders as he blurted, "I need you to recruit one of the elven mages who've joined the Inquisition to become First for clan Manaria." Wringing his hands, he added. "And I need a few non-mage elves who might like to join the clan to round out their numbers."

Rosa stared at him, recognizing this favor as being what Keeper Nola had asked for in the letter she'd surreptitiously read before passing it off to Tal just that morning. Now she feigned confusion and shock as she shook her head. "What? Aren't _you_ First? Why would you want some flat-ear from a Circle to replace _you?"_

Tal frowned, recoiling from her. He still had his hands out in front of himself, wringing them. "Because I'm not First anymore. The Keeper banished me for being away so long. That was what that letter you gave me said. But she's desperate for a First. There's no one else and the clan is weak…" He broke off, swallowing as his brown eyes flicked over her face, searching.

Rosa clenched her jaw and said, "You're lying." It was easy to let Tal think she'd felt that with her gift rather than having read the letter sneakily.

His shoulders slumped and he shook his head vigorously. "I'm not lying. She did ask for a flat-ear mage to become First."

"But she didn't banish you," Rosa said, glad that her brother had left her an easy loophole to challenge him. She pinned him with a hard stare, waiting.

He rolled his eyes and looked away. "What does it matter? She banished me kind of, yeah. That's not what's important." He glared at her. "Will you help or not?"

"Why don't you question her decision?" Rosa pressed. "You'd be a better First than anyone I could send."

"No," Tal growled, scowling. "I wouldn't. I'd fuck it up. I already have. I'm not even there. They need someone who isn't gallivanting around Thedas."

Rosa hesitated, her stomach twisting with sudden anxiety. "Do you want to return to your clan?" she asked quietly. "I don't want to keep you from—"

"No," Tal interrupted her, again shaking his head. "No, no, no. I don't want to leave you. I won't—not until you're safe and we can both go back to…wherever." He shrugged, apparently unbothered by the idea of being homeless. Tal could make a life for himself anywhere. He was as adaptive as water.

Tal motioned at her left hand. "Not until _that_ is dealt with."

Rosa smiled at him, her heart swelling in her chest with love for her little brother's devotion—even as the anxiety still left her stomach in a knot. What was going on with Tal that he would so easily reject clan Manaria? Could it really just be that he wanted to stay with her and the Inquisition that badly? Or was there something more?

"Tal," she said, edging closer and reaching out to grip his shoulders, squeezing. "I don't want the chaos and mess of my life to keep you from living yours. You always wanted to be recognized as First. You have that with Manaria. You have a future there—you just have to fight for it." At his glum look she gave him a little shake, trying to catch his gaze with her own. "I remember the way Nola looked at you while I was there. I saw the way you looked at her, too. Why would you just throw that all away? You can afford to be away from the clan as First. I'm First to Lavellan, remember?"

Tal heaved a sigh, still evading her gaze. "To be honest, _asamalin,_ I just wanted not to be treated like _shit_ back in my birth clan." Now he looked to her, a touch sheepish. "I had that as soon as I joined you."

"Then if being First is too much responsibility, send Nola a First but tell her you want to be Second," Rosa suggested.

Tal grimaced and drew in a breath. "I'll see if Nola agrees, but…" He screwed up his face and Rosa saw his cheeks had flushed red. "I…I need to go." He gestured at the tents. "I have to write her a response."

"I can help you," Rosa said, moving to follow him, but Tal immediately shook his head.

"No, no…" He was beet red, from his neck to his ears. "What I say to her is private." He glared at her suddenly. "Promise me you won't read it." Then, before she could reply, he snapped his fingers and added. "And promise you won't get any of your advisors to read it for you. I know how sneaky you are." He threw her a little glare.

Rosa smirked, chagrined, and dipped her head to him as she adopted a grave, somber tone. "I solemnly swear on my honor I will not read what you write to your Keeper. Nor will I have any of my advisors look at it and report back on it."

"And no _friends _either," Tal added, his glare easing into a knowing, suspicious look.

_Damn._ She sighed. "And I promise not to have any friends read it." Did Rogathe count as a friend? Technically he was a mentor. Spirits could be companions but they weren't as deep or complex as physical beings. Did that mean she could exclude Rogathe and not be breaking her promise?

_Splitting hairs, Rosa,_ she scolded herself. _Just let him have his privacy!_

As if Tal could sense her internal wrangling with the promise, he broke into a dry chuckle. "Look at you. I can see the wheels turning. Elgar'nan's fiery nutsack, can't you just stop meddling for once?"

Rosa grinned at him and shrugged as her eyes flicked to a scout who lingered a few meters away, trying to be polite even as it was obvious he was waiting for her to finish with Tal. "I can't help but meddle, _da'isamalin,_" she said. "It's my job as First and as a leader to oversee things personally whenever possible."

Tal snorted. "Yeah, but you couldn't care less who Varric is writing to while you obsess over me."

"I'm biased," Rosa said and playfully slugged his shoulder. "Now, get going before I think up a way to break that promise."

"You'd better not," Tal grumbled, part playful but also more than a little serious by his tone. He jogged off, heading for the tents, kicking sand up with his bare feet.

The scout pressed forward now, moving with purpose. He dropped into a bow from the waist, making Rosa roll her eyes at such formality. "C'mon," she said. "Don't do that. Just tell me what you need."

"Yes, your worship," the scout said, blue eyes flicking nervously over her. "Just got back from scouting round Griffon Wing Keep, Herald."

Rosa arched a brow with interest. "Yes?" She and her team had also been in the area, fighting the occasional troupe of Venatori and Darkspawn. Scouts had been lingering in the area since they'd first arrived in the Western Approach, taking immediate notice of the old Warden outpost as a potential permanent fort for the Inquisition's forces. Cassandra had already discussed writing to Leliana and Cullen to ask for troops to assault the keep and lay claim to it so they would have a base of operations to house their men in the battle to come.

Because everyone already knew that, regardless of what Hawke and Stroud found, it'd come down to a fight. A siege, specifically, of Adamant, where the Wardens were committing terrible crimes in the name of saving Thedas. Rosa suspected she wouldn't be returning to Skyhold again for _weeks_.

"There's a cave at the base," the scout said, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. "It's warded and there are some Venatori in the area guarding it but we think that cave's got to be their well. We could gain access and infiltrate it that way."

"You mean we can use the sneaky way in and surprise them," Rosa summarized, nodding. "Any idea of their numbers inside?"

"Formidable," the scout said with a scowl. "More of them are returning to the keep now that they know we're here."

Rosa hummed, pinching her lips together. A dark, dangerous idea sprang to life in her mind and she swallowed to keep herself from smiling at it. "Thank you," she said to the scout. "Is that all?"

He dropped into another bow. "Yes, your worship."

Rosa sighed again at his bow but didn't scold him for it. "Off with you—go get a drink and have a bath. Good work!"

He shot her a nervous, questioning look and then scurried off, posture tight. That mixture of awe and fear that some of the Inquisition's lower ranked people showed her in deference was…unsettling. Did he see her vallaslin or her ears anymore, or was she just a goddess to him, sent to battle evil from the heavens by Andraste herself?

Blowing out a breath in a raspberry, Rosa stalked off through the camp to sit beside one of the hearths where she could smell a lumpy stew cooking. Spooning some of the stew into a bowl for herself, she ate slowly as she mulled over the entertaining thought that'd leapt into her mind while talking with the scout. There was no way Solas would agree and Tal would think her mad as well.

Unless…

* * *

It was near dusk when Solas returned with the last of the scouts who'd been picking off Venatori in the canyons around their main camp. He'd deliberately stayed out longer than necessary, hoping to avoid as much downtime around Rosa as possible so that he would have time to think away from the distraction—and temptation—of her presence. His backpack was loaded with bits of paragon's luster and serpenstone and countless deathroot clusters he'd harvested.

"_Conniving little shit,"_ Cole muttered from just behind Solas. The sound didn't quite startle Solas, because he never lost sight of Cole the way the other members of the Inquisition—even Rosa, he noticed—did periodically, but Cole had been silent long enough that it did make him blink. Glancing toward Cole, he wondered silently at the boy's meaning and Compassion read him, jerking his head with its wide-brimmed hat toward Solas. Cole answered the question by continuing the reading: _"Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A snake."_

_Ah,_ Solas thought, finally recognizing who Cole was connecting with in this moment. Cassandra had not exactly been quiet with her distrust and anger with Varric.

"He didn't mean to betray us," Cole said. "He was just trying to protect his friend."

"You are correct," Solas told the boy. He nodded toward the tent he knew was Varric's, which they passed together as they moved for one of the hearths where Solas could smell a stew cooking. Mercifully, he saw no sign of Rosa.

"I don't like the music here," Cole said, sullen.

Solas smiled and reached out to lay a gentle hand on the spirit boy's shoulder. "Nor do I, Cole." The music Cole spoke of was the Blight, a discordant noise that most mortals couldn't hear. Spirits and demons, however, could. The entire Western Approach had been tainted by Darkspawn infestation. The scouts had even killed a half dozen of them earlier that day between slaughtering Venatori and hostile wildlife.

Solas could hear the Darkspawn, the ugly noise of the Blight throbbing through the air like a swarm of bees, but only if he concentrated in the quiet outside of camp. But to Cole it was probably excruciatingly loud and constant.

Then, abruptly, Solas saw Cole's blue eyes flick past him. He turned just in time to see Rosa had appeared, smirking as she thrust a bowl full of stew at him. "Eat up flat-ear," she said. "We've got places to go and people to kill."

"You aren't going to like it," Cole said in a light, fluttery voice.

Rosa grinned. "Yeah, you got that right, Cole. He's not going to like it at all."

Resigning himself, Solas accepted the proffered bowl of stew with a little sigh. "What am I not going to like, Inquisitor?"

She scowled. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" He opened his mouth to reply that he had to call her by her title but Rosa waved away his unuttered explanation. "Never mind. Eat and I'll talk. "

As Solas scooped up the first bite, Rosa began to explain an idea she'd had for a surprise attack on Griffon Wing Keep. Solas had soon stopped eating to shoot her a disapproving look. Rosa wanted to infiltrate the keep using their well, sneaking in after dark and under cover of the invisibility spell she, Tal, and Solas all knew. It was clever—except for the part where Rosa wanted to take on the entire Venatori encampment in the keep with just the three of them.

"The advantage of surprise does not win a battle alone," Solas cautioned. "Have you consulted with Cassandra regarding this so-called plan?"

Rosa snorted. "No, of course not. She'd be as against it as I knew you'd be. But see, I figure we include her and Iron Bull and Blackwall in a frontal assault that will distract them while we carve them up from behind. Then we let them in through the front door."

"A sounder strategy," Solas admitted. "But three infiltrators is still too few. You risk underestimating the Venatori and finding yourself exposed and surrounded."

"Maybe _you_ do," Rosa countered with a haughty scoff. "I've got the stealth spell down pat." Solas frowned only to try and wipe the expression away when he saw Rosa's amusement at it and realized she'd been deliberately provoking him. He _hated_ when she did that. "I'm sorry," she said, staring at him with mock-innocence. "I seem to recall you telling me you were no good at that spell and wouldn't be able to handle something like this. Or was that one of your little non-truths?"

That damnable coy smile spread over her lips and there was a knowing glitter in her violet eyes.

Solas sighed, quashing his infuriating pride for giving him away so easily. "I am proficient with the spell," he revealed. "But that is not my concern."

"Oh?" she asked, arching one brow and crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course you're _proficient_ with the spell. You probably taught it to _lenalin_ in the first place."

"_You're a natural, _da'len," Cole babbled. "Feel the tingle of magic on my skin. The spell is warm. He smells like rain and wood smoke when I hug him."

The smile faded from Rosa's lips as she frowned at Cole. "Yeah, okay. Didn't I tell you not to do that, Cole?"

Cole blinked and shrank back apologetically. "I'm sorry. I was only trying to help." He smiled softly. "It was a good memory." And then, sobering, he dropped his chin and the wide brim of his hat obscured his face. "I'm sorry he had to die."

Solas feigned confusion even as his heart clenched in his chest. Cole was referencing Felassan.

Rosa's features grew heavy with grief. "Yeah, me too." She shook her head. "But let's focus on ambushing the bastards in Griffon Wing Keep, okay?" When Cole nodded his understanding, Rosa faced Solas again. "If three is too few, how about we take Cole? He's got invisibility of his own." She looked to Cole. "You want to help kill some Venatori bad guys?"

"Yes," Cole said without hesitation. "They hurt people. I don't like them."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Rosa said, grinning. She sobered as she turned to Solas. "Is that good enough?"

Solas pinched his lips together. "I would far prefer a standard assault with Inquisition scouts and soldiers to provide us an advantage of numbers. You should not risk yourself in—"

"You want me to just stand behind while everyone else does the dirty work?" She scoffed. "You know that's never going to happen."

Solas swallowed, trying to bite back the emotional response building in his chest. So often Rosa was in danger and so much relied on her—the whole of Thedas, in fact. But more than that, if she died Solas didn't think he'd be able to survive losing her. The overwhelming loss he felt at just the thought of it pressed against his ribs, stabbed at his throat, and weighed down his shoulders. If she were to fall it would be as devastating and impossible to recover from as the extinction of the entire elven race. What purpose would he have if he could not preserve her?

It was startling to realize how dangerous his own emotions had become. When had Rosa become the symbol of everything he hoped to save? When had he transferred all hope of the future onto her?

"You're strong enough to protect her," Cole reassured from beside him in an earnest voice.

Solas' brow furrowed as he concentrated and threw up the barrier inside his mind to screen his thoughts and emotions from Cole without taking his gaze from Rosa. The elven woman's smile softened slightly as her eyes flicked between him and Cole. Thankfully, however, she didn't comment on the spirit's observation as she said, "So, will you work with me if I can convince Cassandra and the others to go along with it?"

Solas sighed. "Yes. Of course, Inquisitor."

Groaning at his use of her title, Rosa pivoted on her heel and strode off to one of the campfires where Cassandra, Varric, Iron Bull, and Sera were seated, eating from their own bowls of stew. Remembering his own meal, Solas began to spoon more of the chunks of meat into his mouth and chew. He watched Cassandra and the others as Rosa chatted them up, sharing her idea for assaulting the keep. Cassandra was the only one truly paying attention, however, as Varric was soon elbowing Sera and making a grabby motion with one beefy hand. The elf snarled at him and fished into her tunic to pull out a little sack of coins. She started counting some out, depositing them into Varric's hand and muttering what must have been curses at the dwarf.

Solas felt his cheeks burning when he at last realized what he must have been seeing. Varric was collecting on the wager he'd set up among some of their companions regarding Solas and Rosa's relationship. It seemed Sera had bet against a rekindling of their romance. That wasn't surprising, but Varric also turned to Iron Bull and started collecting dues from _him._

"_Fenedhis,"_ Solas growled.

"You're angry," Cole observed from his side. "But I can't see it. Why can't I see it?"

Solas quashed his irritation and dragged his gaze from their companions around the campfire. He smiled at Cole, trying to reassure him. "It's all right, Cole. You don't need to help me with this. It's not important."

"Oh," the boy said, looking and sounding confused. "Okay." His eyes glazed over then and his head jerked slightly as he turned to stare down the row of tents. "The feel of his hands on me, pulling me close. His lips on mine, skin so smooth and hairless. _I've never seen a bearded elf before." _He let out a soft little breath. "Just a dream. Always just a dream."

That was…odd. It was unclear which tent Cole had focused on, but it seemed unlikely it was Rosa the spirit was reading. Tal, maybe? One of the scouts, perhaps? It was also possible that Cole merely sensed a memory lingering in this place.

Before he could consider it any further, Rosa approached wearing a self-satisfied smile. "Gentlemen," she said. "We are storming Griffon Wing Keep tomorrow evening, just after it gets dark. Make sure you're ready." She winked. "Now I'm off to go tell Blackwall and Tal the good news."

She sauntered past them, heading to the edge of camp where Blackwall was going through training exercises with just his sword. Solas followed her with his eyes and then heaved a long sigh as he caught himself admiring her figure rather than just watching her. Grimacing with self-revulsion, Solas moved past Cole to his tent.

The spirit watched him go for a moment but seemed preoccupied with reading everyone around the camp. That suited Solas well enough. He planned to read by candlelight in his tent, alone and without distraction. And, while reading, he could let his mind work on the challenge of slowly showing Rosa the truth.

* * *

Rosa had lied when she told Solas she'd convinced Cassandra. In truth Cassandra hadn't agreed with her plan until later when she'd shown the Seeker how effective her invisibility spell was—that there was no glow to give her away, no smell of a rogue's powder, and even Cassandra's anti-magic training as a Seeker couldn't readily detect it. The Seeker had been surprised at the spell and questioned her as to its origins.

"Old Dalish Keeper spell," Rosa lied, shrugging. "That's why you've not seen it before."

Cassandra had accepted that answer willingly enough. It explained why Rosa, Tal, and Solas knew the spell but Dorian and Vivienne and all the other Circle Mages knew nothing of it. Cassandra and the others did believe Solas was half-Dalish, after all.

Now, about twenty-four hours after Rosa had gotten Cassandra's support, she split her group from the Seeker's as the sun slid below the western horizon. Griffon Wing Keep stood in the distance, built upon a base of sandstone. The keep bristled with spikes, slowly withering away in the sands of the Western Approach. It stood on the edge of the blight-tainted abyss, smudged black. During the daylight hours Rosa had seen a noxious cloud intermixing with the sulfur fields nearby. Blight and toxic fumes together. _Yummy. _

They'd closed a rift in the dust flats around the keep a few hours previously, killing a few rogue Venatori as they went. Now there were only a few Venatori prowling about the base of the keep between them and where the fort's water supply waited behind a barrier. Under cover of the darkening gloom, Rosa led her squad of infiltrators across the sand to creep up on them.

As they drew closer they saw there were three Venatori, one mage and two warriors in full armor. The mage was the leader, clearly, sitting while the other two stood guard. The wind whipped up from the abyssal trench, howling and bringing with it the abrasive caress of coarse sand. Rosa hunkered down low well outside the circle of orange light from the Venatori campfire and pulled her hood up higher to shield against the wind.

"Cole," she said as she saw and sensed the spirit boy kneel at her side. "You want to take out the mage?"

"Yes," Cole whispered back to her.

Turning slightly, Rosa found Tal on her left, crouched and squinting against the wind. Solas was just behind him, staff clutched in his right hand. "Tal, can you take the guard closest to us?" He dipped his head at her in answer. "Solas," she called and he jerked his head toward her. "Can you take out the furthest guard out?"

"Yes," he answered. Unlike Tal, Solas wasn't squinting against the wind. Instead the wind seemed not to tug at his clothes at all. It broke over him just short of his face and Rosa knew he was using a low level spell to protect himself from the elements. Their father had done just that same thing routinely. He didn't use it in battle, however, because he said it was a mana-drain someone who was fighting for his life could scarcely afford.

Solas, apparently, didn't care or knew his mana reserves were more than enough for this task. Again Rosa wondered if that was arrogance on his part or a sign that he was far more powerful than he let on. She already knew the latter was true, but how strong was he?

She shook off the curiosity. That was a puzzle she'd have to solve on some other day.

They took on invisibility well outside of the Venatori campfire and Rosa sensed her companions splitting up as they headed for their various targets. She edged closer to the camp, prepared to help all three others as needed.

Cole and Solas attacked first, almost simultaneously. One moment the camp was quiet. The next the Venatori leader was thrashing and his gurgling scream cut short as Cole's blade cut across his throat. The guard on the far side of camp suddenly froze in place, frost spreading over his skin. The last guard, Tal's target, yelled with alarm and drew his sword just as a fire rune lit up beneath his feet. He scrambled, trying to escape, but Tal's spell went off with a roar of flames that set the Venatori screaming. Rosa added her own incineration spell to the mix, killing him. She also sent a Fade stone into Solas' frozen Venatori, shattering him.

The camp was silent now except for the hiss of the mage's blood as it leaked into the sand. The fire crackled and the wind howled forlornly. Rosa shuddered as she let the stealth spell fade. "Good job," she congratulated as everyone else did the same, becoming visible. Tal was a few meters away to her left while Solas had skirted around camp, hugging the edge of the abyss. Cole stood in the center of camp, staring grimly down at the dead mage.

They looted the bodies quickly before making their way up the small path to the barrier over the cave. Solas destroyed it with a casual dispelling, waving one hand at it with a look of concentration. They stepped inside, Cole leading as they waded into the water. The reek of rotten meat wafted up from the darkness as the water sloshed and plashed around their legs.

"Yuck," Tal groaned, gulping as if trying to keep himself from retching. "What _is_ that stench?"

"I'm starting to think the entire Western Approach smells like ass," Rosa quipped, though the stink robbed her of the breath she needed to laugh. She covered her mouth with one hand and then tried to use her hood to screen her inhalations.

Solas stopped in front of her and motioned with his staff to a bulky shape that, in the darkness, Rosa gradually realized was a decaying corpse. "This would explain the smell," he said with a sneer. "The Venatori truly are fools if they do not see the stupidity of fouling their own water supply."

"They wouldn't serve," Cole murmured in a hushed voice that echoed eerily over the cave walls. "She said they broke their vows. _Go to the Deep Roads. _They didn't make it."

Seeing a torch mounted on the wall nearby, Rosa stepped forward and extended a palm out, summoning flame. Flickering orange light reflected from the cave walls and the water, illuminating what she'd feared as her eyes landed on the body. It wore griffon armor, the blue-gray sigil of the Wardens. She let out a breath through her teeth. "Damn."

"The Venatori killed the ones who wouldn't serve?" Tal asked, but by the anger in his voice Rosa suspected he'd already formulated an answer for himself.

"It appears that is the case," Solas said. "Yes."

"Let's go kill these fuckers," Tal growled.

"My thoughts exactly, _da'isamalin,"_ Rosa agreed and pressed forward, taking second position as Cole reached the tannish circular shape of the keep's well, jutting out of the cave ceiling. A bucket hung just above the water, dry to the point that a fine layer of reddish dust coated the inside of it. The Venatori had apparently not been foolish enough to actually use the despoiled well.

"All right," Rosa whispered. "Go invisible and head for the front gates to kill everyone there so we can let Cassandra and the others in. Sound like a plan?" The others nodded their understanding. "Good. Then let's go!"

Cole climbed first, shimmying up the rope with only a slight grunt here and there. Rosa followed him, struggling a little more as she also maintained a careful concentration on the stealth spell. At the top of the well she felt hands on her and almost gasped, biting it back at the last second. It was Cole, still invisible, helping her up. The spirit boy could still sense her, apparently. She filed away that observation as potentially vitally important: spirits may not be deceived by this spell.

Once she was free of the well, Rosa found herself in a courtyard littered with shiny metal griffons and dragon heads. It was decrepit, partly overgrown with weeds and bushes and small trees. Rosa heard the sounds of fighting from the gates and, staff in hand, hurried toward the stairs to the left of the main gates. She found two archers shooting down at Cassandra, Blackwall, Iron Bull, and Sera from their elevated vantage point. A few Venatori fighters were also harassing the Inquisition party members.

Rosa lobbed Fade stone into the archer on the left, knocking him off the ledge. He was unconscious from the strength of the blow and didn't scream as he careened into the darkness and landed with a hard splat. The other archer whipped around, scanning the balcony around him and seeing nothing. Rosa edged a tad closer and then unleashed a mindblast. The force knocked the archer backward and he too fell off.

"Eat it! Eat it!" Sera shouted triumphantly from below.

Rosa moved to the edge of the balcony and laid down fire runes over two Venatori fighters. They screamed as the runes activated, turning them into human torches. Fade stone flew from thin air, smashing into another of the Venatori warriors from the opposite balcony. Rosa grinned, knowing that had to be Solas. A fireball flew out as well from the opposite balcony and Rosa knew that must be Tal, sticking close to Solas.

The defending Venatori fell quickly and then, before Cassandra and the others could bother trying to assault the gates, they opened from within, thanks to Cole. Cassandra, Iron Bull, Sera, and Blackwall streamed in.

Dropping invisibility, Rosa jogged down the stairs to join them, grinning with exhilaration. They surged up the center stairwell leading to the upper courtyard as one force. Archers shot at them from the ramparts, shouting insults and taunts. Blackwall and Cassandra used their shields to intercept the arrows, but Rosa, Solas, and Tal tossed barriers up over everyone else. Sera dropped to one knee and nailed one of the archers through the neck. She let out a whoop of triumph as the Venatori woman tumbled backward and off the rickety wooden bridge that spanned the gap between the ramparts.

"Nice one," Rosa complimented the other elven woman.

"Thanks, Inky," Sera replied, grinning fiendishly.

The warriors clashed with Venatori guardsmen, hacking and slashing through them. Cole flanked one fully armored Venatori warrior and stabbed him through the back of the neck, dropping him like a sack of flour.

Iron Bull had paired off with a rogue woman who was too nimble for him, dodging and dancing around his swings with his battle axe. Her blades glinted with moisture as she swooped in and slashed at his forearm. Iron Bull roared with fury, but the rogue evaded his rage, flipping away and throwing down a bundle of invisibility powder.

"Dammit," Iron Bull growled, searching for some hint of his opponent.

Spying his predicament, Rosa called out to Tal. "Help Iron Bull!"

Tal whipped around to look in the Qunari's direction and quickly waved a hand, setting out three fire runes to trap the rogue. Then, with a frown of concentration, he made a gesture Rosa wasn't familiar with using both hands, even though one held his staff. Purplish mist glimmered in the area around Iron Bull and suddenly a woman screamed with horror, high and piercing. One of the fire runes activated with a flash and fire erupted in a vaguely humanoid shape. An eye blink later and the rogue was thrashing wildly, trying to douse the flames over herself.

Iron Bull let out a roar of triumph as he lunged at her, leading with his axe. Rosa winced as the axe cut the rogue in half and she fell in a wet spray of blood and guts onto the stone. She shot her brother a look across the courtyard and nodded with approval. That had been a horror spell, she guessed. Dorian was doing something other than flirting with him after all.

The gate to the uppermost tower began to open with a rhythmic clatter. Cassandra stepped up beside Rosa, breathing hard and splattered with blood. "They will make a final stand, Inquisitor," she said.

Rosa nodded. "I'm thinking I'll go up invisible with Tal and Solas and Cole. Take them by surprise around the back while you distract them with a full frontal attack again."

Cassandra's expression was somber. "We are ready when you are."

"Then let's finish it," Rosa said, grinning. She watched as Cassandra assumed control of her group. Blackwall joined her with his shield out, to absorb spells and arrows in the lead. Iron Bull was next and Sera followed up in the rear, an arrow nocked and one eye already squinted for fast aiming.

"Tal, Solas, Cole," Rosa called to them and motioned at herself. The three men jogged to join her as she quickly explained what they'd do. Then, together, they took on invisibility and hurried to tail Cassandra and the others up the stairs.

Over the clatter of boots in the enclosed stairwell, Rosa heard the Venatori mage at the top shouting. "We are ready to serve our god, Inquisitor! In this world and the next!"

Unable to resist, Rosa pressed herself against the left wall and yelled, "Then I hope you packed your bags, asshole! You'll be serving him from the other side!"

Arrows whistled as they flew by, clattering as they hit the wall next to her. Doubtless, they'd been aimed at her voice, missing Cassandra and her team by a wide margin. Rosa snorted. "You missed!"

From just behind her she heard Solas' voice growl, _"Fenedhis,_ Rosa. You are giving away your position."

She shrugged even though he wouldn't see it. "Worth it."

As Cassandra shield bashed the Venatori mage and Blackwall hurled his chain at one of the archers, Rosa left the wall and Fade-stepped up the stairs. In the open space of the courtyard she saw a Venatori warrior engaging Cassandra, distracting her as the mage teleported away in a flutter of black pages. Rosa hurled Fade-stone at the warrior, knocking him flat. Cassandra wasted no time in plunging her sword through his neck.

The Venatori mage hurled fireballs at Iron Bull as the Qunari roared and charged at him, but the spells broke over the shimmering blue of the shield one of the others had tossed up over the warriors. But as Iron Bull's axe fell on the Venatori it glanced off. The mage was protected by his own shield. A quick glance around at the surviving warriors and archers revealed the mage had provided them with barriers as well.

Irritated, Rosa reached inside herself for her mana and fashioned a dispel. With a drawn out boom the green spirit spell fell over the battlefield, stripping away their enemies' barriers. She saw Iron Bull swing again and, simultaneously, one of Sera's arrows plunged into the mage's side. The mage let out a last scream of wild fear—but it turned into a gurgle as Bull's axe sliced through him.

And then, abruptly, Rosa heard the scrape of booted feet over the stone closing in on her and the clatter of metal blades. She turned just as she saw a Venatori warrior's broad, armored back lurching toward her. He was preoccupied with fighting Blackwall, who parried and slashed with graceful efficiency, and was about to back into her.

Rather than try to dodge, Rosa whipped around to face the threat and struck with the blade at the tip of her staff. With a battle cry she stabbed it through the gap at his shoulder on his sword hand. The Venatori warrior screamed and thrashed. His blood gushed as she ripped out the staff blade. It was hot as it splattered over her.

Blackwall sliced his sword through the air, severing the man's head. It rolled away and his body fell at the same time. Blood spurted and splattered like rain.

Blackwall blinked at her, frowning. "Who is that…?"

Realizing she was still invisible—though the coating of Venatori blood made it easy for someone to see that she was here—Rosa opened her mouth to reply only to cry out with surprise as something hit her. She shuddered and felt the invisibility spell fail as pain streaked through her arm. She tossed up a barrier over herself and Blackwall on instinct. A second later Blackwall had darted in front of her, lifting his shield. Rosa heard an arrow hit it with a thump.

"Someone take out that damned archer!" Blackwall shouted.

Rosa heard a dull clatter then that she recognized as being Fade stone impacting something or someone and smirked through the sharp pain in her shoulder. Solas had acted so fast that she had little doubt he'd seen the threat before Blackwall pointed it out.

"My lady," Blackwall said, still standing as a living shield between her and the battle. "You're injured."

Rosa registered the arrow shaft sticking out of her left arm and ground her teeth as she shrugged through the pain. "No biggie." She grabbed the shaft and, steeling herself against the increasing agony, she tore it out. Hot blood trickled down her arm as she tossed it away.

A cheer started up, rising first from Cassandra's lips. "Praise the Maker!" The others echoed it in their own ways: "Eat it, Corif-fenuts!" "Fuck yeah!" "Woohoo! We did it!"

"Inquisitor?" Solas' voice called and she saw him appear around Blackwall, his scalp glistening with sweat in the milky moonlight. "Inquisitor!" he cried with alarm. "You're wounded."

"A scratch," Rosa said, laying her hand over the bleeding wound with a wince. "I've got this." She drew on her mana, murmuring a healing spell. Her hand flushed with heat that sank into her skin with a pleasant tingle. She shivered as she felt it working, knitting her flesh together. The pain washed away and she let out a breath of relief. A moment later she let her hand fall away as the spell finished. "See? Good as new."

Solas opened his mouth to say something—and judging by his tight, displeased expression, it wasn't agreement—but then his eyes flicked over to Blackwall and he seemed to think better of it. Snapping his mouth shut, he ducked his head in a respectful motion. "I'm pleased you're healed."

"Me too," Rosa quipped, smirking. "Now, let's get our people in here and clean this place up." She looked to Blackwall. "How does it feel to have reclaimed an old Warden outpost, ser Blackwall?"

Blackwall flashed a broad smile at her. "Glorious, your worship."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Read it," she ordered him, lying flat again on the sand and sighing. The stars overhead spread out, clear and brilliant in their stolid beauty. She imagined the words on the scroll as Solas fell silent, reading the message she had nearly memorized.

Finally Solas must have reached the signature as he made a slight grunt. "Knight-Commander Brycen?" he asked, frowning with distaste.

"You remember our dear friend Brycen, right?" Rosa asked, rolling onto her side and propping her head up with one arm. "The prick who so delighted in separating me and Tal in the Circle and the one who almost had me executed on our last day there."


	25. The Forbidden Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Rosa hears the Venatori have taken up residence at the Forbidden Oasis, where an ancient elven temple still stands, she decides to mount an expedition to check it out.

"Another contingent from Orlais arrived in the night," Commander Rylen told her, huffing a little as they started up the pebbly slope. Scree and sand hissed and trickled as it rolled out from under the commander's booted feet. He stiffened, one arm flailing to catch himself.

Rosa casually motioned with one hand, using raw spirit magic to push against the man's back and prevent him from sliding down the slope. He shot her a panicked look at her help, eyes wide as his sword arm immediately went for his scabbard but fell short as he caught himself. Commander Rylen had been a Templar once and his fear of magic still ran deep. Rosa tried to keep herself from frowning at him. She'd pretend she hadn't noticed his impulsive grab for his sword.

"Ah," he said, clearing his throat and shooting her a slightly sheepish look. "My thanks, worship."

Rosa resisted the desire to roll her eyes at the title he'd used. If only he knew how sacrilegious his exaltation of her as a religious figure really was—considering she was the granddaughter and great-granddaughter of no less than _four_ elven Creators. "How many soldiers in this latest group?" she asked.

"Fifty-three all counted," Rylen replied as they started walking up the slope again. They were following the little Inquisition caravan of water barrels headed back to Griffon Wing Keep. With the original water source despoiled by the Venatori Rylen had been forced to secure a different one. The next closest abundant water source was the gully where Rosa had bathed with Blackwall and Solas a week and a half ago. So, that was where the Inquisition's people marched once daily to fill barrels of water and haul it back to the keep.

"Not too shabby," Rosa said with a nod as they reached the top of the slope. Her bare feet kept a superior grip on the pebbled ground. Surefooted and confident, she strode ahead, eyes squinted against the midmorning sun. The wagon trundled along in front of them, pulled by two brontos. The barrels sat immobile, strapped down to keep them from sloshing or falling overboard. "Is it time to storm Adamant yet, d'you think?"

"No, your worship," Rylen said from just behind her. "Based on the numbers the Champion and Warden Stroud reported we'd best wait until the bulk of Commander Cullen's forces arrive from Skyhold before we move on the fort."

Rosa sighed irritably. Close to two weeks had passed now since they'd arrived in the Western Approach and witnessed Livius Erimond's nasty little demon summoning ritual. In that time the Wardens had to be summoning more within the walls of Adamant. The longer they waited the fewer warriors and rogues they'd be able to rescue from the Warden ranks and the more mages would be bound as slaves. Not to mention the more demons they'd have to face.

Just thinking about it left Rosa's stomach loopy with queasiness.

"How much longer?" she asked tightly. Her eyes swept over the wagon ahead, spying the dwarven soldier prodding the brontos on. Iron Bull, Blackwall, and Cassandra walked ahead of the wagon as a forward escort. They'd had numerous animal attacks so the wagon always had an accompanying force of fighters. Today, with Rosa insisting she do her part, there were more protectors than usual. Rylen had accompanied the caravan to give Rosa the morning news and doubled the usual team of standard Inquisition soldiers and scouts. Rosa had agreed to take the warriors in her inner circle at their insistence.

"The rest of Commander Cullen's men are in Orlais currently," Rylen told her. "Another week out."

Rosa blew out a frustrated breath and ran her hands through her loose, messy hair until her fingers met up with her bun. The motion further tugged her hair out from its confines. She should cut it, she knew, but she'd always preferred the way her face looked surrounded in the dark halo. "Can we really afford to wait?" she asked, grunting to herself as she kicked absently at the sand. "The Venatori could bring in reinforcements of their own and the Wardens at Adamant will have more and more demons the longer we wait."

Rylen shook his head. "Scouts have said they hear weird noises from Adamant and see strange lights. They're definitely up to something—but our people are also running across warriors and rogues often enough on patrol. The Warden commander must be reluctant to commit to killing all of her fighters—especially with us sniffing about."

"Do they attack us on sight?" Rosa asked.

"No," Rylen said, sounding confident and firm. "They know we're here to oppose them, but their commander must have ordered them not to engage us unless we attack."

"So our men and theirs are out there just glaring at each other across the sands?" Rosa asked, snorting.

"That's about the way of it, your worship."

Up ahead Rosa saw one of their outlying encampments, still a mile or so from Griffon Wing Keep. A crumbling wall in what she guessed was a Tevinter style—the architecture gray and somber and domineering—sheltered one end of the camp. The water wagon would stop at this spot to offload a few water barrels for the men and women stationed here out on the dust flats. Already the camp was alive with Inquisition soldiers and scouts, scurrying to run out and escort them.

Nothing was more popular than the water wagon.

Well, nothing except the Herald of Andraste.

"Yeah, well," Rosa frowned down at the sand. "I don't like this setup. The fucking Venatori are still skulking around this place."

Rylen nodded. "I've had reports of that, yes. The most recent news I had on their whereabouts was that they're camped around some strange elven temple ruin to the northwest."

Now Rosa lifted her head and stared at Rylen, intrigued. "An elven temple ruin? Which Creator was it dedicated to?"

Rylen grimaced, wrinkling the strange black bars of the tattoo on his chin. "Forgive me, your worship. I can't say."

"Yeah," she muttered, smirking. "Sorry. Dumb question." She glanced at the sunshine, still squinting. "How far away is it?"

"Less than a day by horseback," Rylen answered. "They call it the Forbidden Oasis."

"An oasis?" Rosa asked, arching a brow with even more interest.

"_Forbidden_ Oasis," Rylen told her, smiling with amusement. "Yes." After more than a week working with the commander she'd come to see he had a similar dry sense of humor that she rather enjoyed. Now she knew he'd guessed at her thought process as he added, "Not the sort of place that would draw tourists, your worship."

Rosa snorted. "What's so _forbidden_ about it, then?" She already had an inkling. Either this ruined temple was spelled in some way to guard it from meddling visitors who were unworthy of knowing its secrets, or it was tainted by Blight or some other unsolvable threat. If it was the former and not the latter Rosa had little fear. Many things the shems deemed _forbidden _were just not meant for _them._ Felassan had told her as much, saying that humans didn't understand that the old world had been designed for the Elvhen and that old magic lingered and it remembered the People. As hostile as modern Thedas was to elves, the old world would have been set against the _shemlen. _

Rylen shrugged. "I don't know, Inquisitor. But right now the Venatori have set up shop there."

"So whatever it is it can't be all that bad," Rosa inferred, nodding. Up ahead the water caravan had reached the camp and the brontos stopped, lowing and stamping. One of the beasts began nibbling at a bit of sagebrush and its partner let out a deep groaning noise and strained against the leads, trying to reach the bush to eat as well. Rosa was about to shout for the dwarf tending the wagon to help feed the obviously hungry brontos, but she saw Cole appear from between the tents and duck to start plucking branches from the bush to feed the other animal.

"Compassion, indeed," Rosa murmured, smiling to herself.

"Inquisitor?" Rylen asked, overhearing her.

"Nothing," Rosa said and cleared her throat as they stopped behind the wagon. "But I _am_ thinking I'd be a lot more comfortable knowing those Venatori desecrating my ancestors' temple are dead."

"I think we can spare some troops to help you," Rylen told her, smirking. "Because you're right—we _are_ just sitting about here, waiting."

"Don't give me too many of your people," Rosa cautioned. "I mean, I'm guessing the Venatori camp isn't _that_ huge. These bastards aren't really _that_ populous since I dropped a fucking mountain on them at Haven."

Rylen's smile changed a little, sobering. "I just hope they lost more than we did at Haven, your worship."

"They'll be losing a lot more than that by the time I'm done with them," Rosa promised. She extended a hand and gripped Rylen's bicep, squeezing. "Thank you for the report. Please prepare a small group of volunteer soldiers and scouts who will accompany me to this Oasis."

Rylen gave her a quick little bow. "Yes, your worship. I will have them ready for you at dawn tomorrow."

* * *

The moon sat over the scar of the abyss, trying in vain to light the black taint of the Blight permanently entrenched here. Rosa sat on the edge overlooking it, chewing on some salted meat rations and sipping from a canteen. With her staff on her back and a throwing knife in a scabbard at her waist, she felt confident she could keep herself safe against a few Darkspawn if they crawled over the lip of the ridge from the black depths. With the moonlight it was just bright enough that she could reread the scrolls she'd received today.

She'd snuck out of the keep to find some privacy from the constant stares of newly arrived soldiers who gazed on her like they believed her a goddess in the flesh. Technically, they kind of did believe that. It made Rosa itchy to feel them watching her, wondering about her. Did they see the vallaslin on her face? Did they see her pointed ears? Had they been surprised at all? It didn't seem like it. When had she become so recognizable?

Rylen or some of the other old-hands _must_ have told the newcomers who and what she was so none of them would accidentally refer to her as knife-ear or savage or whatever the latest slur was in Orlesian. She liked to try and imagine the soldiers' surprise as they learned the woman most of Thedas had whispered about with awe or fear or wonder was actually a Dalish elf. How many of their new recruits deserted hearing that? It must be a handful in every group because they seemed to trickle in with odd numbers. Fifty-three just today. Why not a nice rounded fifty-four? Had the fifty-fourth man balked?

Staring down at the scroll clutched in her right hand, Rosa scowled. They'd probably balk a lot more if she didn't play her hand well with…_this._

A subtle sound from behind her and off to the left made her stiffen. She turned and saw a figure approaching. Her heart pounded for an instant before she saw the lone man emerge out of the shadow of the keep and into the moonlight where she could see his bald head and the outline of his pointed ears. Smirking, Rosa lifted her canteen to him in salute. "Flat-ear," she greeted him with equal parts playfulness and mild-mockery. "You took longer to find me than expected."

"You should not be alone out here, Inquisitor," Solas chastened her as he drew nearer. His footsteps were noticeably louder now, crunching on grit and dirt.

"You were trying to sneak up on me, weren't you?" she asked, chuckling. "Mythal preserve me and Dirthamen protect me from the sneaky flat-ear."

"Indeed," Solas said, a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"Are you admitting you were sneaking up on me or are you just irritable that I'm talking about the Creators again?" she asked, sipping noisily from her canteen. "Or maybe you're just pissed I heard you coming? Or that I called you flat-ear, flat-ear?"

Solas didn't answer her but she didn't miss the sour scowl creasing his face. "Cassandra informed me you expect me to accompany you tomorrow on an expedition to the Forbidden Oasis?" The way he pronounced the place's name suggested he found it odd or foreign. Like he thought it should have a different name.

It was exactly as Rosa expected then and _exactly_ why she'd picked Solas first for her team. "What do you know about it?" she asked. "Are you here to tell me it's a bad idea?"

Solas stopped a few paces short of her and seemed to fidget, moving his weight from one foot to the other and tucking his hands behind himself a moment before thinking better of it and letting them fall to his sides. His lips thinned as he gazed out over the black abyss. His eyes glittered in the white moonlight.

"No," he finally admitted. "It is…rather a good idea."

"Oh?" she asked, immediately intrigued. She scooted round on the sand, her armor scraping on the rough scree. "Now you have me all excited. So, spill. What do you know?"

Solas shot her a look she couldn't quite read. "I am uncertain it is the…" He frowned, again as if the words were strange or made him uncomfortable. "…the temple I believe it may be."

He was being cagey, as usual. Rosa swallowed her desire to sigh and decided to goad him instead. Smiling, she said, "Your memory is lapsing, _hahren."_ She'd long ago—in the Hasmal Circle—discovered that insulting his pride slightly drew the most telling responses. Solas got sloppy when he was emotional.

Sure enough the Elvhen man threw her a withering glare. "This land is unrecognizable from when I last visited. Surely I may be forgiven a touch of uncertainty, Inquisitor."

Rosa lifted one hand, index finger pointed. "Only if you stop calling me Inquisitor and use my first name, _Solas._" He continued to glare at her and she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Okay, then. Indulge me. What was this place like before?"

Finally Solas' expression eased. "Resplendent," he answered, voice wistful with memory. "This far south the land was a cool forest, much like the Brecilian. To the north it was an extension of what is now called the Arbor Wilds."

"Tropical," Rosa said, smiling. "I'm sad I didn't get to see it." She leaned back, resting both palms on the dust and grit behind her. Digging her hands into the sand, enjoying the roughness against her palms, she asked, "So what temple do you _think_ this place is? What used to be there?"

Solas drew in a long breath, as if the topic made him nervous. His hands fidgeted at his side, another sign of unease. "I believe it is not a _temple_ at all, in truth."

Rosa's brow furrowed. "Then what is it?"

Solas's eyes flicked to the abyss again and then back to her. "A prison."

"A prison for what exactly?" Rosa asked, voice dropping as her chest suddenly went tight. How many beings had been imprisoned that she knew of in Elvhenan? Was it the Forgotten Ones' prison? Or were the Creators locked away there? No…it couldn't be anything like that. Solas had said the Forgotten Ones were sealed away in the Fade.

"For _whom,"_ Solas said, his smile humorless. "These lands once belonged to Falon'Din." His eyes flicked over her, searching. Waiting.

"Falon'Din?" Rosa repeated, mind spinning. "Falon'Din…"

"Did Felassan ever tell you about the Evanuris' civil war?" Solas asked, watching her without blinking. His stare had something predatory about it. Expectant. Tense. And…excited.

Felassan—or Ivun as she thought of her father when she wasn't feeling bitter toward him, when she might call him by his birth name, Eolas—had shared some stories about it, but only in passing. He had said the Creators—Falon'Din, specifically—had fought one another. Rosa had inferred that her father _really_ didn't like Falon'Din. Yet she'd also known he didn't much like Dirthamen, even though that was his father. He'd educated her about Dirthamen, Mythal, and Elgar'nan because their blood flowed in her veins. He'd warned her powerful demons might be drawn to her and that she _might_ run across other Elvhen survivors who woke from uthenera who could harm her if they discovered her heritage.

That was why she had lied repeatedly to Solas when she first met him in the Hasmal Circle. She'd desperately wanted to hide her heritage and to downplay how closely related she was to any of the Creators until she knew she could trust him. It was why she still shied away from discussing it. Felassan had been very clear in those warnings to her as a child and teen. He'd tried to impart the same wisdom on Tal but maybe less so because Tal showed no sign he'd inherited Dirthamen's talent for truthsaying and neither of them had inherited Mythal or Elgar'nan's powers.

She still wondered why her father hadn't warned her or Tal about Falon'Din's power, whose blood also ran in their veins.

Refocusing on Solas, Rosa decided to lie. "He didn't really tell me about it, no."

Solas nodded, though something in his stance and expression told her he thought she was lying. Still, he spoke in a scholarly voice as he explained, "There is a Dalish legend regarding Dirthamen and Falon'Din that references the events of the civil war in an odd way. Falon'Din and Dirthamen were not blood brothers, but Mythal raised them as her children. They were inseparable until one day, according to the legend, Falon'Din encountered a dying doe and felt moved to carry her to the Beyond to find eternal rest."

Rosa nodded. "I know the legend, Solas. The next part is my favorite."

Solas smiled at her. "I suspected as much, Rasean." _Raven._

Rosa snorted. "Yep. So how does the story of two not-brothers have to do with this civil war?"

"The truth, as is typical, is far from the legend's recounting," Solas said, the bitterness in his voice returning. "Some years before the civil war, Dirthamen offended Falon'Din in such a way that the court of Arlathan echoed with the scandal. To escape it, Dirthamen entered uthenera. While he was away, Falon'Din took his revenge. He invaded his _brother's_ lands. He killed his slaves or converted them to his own. He slaughtered Dirthmen's arcane warriors or made them swear fealty. He raised the crops and butchered anyone who would not bow."

"And no one stopped him?" Rosa asked, arching a brow.

"Not until Falon'Din finished devastating Dirthamen's lands and moved on to Mythal's. When the shadow of his carnage fell upon her people, Mythal at last rallied the others and convinced them Falon'Din would not cease his butchery until he had exacted vengeance against all he perceived involved with the scandal."

"What scandal?" Rosa asked, shaking her head. This was the most in-depth story she'd pretty much ever heard from Solas.

Solas' lips tugged downward at the edges and he shook his head. "I will tell you in a moment, but first you should know how the civil war came to an end."

"Okay," Rosa said, nodding. "How did it end?"

"The other Evanuris joined together and pushed Falon'Din back into his own lands. He would not submit; such was his vanity and pride. The other Evanuris bloodied him in his own temple, but they would not kill him."

"Why?" Rosa asked, scowling. "He sounds like a real prick. _Lenalin_ told me he was involved in Mythal's murder. Was this war why?"

"It was…" Solas said, swallowing. "Among other reasons."

"What other reasons?" Rosa asked, and then, before Solas could answer, she waved a hand at him. "Never mind. Let's stick to the first question. Why wouldn't they kill him?"

Solas tilted his head slightly, a mild frown playing over his features. "The Evanuris were revered as gods and elevated as leaders due to their great power and knowledge of magic." He drew in another deep breath. "When you traveled to the dark future in Redcliffe, do you recall the power you possessed to change the world itself as though it were a dream?"

She stared at him, her heart suddenly thundering in her ears. Her voice came out strangled. "Yes."

"The Evanuris were revered because they possessed such talent but to a degree that would be unfathomable to this Tranquil world. Magic has…grown weaker with time." The sadness in his voice made Rosa shiver. "Imagine if the Empress of Orlais held her station not by a flimsy claim based on her name or through her great wealth or an ancestor's prowess and victory in battle. Instead, imagine she could create castles with but a thought, or that she could close this trench with a wave of her hand."

Rosa whipped her head back around to look at the abyss. Her blood went cold as ice. "What?" she asked, her mouth falling open. "Seriously? My _grandfather_ could have closed _this?"_

Solas' voice behind her was grave. "Yes. I fought in wars Mythal led beside Elgar'nan. Together they could change the earth itself to suit their whims as though it were a dream."

Still facing the abyss, Rosa's mouth went dry as she recalled the bliss of the dark future. While she'd been emotionally wrecked seeing the destruction and all of her friends dying of red lyrium poisoning…something had been different in that world. It had left her euphoric and it had let her reach out to touch the physical earth with her core, to shape it as though it were the Fade. She was a potter and the earth was clay. It had been hard, resistant to her efforts, but it had been malleable.

"Solas," she said, her voice dry and hoarse with shock. She extended one arm, reaching out at the abyss as though she could touch it. "If we could bring magic back somehow…could I have been one of them?"

Solas made a choking noise behind her. Looking back at him with confusion, Rosa saw him looking down at his feet, scowling. "No," he said, firm and emphatic. "An Evanuris would be far more powerful than you or I, even in this Tranquil world."

She cursed her fickle truthsaying talent in this moment as she felt no reaction inside to that statement, just her own personal doubt. Heart still pounding, she said, "I'm Dirthamen's granddaughter and great-granddaughter to Mythal, Elgar'nan, and Falon'Din. How can you be so sure I'm not?"

Solas' smile was soft and hesitant. "In truth I suppose I do not. But Felassan was not an Evanuris. You must understand that to possess power such as theirs was incredibly rare. Mythal and Elgar'nan had dozens of children together and only one could ever claim the title of Evanuris. The others were all powerful Dreamers who became nobles. You would have been among them, I suspect."

Rosa clenched her jaw and nodded. That felt right.

"As I said before, however, the Evanuris would not kill Falon'Din because they could not bring themselves to destroy such power. Evanuris were the only ones capable of reshaping the land on such a grand scale and only when more than one joined together. As such, they spared Falon'Din and chose to imprison him. The Forbidden Oasis is where I suspect they placed him, deep in his own lands."

"So is he still there?" Rosa asked. "I thought Fen'Harel locked him away with the others?"

"He was released from his prison," Solas said, letting out a little breath. "At Dirthamen's insistence, once he had awakened from his uthenera a few ages after the civil war."

"Just as the Dalish legend recounts," Rosa said, smirking. "After a fashion, anyway. Dirthamen wanted to reunite with his brother when Falon'Din had gone where he could not."

"Yes," Solas agreed, wrinkling his nose as if he'd tasted something sour.

"I guess it's good they didn't kill him," Rosa said, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "If he was dead he couldn't have been my great-grandfather and I wouldn't be here."

Solas chuckled now. "Actually, that is what I did not tell you earlier regarding the scandal that drove Falon'Din to wage a war of retribution against first Dirthamen and then Mythal."

"Yeah?" Rosa asked, grimacing at the edge of tightness she heard in her voice. "You're going to tell me now that the scandal had to do with _lenalin?"_

Smiling at her, Solas dipped his head in the affirmative. "Your father's birth name was Eolas. His mother was Falon'Din's favorite daughter. She bonded with Dirthamen to further his alliance with Falon'Din. Eolas was their first and only child as Dirthamn was unfaithful early in their relationship. She left and took your infant father with her. That was when Dirthamen entered uthenera and, shortly thereafter, Falon'Din's daughter was killed. Falon'Din blamed Mythal and Elgar'nan for the attack and court rumor whispered that the infant, Eolas, was not killed with his mother but adopted by Mythal. I believe that was the one thing that could have persuaded Falon'Din to cease hostilities, but Mythal and Elgar'nan insisted the child was dead and they had no hand in it."

After a moment of silence as she absorbed Solas' words, Rosa felt laughter bubbling in her chest. She let her head fall back as it erupted out of her in great peals. When she'd finally caught her breath she said, "You're saying _lenalin_ inadvertently caused the civil war?"

"Yes," Solas said, still smiling. "I have often told your brother that Felassan was an exemplary student and not the trickster he believes. But, I suppose, considering the circumstances surrounding his birth and earliest youth, he _was_ born to a life as a troublemaker."

Rosa laughed again but cut it short as the painful realization lanced through her that she'd never see her father again. She breathed through the sting in her chest and the sudden prickling in her eyes. "I miss him," she murmured. "I wish he was here to help with this mess."

"As do I," Solas agreed, his voice laced with a grief she knew had to be as deep or even deeper than her own. Ivun had been her father, her mentor—but he'd been Solas' friend for literal _ages _first.

"He didn't like either Falon'Din or Dirthamen," Rosa remembered in a soft voice. "I guess this explains why." A breeze wafted up from the abyss, carrying the wretched stench of decay that was Blight. Rosa scowled at it and took another sip from her canteen. Shooting Solas a sidelong look, she decided to try covertly fishing for information again. "It's almost a shame Falon'Din isn't at the Forbidden Oasis anymore and I can't wake him up and tell him his grandson was still alive and had two children of his own."

Solas's expression twisted with a snarl and then he wiped it swiftly blank again. "You would not wish to meet him."

She remembered the strange beings she'd seen in the Fade while closing the breach and restrained a shudder. Feigning irritation, she turned to look at Solas more directly. "And why not? He's my great-grandfather. I think he'd be happy to meet me. I'd be happy to meet Dirthamen too. And Elgar'nan."

"They were not good men," Solas told her tightly. "I chose to serve Mythal because she possessed a good heart and sound judgment. I did not care for any of the other Evanuris. It was why I chose uthenera after her death rather than to swear fealty to another. Your father did the same."

"They couldn't have been _all_ bad…" she said, hoping to lead him to divulge more in this strange, talkative mood he was in. "I mean, they're my ancestors and they made _lenalin." _

"So they did," Solas admitted, his voice dull and detached. Rosa restrained a sigh, realizing she was losing him fast. "Even the phoenixes prove useful when butchered for their scales and feathers," Solas added after a minute.

Letting out a groan, Rosa lay back on the sand. It crunched beneath her armor. "Were you always this much of a downer?"

"Yes," Solas said, but she could hear the mild amusement coloring his voice now. "Though I prefer to call it realism."

Rosa patted the dirt and sand next to her. "Have a seat, flat-ear. Have a look at the stars with me and tell me if _they've_ changed too since the People ruled Thedas."

Solas' feet shifted over the dirt and his clothes rustled slightly, but he didn't take a step closer. "I'm sorry, Inquisitor. I must retire to camp. You should return as well. Darkspawn could—"

"You don't get to leave yet," Rosa said suddenly, rolling her head over the dirt to enjoy watching his frown at her order. She smirked as she lifted her right hand, where she still clutched the scroll. "I have to ask your guidance on this."

His eyes darted to the scroll and then his posture straightened and he tucked his hands behind his back. "Very well, but surely your advisors have already—"

"My advisors are part of the problem on this one," Rosa interrupted him. "I can't talk about this with them the way I need to." Then she sat up partway, using one elbow to support herself and flung the scroll at him. "Catch!"

Solas lunged out, catching the scroll with a surprising amount of grace despite the surprise of her action. Holding it a moment, he frowned down at the little strip of parchment, hesitant to unroll it. "Inquisitor?"

"Read it," she ordered him, lying flat again on the sand and sighing. The stars overhead spread out, clear and brilliant in their stolid beauty. She imagined the words on the scroll as Solas fell silent, reading the message she had nearly memorized.

Finally Solas must have reached the signature as he made a slight grunt. "Knight-Commander Brycen?" he asked, frowning with distaste.

"You remember our dear friend Brycen, right?" Rosa asked, rolling onto her side and propping her head up with one arm. "The prick who so delighted in separating me and Tal in the Circle and the one who almost had me executed on our last day there."

The frown on Solas' face had not eased, only intensified. "Yes. I remember him very well." He moved on from the scroll written by the Knight-Commander of the Hasmal Circle and looked over the accompanying documents. His unhappy frown darkened even further as he read over her advisors' comments. "I was rather hoping he had not survived the rebellion," Solas admitted.

Rosa let out a hard little laugh. "I spent most of my time before the Conclave blew up worrying I'd see Templars or mages from the Circle there who'd know me."

"I shared that concern when I entered Haven," Solas agreed, rerolling the scrolls and meeting her eye. "He did not mention you. I suspect he does not know you are the Herald of Andraste."

Rosa let out a breath, releasing some of her tension. "You're probably right. I doubt anyone is going to tell him my first name. They'll all call me Herald or Inquisitor. He might not even know I'm a mage or that I'm Dalish."

Solas nodded. "Yes. I have periodically touched the dreams of some of our soldiers," he told her, smiling tightly. "Many of them are shocked to discover you are not human."

"Spying on our troops, flat-ear?" she asked him, arching a brow. "Are you planning a mutiny?"

His smile was enigmatic and playful at once. "Merely enjoying the privilege of my talents as a Dreamer to ensure our people are loyal."

She chuckled. "Right. Well…" With a grunt she pushed herself upright and got to her feet. Dusting herself off absently, she stooped to pick up her canteen and the small pouch of meat rations, tucking them into her belt. "How do you think I should handle the Knight-Commander's request in light of my unique relationship with that particular Circle and the Knight-Commander himself?"

"I would suggest allowing Ambassador Montilyet use her charms on the city of Hasmal to create the illusion that you have done them a favor. Allies in power are important. You will gain both the city's favor and the addition of Hasmal's loyalist mages."

Rosa nodded. "Sensible, I suppose."

"Alternatively," Solas continued. "I see no reason why either Leliana or Commander Cullen's approaches would not be suitable choices as well. Commander Cullen's Templars may reassure the Knight-Commander that the Inquisition is a respectable organization worthy of his fealty."

"As if I want _him_ to join our ranks," Rosa snarled.

"He and his Templars are foot soldiers in a war who have no master, currently," Solas told her in a patient, scholarly tone. "If they do not join the Inquisition and choose to follow their Order they may join the Red Templars. You can come away with the mages regardless of what decision you make, but the Templars will not follow without Cullen's men, I suspect."

Rosa huffed, sneering at the thought of the Knight-Commander. Brushing fingers over her chin, she remembered the way he had grabbed her there and spoken so intimately and dangerously into her face: _Never lie to me._

"The mages aren't a threat to me," Rosa murmured, shooting Solas a hard look. "Aren't a threat to _us._ Most of the ones who knew we were implicated with the previous Knight-Commander's death are dead. But Brycen and his cronies will remember. The second he sees my face again—or yours…"

Solas nodded. "He and his men will recognize us, yes. But we are not their charges any longer. We have little to fear from them and I doubt you will cross paths with them as the Inquisition grows." His smile changed with a knowing look as he added, "You may also choose to send them away from Skyhold permanently to serve the Inquisition by recruiting in Orlais or Ferelden." He extended his hand out to offer the scroll back to her.

Taking it from him, Rosa tucked it into her belt. "Nice chatting with you, flat-ear," she said with a wink. "We should do this more often. _Ma ghilana." _

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he turned to walk back toward the keep. She thought he would say something self-deprecating and evasive, trying to dissuade her interest in him, but instead he said, "Yes. I've quite enjoyed our conversation. And thank you."

Rosa started walking after him, keeping pace at his side through the dirt and sagebrush. "For what?"

"For alerting me that I may soon encounter survivors, both mage and Templar, from the Hasmal Circle." He turned slightly toward her and the smile playing over his lips, visible despite the darkness, made Rosa's stomach cinch tight. Her heart fluttered with exhilaration. She could almost feel his temptation, the desire that kept him lingering nearby. He was close enough that she could…

She reached out and clasped his hand with hers just as he started to pull away. "I can think of a few other ways for you to express your gratitude," she purred.

He stared at her, lips twitching as though torn between frowning and smiling. "Inquisitor…" he said, sounding hesitant—but also husky. That title wasn't the one he'd wanted to speak and they both knew it.

"Flat-ear?" she retorted, smirking at his small frown. His eyes met hers, tender and full of longing. The moment stretched on and on as Solas' obvious indecision continued, but she could feel it stretching thin toward the inevitable moment it would finally break...

And then, from some distance away, Rosa heard someone shout, "Inquisitor!"

Flinching at the interruption, she looked out across the dust flats and saw a scout walking in the distance, waving. He was clearly on his rounds, patrolling the area in front of the Keep between the dust flats and the sulfur fields. Rosa saw another soldier accompanying him and—a short ways behind—she spied Iron Bull chatting up a redheaded scout. She and Solas had walked far enough around the keep that they were in plain sight of the now well-worn path between the outer encampment the fort itself.

"We should return to the keep…" Solas said as he gently tugged his hand from hers and withdrew a step back. "We will have a long journey tomorrow. You should be well rested."

She bit back her sigh of frustration and, resigning herself to the fact that he was right—she didn't really want to have an audience anyway—started walking for the keep. "Good night, Solas," she called to him in a tired voice over her shoulder.

"Good night, Inquisitor," Solas replied to her, sounding almost sad. He didn't follow close behind her but let her have a long lead. Still, Rosa felt certain Iron Bull and the scouts were watching her with knowing smirks. It seemed everyone but her and Solas believed their rekindling of romance was a sure thing.

_Just give it time,_ she cautioned herself, sucking in several deep breaths to ease the sudden ratcheting of desire she'd experienced a few moments ago that now had no release at all. Solas was not the gregarious man her father had been. He'd played hard to get in the Circle as well. Considering the complexity of his long life as an Elvhen survivor and an immortal turned mortal he likely didn't feel the same pressure of time.

She marched to Griffon Wing Keep, barely hearing the soldiers and scouts who saluted her as she passed their various campfires and watch posts. Solas disappeared at some point from behind her, turning away to talk to a trader or perhaps one of their companions had stopped him. Rosa didn't notice and didn't care as she reached her tent and slipped into her bedroll. She fell into the Fade thinking about that long ago war Solas had told her about and tried to imagine what Falon'Din's prison would look like.

* * *

Dawn light painted the weatherworn blocks of the columns and the statue they framed a rosy pink. The statue was unfamiliar to Solas, its meaning unclear. It was a man standing with his sword drawn while in his other hand he held the enormous head of some slain enemy. The man wore armor vaguely reminiscent of a Warden's, though it was as weatherworn as the pillars and fallen blocks that Solas suspected were elven.

Solas stared up at it with bleary eyes. Sleep had been difficult even for him the previous night knowing they were so close to Venatori encampments. Every howl of the wind had made him stiffen, certain it was the precursor to a spell from their enemies.

His half-formed dreams—he hadn't slept deeply enough to actually reshape them—had been of the past, when he had last visited these lands in Mythal's shadow as her general and recently acknowledged fellow Evanuris. Leaving his tent in the morning had made him dizzy with vertigo at the changes rendered by time and Blight. The dry, rocky hills with their red-brown coloration were the only thing that hadn't been entirely transformed. During the Evanuris civil war the earth here had still been that lustrous red-brown, but there had been trees and grasses and brush. This had been a green land that dazzled with its fertility and beauty.

Now it was a wasteland.

He heard the crunch of grit beneath someone's feet and saw Rosa moving to join him, fully armored and with her staff strapped across her back. She made a face at the statue. "Gross." She shot Solas a sideways glance. "New addition?"

Solas nodded. "I believe so." Though Falon'Din _had_ favored the grisly.

"Inquisitor," a soldier called from to their left. Solas leaned forward slightly to see the woman speaking around Rosa. "We're ready to head out on your command."

"Good," Rosa said. "Then let's get going."

Solas took a hind position in their group to survey the others as they headed out of the wastes and toward the canyons that hid the oasis and the temple within. Tal walked with him, either employing the same strategy or just trying to be closer to Solas so they could converse about the oasis or the temple when they reached it. Tal had already spent much of the previous day pelting Solas with curious questions in elven, much to Sera's ongoing annoyance.

The elven archer was ahead of them, her bow out and an arrow already in place. She managed to hold the weapon ensemble with only one hand and used the other to scrub at her teeth before spitting off into the sand. A nearby soldier sneered with disgust and edged away from her. Sera didn't seem to notice or care that she was bothering him.

Iron Bull stood on Sera's other side, looking groggy. He kept rubbing at his face and grimacing, as though he had sand in his nose or eye. Solas had heard plenty of sand pelting the canvas of his tent the night before and Iron Bull had probably taken his watch during one of those sandstorms.

Rosa and Cassandra had point as they started out and, aside from looking tired, both women seemed confident as they moved for the first Venatori encampment. The night before Solas and the others had glimpsed the Venatori campfires and torches scattered about the canyon and along its edges. Now they saw a group along the left side of the canyon and saw a patrol moving in the distance on the right. Hooded mages in black, warriors in silverite armor, and archers all raced to meet them.

Solas tossed barriers up over half a dozen Inquisition soldiers as they barreled in, then added more over Rosa, Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Sera. The clanging of swords and the clatter of shields connecting echoed in his ears as the first soldiers collided. The Venatori shouted to rally themselves against the fight but the Inquisition had them outnumbered five to one. The battle was over as soon as two of the Venatori died one right after the other. The first man died as an Inquisition soldier's blade rammed through a gap in his armor on his side. The second man met up with Cassandra as the Seeker charged in and shield bashed him before thrusting her sword up through his throat. Seeing how quickly the Inquisition people were devastating their comrades, the remaining Venatori turned tail. Most ran for the red-brown rocks, but a handful tried to flee into the canyon, running for the nearest ledge, heedless of the twenty or thirty foot drop.

With a shout Rosa launched Fade stone into one of the warriors and he let out a panicked shout as it knocked him over the edge. He careened into the open space, disappearing with a gurgling scream. With a grunt, Tal cast a horror spell over the other two who'd fled that way and both men ran after their comrade, diving headlong off the ledge to break their legs on the rocks and sand below.

Solas cast a wall of ice with a sweep of his hand, blocking the escape for the other Venatori who'd run for the hills. The warriors slammed into the wall of ice and slashed at it. The two mages with them immediately began to cast fire spells to try and melt it. They didn't have time for that strategy, however, as Inquisition soldiers led by Iron Bull closed in. Sera's arrows picked them off from afar with a steady thrum of her bowstring.

The fight was over quickly then. Only one soldier had suffered any wounds at all. Although Tal stepped forward to heal him, Rosa dismissed the idea. They needed to conserve mana and the wound was non-life threatening. Rosa sent him back to camp rather than risk him exacerbating the open wound with more activity. They could heal it for him later back at camp.

They pressed on, entering the canyons themselves. They passed the three Venatori men who'd leapt to their deaths. Disturbingly, one man was still alive and lay on the dirt, groaning pathetically from a pool of his own blood. Cassandra dispatched him swiftly with a neat stab of her sword through his heart. As she drew it back out, flicking away the blood with a rag before she re-sheathed it, she said, "Maker take you." But it was not her usual impassioned war cry this time and seemed to ring with a touch of sadness. She took no thrill in killing an unarmed and defenseless enemy.

Descending through the labyrinthine canyon, their group soon found themselves surrounded by red walls. Wind and dust roared through them, howling like wolves or despair demons. It was a relief as they eventually reached the first pool. The scent of water came first, rich and inviting and delicious. Solas saw Sera sniffing at the air like a dog trying to find its next meal. Iron Bull did the same, tilting his horned head back and sucking in great draughts of air. "Mm," he hummed. "Smells good. Great, actually."

"Ugh," Sera complained as they splashed into the first ankle-deep section of the pool. "Soggy shoes."

"You could always go barefoot, _lethallan,"_ Tal told her, sniggering.

"Shut it, treeface," Sera grumbled.

Her complaints fell silent as they rounded the corner and the waterfalls came into view. The roar of cascading water hitting the pools echoed from the walls of the canyons on all sides. Tuskets sprang out of the shallows at their arrival, snorting and bellowing amongst themselves. Drizzle sprayed Solas from above as they walked deeper into the oasis, passing beneath a red rock arch overhead that the water poured over and around.

"It's beautiful," Cassandra breathed out, gazing upward with her brown eyes wide. Two statues stood on either side of a narrowing spot in the pools. Cassandra gaped up at one of the figures: a woman with a sword. "Is this Andraste?" she asked wonderingly.

"Maybe," Rosa said, also turning in circles to take it in as the soldiers moved forward, splashing. She pointed to the statue directly across from the warrior woman. "Who's that guy?" Her eyes slid to Solas further down the line.

Solas gave both statues a cursory examination and then shook his head. "I don't believe they are elven." Or, if they had been, humans had altered them. The statue Rosa had pointed at specifically was of a hooded figure, probably male, extending a jagged crown toward the warrior woman. The male figure had no face and the crown he held out to the woman was made of a dark metal that seemed incongruous with the rest of the statue. Green vines had grown up around their bases and twined over their torsos.

"Oh," Tal said from Solas' side, almost squealing with glee. Solas looked to the younger elf and saw he pointed at a bit of blood lotus growing in the shallows. "Even better than it just being pretty." He moved over to the blood lotus and squatted, hurrying to harvest it. "Oh yeah," he crooned at the plant as he delicately plucked the buds and flowers off, careful not to inhale any of the pollen dust. "I'm going to turn you into so much knockout powder."

"Where is the temple?" Iron Bull asked, grunting as he balanced his battle-axe over his shoulders. The roar of the waterfall made it difficult to hear his voice.

Rosa turned, the water in the pool sloshing about her legs and shot Solas an expectant look. He met her gaze for an instant and then deliberately jerked his chin ahead and up. He could see the red rocks, about three meters tall, which formed a natural wall where the water was deepest, about to their knees. Through the mist and the waterfalls, Solas could just see that the rocks formed a shelf. In the dimness of the undercut he knew the temple waited, though it was nothing like the way he had last seen it.

Before the Veil and his long sleep this temple and much of canyon had been wetter. The intrinsic pool had been more of a lagoon or moat. Elves had used a pathway from the sides or used a small boat to cross the moat itself. Solas didn't know how they would gain access with the water so low now and he could not direct the others without revealing that he knew this place more than he should.

"Inquisitor!" one of the soldiers shouted from where they'd walked to the base of the rocks, splashing through the pool. Rosa turned to look, as did the rest of her companions, and just then an arrow streaked from the upper level and struck the soldier who'd shouted in the base of the neck. The woman cried out and blood spurted, staining the cerulean waters as she stumbled.

"We're under attack!" Rosa yelled.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"So," Sera said, shooting Rosa a glare. "Bull told me you don't feel…" She gestured with one hand in a fast, violent fluttering motion to indicate the temple. "That…shite. You don't feel that? Seriously?"

Rosa frowned, knowing there was little point in trying to lie about it now. "Not yet, no…" She shrugged. "It might be my mark that's keeping me from feeling it." Lifting her left palm she wriggled her fingers to remind the other elven woman that "Andraste" had marked her. That would hopefully put Sera at ease.

"Bull don't believe that," Sera grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest again and glowering. "It's weirdy magic-shite again, innit?"

* * *

Hopefully you can see Solas is beginning Rosa's education in earnest. And again, this chapter referenced the events of Solas the Circle Mage. The death of the first knight-commander, promotion of Knight-Captain Brycen (who we receive the letter from in Inquisition), and the fact that Solas and Rosa were implicated in it. And that they were at "ground zero" during the rebellion that damaged the Hasmal tower. So that's what Rosa is anxious about. Anyway...


	26. Solasan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa, Tal, and Solas explore the temple of Solasan and discover this place has some nasty booby traps and secrets.

"We're under attack!" Rosa shouted through gritted teeth.

Solas tossed barriers up over their group before she'd even finished and just in time, too, as Rosa heard the hissing impact of an arrow a second later on the barrier. She refreshed it to be safe and then twisted round to see where the projectiles were coming from. Through the mists she saw a ledge above them and realized there must be an upper level, recessed beyond the waterfalls. She saw figures at that edge—Venatori archers knelt and taking aim.

"Venatori!" she yelled. "Venatori on the ledge above us!"

"I fucking _hate_ ambushes," Iron Bull growled and charged past her, battle axe in hand as Venatori warriors leapt down from the ledge with splashes. The Qunari let out a deep bellow as he spun wild through their ranks, killing two warriors and knocking aside another.

But the damage to their soldiers had already come in the first moments of the fight. The archers had hit five lightly armored scouts, leaving three of them half-collapsed in the pool or clawing their way for the sandy embankments. Two others lay in the pool, dead from unlucky arrow strikes that had let them choke or bleed out immediately. The soldiers had fared better with only the first one dead in the pool from the arrow she'd taken to her neck. Rosa's companions were in good shape, being further out from the archers and with Solas' strong barriers protecting them so quickly.

"How do we get up there?" Tal asked, yelling to be heard over the waterfall.

_A very good question, _Rosa thought and then flinched as another arrow streaked into her barrier, making it flicker. Sera splattered through the water a few meters away, dropping to one knee as she fired a shot up into the ledge. One of the Venatori archers stumbled back, dropping his bow. "Eat it!"

Cassandra shadowed Rosa, offering her extra protection as more arrows raced for her. Rosa refreshed her barrier, even as Solas tossed up another over their group. A Venatori warrior dropped from the ledge and raced for them both, knocking aside an Inquisition scout who tried to rise to Rosa's defense. Cassandra had her shield at the ready, her face creased in a vicious snarl. "Stay behind me," she growled at Rosa.

Rosa ignored her suggestion and lobbed Fade stone at the warrior, hitting him squarely in the chest. He fell over with a tremendous splash. Cassandra sprang forward and stabbed him through the heart before he could recover. Crimson stained the water and Rosa felt the sight tug on her heart. This should have been a quiet, beautiful place.

Ice runes suddenly lit up in blue beneath Rosa and Cassandra. The hostile magic set Rosa's skin prickling. "Shit," she cursed and pushed Cassandra. "Move!"

Fade-stepping away, Rosa escaped the rune just as it hissed and crackled, freezing as it activated. Water froze overtop of it, going opaque. Cassandra had gotten clear of it and now, baring her teeth in a savage snarl, she was in the thick of fighting the warriors with Iron Bull.

More arrows hit Rosa's barrier and she curled her hands into fists, her heart thundering loud in her ears with mounting frustration. She was losing too many people because the Venatori had the high ground and…where was the Creators-damned walkway to the temple?

Finding Solas beside Tal back near the statues, trying to provide everyone with barriers and also trying to aid Sera in picking off the archers and mages on the ledge, Rosa Fade-stepped to join him. He shot her a look as she popped out of the spell next to him, then whipped around to spin her staff as she cast chain lightning on an archer she could just see through the mist.

"_How do we get up there?"_ she asked Solas, using elven.

"_I don't know_," Solas replied, his voice strained as he thrust out a hand and clenched it into a fist, yanking down. Up on the ledge, with a loud whine-pop, Rosa saw a few figures smash into the ground with a powerful Veilstrike.

"_How can you not know?"_ Rosa demanded in frustration. Water splashed in front of them but there was no one visible to cause it.

The splashes charged past Sera and the archer twisted round and shouted, "Inky! Incoming!"

Tal reacted first, thrusting out a palm that glowed faintly purple. The invisible Venatori rogue became visible again and let out a scream as she whipped round and began to run away. Rosa and Solas both shot their own spells after her—Fade stone for Solas and a fireball from Rosa. The rogue fell with a cry and did not get up again.

"How can you not know?" Rosa repeated, snagging Solas' sleeve and tugging on it.

Solas glared at her, his teeth bared. He didn't answer her but instead refreshed their barriers and then took a step further out into the pool. He held up his staff parallel to his body with both hands. The stave glowed a reddish green as his body shook with effort. Rosa felt the fine hairs on her neck and arms stick upright as she broke out in gooseflesh. She recognized the spell and grinned. Slamming down the butt of his staff into the water, Solas cast the firestorm on the ledge.

Fireballs streaked in, bright and orange and flickering with flame. They slammed into the ground, spraying hot brimstone in wide arcs. An archer caught fire and screeched, jumping from the ledge. The warriors in the pool already stopped to stare with shock as the earth shuddered with each fiery impact. Tents caught fire and the ledge brightened, flames licking along the worn sandstone pillars. Bits of brimstone fell into the pool and hissed, sending up plumes of steam.

"Fuck yeah," Tal said, grinning. He launched a fireball of his own at a Venatori still fighting with Iron Bull and then let out a whooping cheer as more rogues and archers leapt off the ledge in a desperate attempt to escape the raging inferno raining down on their camp.

Solas was breathing hard, his barrier shimmering as it weakened. Rosa refreshed it for their group, letting him recoup his mana reserves. It looked like all the Venatori archers were dead or on fire now, but Rosa wasn't about to let overconfidence make her sloppy.

As the firestorm at last subsided the oasis went mostly quiet. The Venatori camp smoldered and crackled with fire on the ledge, newly deserted. Iron Bull, Cassandra, and the rest of the Inquisition soldiers and remaining scouts killed the Venatori who hadn't managed to flee. The roar of the waterfalls continued, filling Rosa's ears, but it seemed quiet now after the fury of the battle.

They set about collecting their own wounded and dead, then searching the Venatori bodies. Their efforts earned them Imperial currency as well as a mixture of other coinage and small baubles. It stabbed at Rosa's heart when she found a small doll in a Venatori rogue's pockets that had been bound for shipping. This woman must be a mother. Rosa wondered who she was and why she'd joined this cult. Why had she let it take her away from her child?

The intrinsic pool, cerulean before the battle, now had a slight purplish tint from blood. Rosa stared at it from the shore near the strange guardian statues—the warrior woman and the faceless man. She held her staff out, still reeling from the short but vicious fight and feeling uneasy. They'd lost nearly half of the men and women Rylen had sent with them, mostly scouts to archer fire, but some had suffered serious burns or wounds inflicted from the Venatori mages. Iron Bull had taken a slash on his blind side but Tal healed it with ease. Rosa and Solas had attended to the soldiers and scouts.

The sky overhead had changed to the brightness of full afternoon and Rosa wanted nothing more than to take a nap but there was still endless work to be done. Nothing they'd found on the Venatori bodies revealed why these men and women had decided to take an interest in the temple. And, as the Inquisition soldiers and scouts set to work bringing camping equipment down into the oasis, Rosa soon learned of a new issue.

"This place gives me the creeps," Iron Bull complained with a body-wide shudder. They were walking side by side, both carrying crates with supplies through the canyons. Rosa had ordered that no one travel alone as they knew the Venatori were still in the area and _some_ had definitely survived the attack. Cassandra was with them, her hands free as she acted as lookout and escort. She'd been silent, her expression still grave from the battle.

Rosa sighed. "I didn't expect the ambush. I should have."

"We had reports they camped at the entrance," Cassandra said. "But it was not clear we had reached the temple."

"Don't beat yourself up too much, Boss," Iron Bull told her gently. His single blue eye was soft as he smiled at her. "I'm taller than everyone here and even I didn't see them up there."

Rosa frowned, scoffing with frustration. "There's no way up to the _fucking_ temple! If there was we could have charged up there and…"

"It was unavoidable, Inquisitor," Cassandra said, her tone soothing. "Their camp was not visible from the pool."

"I don't know how those Venatori could stand sleeping that close to it," Iron Bull said. "Frankly, I think _we_ are too close to that damn place." He shuddered again.

Now Rosa eyed the Qunari with confusion. "What?"

"The temple," Iron Bull repeated, his words slower now and his eye narrowing. "It gives me the creeps, like I said."

"But why?" Rosa asked, shaking her head. She grunted as she hefted the crate in her arms up higher. "We can barely see it through the mist and the waterfalls. It's just an elven ruin."

Iron Bull made a half-formed word that turned into a sort of, "Uhhh…" His lips twisted down and then he clamped his mouth shut.

"What?" Rosa asked again, growing exasperated.

It was Cassandra, surprisingly, who answered. "You do not feel the sense of dread that permeates this place? It is stronger the closer we are to the temple."

Suddenly Rosa remembered the reports the scouts had given her saying that the temple gave off a feeling of foreboding that had kept most people away. Miners had braved it previously and the oasis was littered with the evidence of their work here. Someone had also, apparently, visited it to erect statues that didn't appear elven. Yet otherwise the area was untouched largely due to whatever magic permeated this place.

And yet Rosa had not felt a thing.

She swallowed, suddenly anxious as she looked between Iron Bull and Cassandra, seeing their speculative and intrigued expressions. Already sweaty from their work carrying the crates, Rosa now felt suddenly cold. "I…I haven't felt much," she admitted and then quickly offered up a kneejerk alternative explanation. "This _is_ an elven ruin. Maybe it's been spelled against non-elves."

Iron Bull grunted. "Maybe," he hedged, but the tone of his voice suggested he doubted that explanation. Had Sera already complained of the foreboding sensation and Rosa just hadn't noticed?

"Maybe I'll feel it when we're closer to the door," Rosa said and shrugged.

"Perhaps your mark provides you some measure of protection," Cassandra suggested.

"That could be," Rosa lied, smiling and nodding. "Must be." The spell over this temple had to be keyed to blood and it recognized her as a friend due to her kinship with Dirthamen, Mythal, and Elgar'nan—maybe even Falon'Din himself too. She made a mental note to ask Tal—and possibly Solas—to pretend the temple bothered them, too.

At the outcropping above the intrinsic pool Rosa helped Iron Bull, Cassandra, Sera, and several scouts and soldiers set up tents. The ledge tapered off in steps a short distance from camp before falling away entirely to leave a significant gap between their position and the temple entrance. When the work was finished Rosa squeezed through the brush at the edge of their camp and sat on the ledge, gazing out over the gap through the mist to the temple.

The scent of wood smoke from their campfire competed with the sweet smell of the water as the scouts set up the hearth to prep for the evening meal. Solas and Tal had gone out with some soldiers to further secure the area and to find dinner for the evening. They were the best hunters, after all, beyond Rosa herself.

The sun was starting to set, casting the upper levels of the canyon in even deeper shades of crimson and setting off rainbows in the mists and the waterfalls when Rosa heard the bushes rustle behind her. She tensed and turned to see Sera standing a few paces behind her, arms crossed over her chest and her brow furrowed with a look of something akin to disgust. Her bow was on her back, along with her quiver of arrows as she stomped her way closer to Rosa's ledge.

"So," Sera said, shooting Rosa a glare. "Bull told me you don't feel…" She gestured with one hand in a fast, violet fluttering motion to indicate the temple. "That…shite. You don't feel that? Seriously?"

Rosa frowned, knowing there was little point in trying to lie about it now. "Not yet, no…" She shrugged. "It might be my mark that's keeping me from feeling it." Lifting her left palm she wriggled her fingers to remind the other elven woman that "Andraste" had marked her. That would hopefully put Sera at ease.

"Bull don't believe that," Sera grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest again and glowering. "It's weirdy magic-shite again, innit?"

"Technically my mark counts as 'weirdy magic-shite,'" Rosa reminded her and then lied, "I don't know why I haven't felt anything about the temple, Sera. Is it really that bad?"

Sera snorted and her lips curled in a snarl. "Not like bees stinging you bad or nothing," she explained, shuddering. "Just like…" She huffed, struggling to explain. "Like when you're a little kid and you know the bully's waiting in the alley to punch you in your gob and take your cookies—only, worse than that a bit, yeah? Like there's _two_ rich codgers come to make you lick the shite off their boots."

"I'm sorry," Rosa told her. "I wish I could make it better for all of you, but I don't know why I seem to be immune." She smiled and hoped it looked truthful.

Sera rolled her eyes. "It's some elfy-elf shite, innit? Yeah? Tell me straight, your holy lady bits."

"It's nothing I can share, Sera," Rosa insisted, a little bit of an edge entering her voice now. Did the rest of her companions think this too?

"Be serious," Sera grumbled and then brightened, snapping her fingers as though the answer had suddenly come clear to her. "I know—Droopy ears gave you some spell or other rubbish, didn't he? Something spooky from all that Fade piss he loves." She smirked then and added, "Or maybe you got it just from banging bits with him."

Rosa choked on her half-laugh, half-gasp. "What?"

Sera giggled. "You heard me. Nasty, that is, but…" Edging closer—which made Rosa shrink away with a frown—Sera waggled her eyebrows. "You banging bits with him again, yet? Treeface says no but I got coin—"

"Sera," Rosa interrupted her, snarling the other elf's name as she shot to her feet.

"Yeah?" Sera grinned.

"Shut. Up." Before Sera could antagonize her any further, Rosa stepped down the ledge and then off it, landing in a crouch in the sandy embankment just outside the intrinsic pool. With her stave flopping on her back with each angry step away from the intrinsic pool and the camp on the outcrop above it, Rosa headed for the nearest round mining entrance.

Behind her on the ledge Sera called out, "What? What'd I say?"

Ignoring Sera's voice, Rosa pressed on into the tunnel. She heard the scuttling of spiders around the bend and grabbed out her stave. A torch stood on the wall to her right, dark and unlit. Lifting one palm, Rosa flung a little gout of flame at the torch and with a crackle it caught and spluttered to life. Around the bend she heard the hiss of the spiders as they reacted to the light.

Grinning savagely at the thought of taking out frustration on a simple enemy, Rosa erected a barrier over herself and strode around the corner—only to find it had been boarded up. Sighing with frustration she considered turning back, but hesitated. Why not explore? The Venatori had to have gained access to the temple _somehow…_

Drawing in a breath, Rosa lobbed a Fade stone at the boards. They cracked, splitting along the grain. The spiders on the other side skittered, spooked by the blow. Rosa stepped closer, lifting her staff and willing out three fireballs from it. The wood crackled as it caught and smoke wafted up as it licked its way along the dry tinder. Rosa waited a few moments, eyes watering with the gathering smoke, and then she spun her staff and slammed it down, casting winter's grasp. The cold doused the flames, leaving blackened, cracked wood in its stead.

Rosa lunged for it with the butt of her staff, slamming it into the wood repeatedly until it cracked wider. Another Fade-stone and she managed to create a narrow gap that she could slip through. The spiders had vanished form the other side, retreating deeper into the tunnel. Rosa clutched her staff tighter and refreshed her barrier as she moved forward.

Up a ladder and down another long stretch of tunnel, Rosa found herself in a four-way intersection of tunnels. To her left the cave climbed and twisted away, out of view. Ahead it ended in a cave in. Skeletons lay partly exposed under the rocks. To her left, however, Rosa saw another exit, boarded up. Light peaked through the edges.

_Could it be…?_

Moving to the boards, Rosa peeked through the slats and grinned with triumph as she caught sight of the remnants of the Venatori camp and the temple entrance. Stepping back, Rosa repeated her earlier efforts, busting and burning her way through the boards until she'd created a way through.

On the other side she walked through the waterfall mist, blinking away the excess moisture. The air was sweet after being trapped in the confined space of the tunnel with the burning boards. She passed scorched rocks and bushes as well as the ashes of Venatori tents. The temple stood before her, the sturdy stone door carved decoratively in a way that was familiar and made her shiver with dark memories.

She had seen this type of door before in the bleak future of Redcliffe. That door had been keyed to open only to red lyrium shards, but Solas had encouraged her to use her power as a Dreamer to _make _it open simply because she willed it. Yet, when she had touched it…

"_We are here. We have waited. We have slept. We are sundered. We are crippled. We are polluted. We endure. We wait. We have found the dreams again. We will awaken."_

Would this door react the same way the red lyrium shard one had? The thought of hearing those whispers, sinister and disembodied, made her shudder and tuck her hands under her armpits. Best not to attempt opening the door without Solas' presence at the very least, in case some nefarious magic in the door tried to trap or harm her.

Sidestepping slightly, Rosa moved to examine the pillars to the right and left of the stone door. On the right side the stone was smooth and unadorned, worn by time. Yet, on the left, Rosa found an inscription in written elven. Someone had left a parchment beneath it and, miraculously, Solas' firestorm earlier had been far enough away that it had not caught it in its brimstone. Rosa knelt and squinted at the inscription in the stone first, lips moving as she read the elven.

"_Emma solas him var din'an. Tel garas solasan. Melana en athim las enaste."_

Grabbing the parchment, Rosa found a shaky handwriting over it, offering a translation to common. _Arrogance became our end. Come not to a prideful place. Now let humility grant favor._

She stood upright again and snorted, shaking her head. That wasn't how she would have translated it. Written words in elven were always difficult to translate with complete certainty. Ivun had told her that before the fall of Arlathan written words in their language were always infused with magic to pass their true meaning along. That meant varying messages could be carried in the same text. Ivun could have written this inscription and passed two entirely different messages to her and Tal when they touched it. But would the magic in the inscription have survived so many ages?

Squinting again at the words to try and see any contextual clues in the shapes of the symbols, Rosa murmured aloud her own translation. "My pride became our death. Do not come to this place of pride." Frowning, she struggled to make sense of the next sentence. "May time grant humility."

What did the speaker really want to impart with this message? It seemed like a warning, which was suitable for a prison.

Glancing back at the smoldering Venatori camp, Rosa scowled. Why in the Void had they come here? What did the hope to find within this temple?

Through the mist of the waterfalls then Rosa saw movement and turned fully back toward the intrinsic pool. She saw Solas and Tal walking back through the water on their way to camp with a handful of soldiers and scouts, though the sound of their splashing steps was lost in the roar of the waterfall. Rosa took off jogging for the boarded up cave to her right, hoping to catch both men before they reached camp.

* * *

Returning to the canyons made Solas' stomach clench. It was an annoyance, weighing on his shoulders and making him lightly queasy. He knew it was the wards in the temple causing the reaction, but knowing that didn't lessen its impact.

He followed Tal, who seemed as jovial as usual, as they sloshed through the intrinsic pool. One of the scouts carried the two nugs they'd killed to serve as dinner, strung up on a bit of rope and slung over his shoulder. Tal kept whistling a tune Solas could _almost_ name as they walked and the Inquisition troops seemed to appreciate his pleasant demeanor to compete with the slow-burning dread from the temple.

Suddenly they heard a voice calling to them. The group stopped, stiffening as they collectively reached for their weapons and searched the gathering darkness of the canyons for a threat. Yet, a moment later, everyone relaxed as Rosa appeared out of a nearby cave, shouting their names. The scouts and soldiers continued on after respectful nods at Solas and Tal—and Rosa, though she was much further away.

A few seconds later she was splashing through the water, grinning as she stabbed a finger up toward the ledge and the temple beyond. "I found a tunnel that connects to the entrance," she said, pivoting round and heading back toward the cave. "Come on!"

Tal was smiling and his brown eyes twinkled with excitement as he started after his sister—only to halt and jerk round to shoot Solas a puzzled frown. "Why the long face?"

Solas arched a brow. "My face has not changed, _lethallin."_

Tal rolled his eyes. "Smartass. You know what I mean." He elbowed Solas as they started walking again, jogging to keep up with Rosa as she entered the cave.

Sand clung to Solas' feet irritatingly as they left the pool and came to the embankment. He decided not to dignify Tal's chatter with a response. His stomach tightened more as they shimmied through the narrow hole Rosa had apparently made in a wooden blockade, judging by the scorch marks and the faint smell of wood smoke still lingering in the area. Solas heard spiders chittering from somewhere deeper in the tunnels and braced himself for battle, grabbing out his staff. Tal did the same after scrambling up a short ladder. Luckily the spiders didn't engage them.

Soon enough they reached another barricade and slipped through another charred, splintered hole, courtesy of Rosa. On the other side Solas saw the ledge that served as a vestibule for the temple's stone doorway. It was as he remembered it—magically sealed and made of hard stone that showed little sign of weathering. It would require shards, he knew, to open it.

The Evanuris—primarily June—had warded this place to make it resist Dreamers so that it could not be breached easily. In a time of magic the Evanuris had secured it by making the door and the so-called temple beyond difficult to access using magic. The shards had been left with each of the Evanuris to hide away in secure locations. June had designed the temple so that Falon'Din's prison could only be opened with _all_ of the shards. The only way anyone could gain entry was to get every single Evanuris to agree to hand over their shards.

Dirthamen had managed just that a few centuries later, crowing for all to hear how desperately he wished to reunite with his "brother." And, one by one, the others had all caved. Mythal and Solas had been the last. Solas had only resigned his own shards at Mythal's urging. Had he refused any longer, she'd said, the others would have turned on him and placed _him_ in Falon'Din's prison after waging war on him to forcefully take his shards. So Solas had submitted as well in the end. Better that he should remain free that he could fight on, trying to change Elvhenan's society and right the injustice of slavery.

A lot of good he had done with his freedom in the end.

"Okay," Rosa called to him, drawing Solas out of his melancholy memories. "You're the expert here. How do we get in?"

"It will require a certain artifact to open it," Solas told her, biting back the desire to groan with the coiling tension in his gut. The wards were by far strongest at the door—though Tal and Rosa were apparently too excited to feel it. "Several of them, in fact. They are shards."

"You don't know some kind of trick spell to get in?" Tal asked, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief. "Seriously, _hahren?"_

"No," Solas said, a touch snappish. "It was not meant to be easily accessed. It is a _prison."_

"What would the Venatori be doing here?" Rosa asked, motioning at the charred tents, crates, and other supplies that marked where the Venatori had been camped. "Do you think they had any of the shards?"

"Possibly," Solas answered, giving a half-hearted shrug.

"Are you cranky or what?" Tal asked, snorting. "Do you need to eat or something? I have some spindleweed…" He began fishing into a pouch at his waist.

Solas scrubbed over his face, heaving a sigh—before suddenly freezing with realization. Dropping his hands away from his face, Solas stared at the siblings, seeing their easygoing postures. "Tell me, Tal—" His eyes flicked to Rosa as he indicated her too. "Inquisitor—do either of you feel the least bit uncomfortable near this entryway?"

Tal cocked his head. "Huh?"

But Rosa grimaced. "Shit, I forgot about that already." She slugged Tal in the shoulder. "Do you remember the reports we had about this place?"

"We?" Tal parroted, smirking. "I think you forgot. _I_ don't get reports on everything because _I_ am just Talassan, beloved bastard of Ghilath."

"Oh, shut up, _da'isamalin,"_ Rosa retorted with a snort. "I know you had to have heard something about it. This temple gives off some kind of nasty feeling to everyone."

Tal smirked. "Funny. I feel fine. I like it here."

Rosa ignored him and looked to Solas. "You feel it too then?" Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed as she stared at him, but, after a moment, her lips twitched into a tight smile.

Solas stiffened, certain she was trying to read him with her talent for sensing lies. There was no reason for him to be on edge, but the wards in the temple made him irritable and tense with some deep primal fear. He sighed again and nodded. "I do feel the effects of the wards, yes."

"Odd," Rosa said, cocking her head and frowning.

"Hardly," Solas rejoined. Did she truly not understand why she and Tal were immune? Or was this a test for him? He was about to ask that but held himself in check for fear of revealing too much or slipping up in some other way. It was difficult to think around the tightness in his stomach and chest.

"I'm lost," Tal interjected with a nervous chuckle. "Can one of you please tell me why Rosa and I aren't affected?"

Solas hesitated, restraining his initial desire to answer. He stared at Rosa, waiting for her to take a stab at explaining. As the seconds ticked by with only the roar of the waterfall to fill it, Rosa finally shrugged. "I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing that the Creators are immune to the wards." Motioning between herself and Tal, she added, "You and I must have enough of their blood that the magic thinks we're one of them."

"Indeed," Solas said, nodding his approval. That was _just _close enough to being true that he didn't have to add anything. In reality, Solas knew the original wards should not have affected _him._ Discovering that they did had been an annoying surprise. The original wards had been designed to drive off anyone other than the Evanuris. Apparently Dirthamen or Falon'Din himself had changed the wards much later to exclude Solas and possibly others in the pantheon. Probably Dirthamen and Falon'Din were the only ones rendered immune.

And Rosa and Tal were their direct descendants, which had tricked the magic.

"Cool," Tal said, smirking. "Thanks, _babae."_ He chuckled though his expression saddened.

Rosa's face was sympathetic as she looked at her brother but after a second she said, "I need you to pretend the wards do affect you, _da'isamalin._ Can you do that?"

Tal nodded. "Yeah. I can do that."

"It's weird though," Rosa said, cocking one hip out and grasping it with her hand as she stared at Solas, an unmistakable challenge in her violet eyes. "Why are _you_ affected? You're descended from Mythal, aren't you?"

Solas tensed anew, struggling to hide the sudden flutter of panic in his chest. She had him with that detail….unless…

"I am a distant relative," he lied. "Too distant apparently to deceive the wards here."

Rosa nodded, her expression pensive. Whether she'd felt the lie or not, Solas couldn't say. But she seemed satisfied as she turned to the door and frowned at it. "So do you think there's any way in here?"

"The shards," Solas told her. "I am not aware of any other method."

She smiled at him, amusement twinkling in her gaze. "Are you sure I can't just part the walls?"

"That is not currently feasible," he told her stiffly, shooting Tal a quick look to gauge the other elf's reaction. Tal seemed mum, idly picking at his nails. "Magic is weaker now than it once was," he added to cover himself against questions regarding his use of the word _currently. _He didn't want to find himself stuck explaining the Veil's role in decimating Elvhenan and diminishing magic. Not yet, anyway. He also didn't want to reveal that he knew a great deal more about this place than he should—including that its wards prevented Dreamers like Rosa from just opening the door with their willpower.

She suddenly deflated, a look of grief twisting her features. "Oh—I'm sorry. I keep forgetting you weren't…" She let out a breath. "Never mind."

"I wasn't…what?" Solas asked her, arching one brow.

Rosa looked to Tal and then back at him. "You weren't really with me in the dark future at Redcliffe. Well, you were there. It just wasn't _you. _Anyway, there was a door there that had to be unlocked with red lyrium shards, but you…the other you told me I could just part the walls."

Solas nodded, swallowing as the ward-inspired tension gripped his throat anew. "I see." Though he knew it'd have been a death sentence for him, Solas wished he had seen her enjoying the full power of her birthright as a Dreamer, whole with the Fade at her back.

"Anyway," Rosa said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I am not going to admit defeat at this point. I want inside this damned temple." She edged closer to the door, her palm hovering near it. "Do you think it'd be dangerous to taste the magic here?"

"No," Solas said and then, anxiously licking his lips, he opened his mouth to warn her against placing her marked left hand on it and then thought better of it. Snapping his mouth shut, Solas clenched his jaw before forcing himself to add, "It should be safe."

Tal laughed then from the left side of the doorway, where he'd walked during Rosa and Solas' most recent exchange. "Have you seen the inscription?" he asked both Rosa and Solas. "_Emma solas him var din'an. Tel garas solasan. Melana en athim las enaste."_

The words made Solas grimace with bitterness. That message was…not the same one he had seen here when they locked Falon'Din away. He smoothed his reaction as both siblings looked to him, expecting a response. They knew as well as he did that the words were difficult to gain absolute meaning from without context. Spoken elven was fairly easy to decipher because the speaker could gesture or add inflection. Written words required magic to be clear.

"Have you touched the inscription?" Solas asked.

"No," Rosa said with a shake of her head. "I had a bad experience touching the red lyrium shard door in Redcliffe so I haven't touched any of it."

Now Solas blinked at her, surprised. "How so?"

Rosa shook her head again. "It whispered in my head—nasty stuff. Creepy."

"Like the _things_ you saw when you closed the breach?" Tal asked, making a face. "Varric's right. The weirdest shit happens to you."

The mention of the _beings _she'd seen in the Fade while closing the breach set Solas' shoulders stiffening. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mana core bubbling with the instinctive need to lash out. Much of his anxiety was the wards influencing his mind, but nevertheless it reminded him that he had not managed to convince Rosa to let him remove her vallaslin. She would be vulnerable to any ancient demon—or the Evanuris themselves—that knew the compulsion spell.

Rosa snorted. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying!" Tal lifted both hands, palms out in a defensive gesture even as he grinned. "You want me to touch this one? Maybe it'll like me better."

"No," Rosa said, elbowing him to try and shoo him away from the door and the inscription. "I want you to stay clear of it where you'll be safe." She drew in a breath then and faced the doorway, extending her right hand—to Solas' great relief—and laid it on the stone. Long seconds ticked by as Solas and Tal watched. Rosa closed her eyes and tipped her head down. Her features were in shadow, unclear. The door glimmered, lighting up then as Rosa apparently activated the magic within. But in a few heartbeats the door went dark again.

Sighing, Rosa withdrew from it. "Damn," she cursed. "It's not creepy like the other door but I guess it doesn't like me enough to let me in."

"_Abelas,"_ Solas told her with a dip of his chin. "The magic securing it now is as strong as it was before the fall of Elvhenan."

"As it should be if it was designed by the Creators like you said," Rosa agreed. She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest and glowering at the door. "I guess the red lyrium shard door didn't let me in either when I touched it, just talked to me. But damn. I did want to get in though. It's a shame…"

"Let me try," Tal said, pushing forward before Rosa could stop him. His hand slapped on the stone as Rosa tried to jerk him back but Tal shrugged her off. The door let out a metallic ring and lit up in white. The marks at the top of the door, slots for the shards, activated with a clatter and the door rumbled as it suddenly opened.

Tal jerked his hand back as both Solas and Rosa gawked with astonishment. He glanced at his hand and grinned. "Sylaise's sweet milky tits!"

Solas grimaced at the curse.

"It thinks I'm Falon'Din—or something," Tal said, grinning from ear to ear. He still held the hand out that had touched the door as if it was magical or marked like Rosa's. It wasn't that Solas could see, but he still had to resist a shudder of unease. Had the magic in this door truly spoken to Tal? Had it reacted to his blood lineage or had it recognized his talent, passed on from Falon'Din? Perhaps it required both to grant entry as it had apparently rejected Rosa.

Rosa cuffed her brother around the back of the head, though that did nothing to knock the grin off his face. "Don't touch anything else, _felasil,"_ she scolded. (Idiot)

Tal sniggered as she started to walk through the open stone doors. "You're just jealous, _Herald."_

"Children, children," Solas chastened with a weary sigh. "Enough." He started forward and immediately felt the grip of the wards leave him. Sighing with relief, he walked in after Rosa to find the temple had not changed much on the inside since he had last seen it. The antechamber was roughly square, pale stone tiles were mostly intact though a great number of them had popped out to the point they resembled cobblestones more than tile. Water dripped from the ceiling where countless hairy plant roots had borrowed in from above. It had been a gloomy place when it was first constructed, but the decay of the ages had not treated it well.

June's crafting and enchantment had been unable to preserve this place from the ravishes of time for all his skill. Without magic to actively keep nature from reclaiming it the so-called temple was fast becoming a ruin. Soon enough it would crack open from the top and allow tomb raiders and grave robbers to ford into it without bothering with the shards. Solas' own uthenera chambers had fallen to such a fate and only the magic wards outside his resting place had protected him.

Rosa walked to the left side of the room where a large stone sarcophagus stood with its lid tossed aside. A mummified corpse sat in a squatting position inside the cracked and crumbling remains of a large urn. She wrinkled her nose. "What was this?"

Solas frowned as his eyes swept from one side of the room, one sarcophagus to the other. They weren't uthenera chambers as Dreamers slept in pristine beds with white gossamer sheets. Those Dreamers who left their bodies behind and passed away would have been interred in sarcophagus like these, but Solas could think of no reason they had been left open like this or who would be placed in them to begin with. This had been a prison when he'd first seen it and the sarcophagi were a new addition. Attendants might be housed inside sarcophagi, warded to ensure they stayed in stasis until their master awoke. That seemed more likely over an actual burial. "I am…unsure."

"This isn't how _lenalin_ described uthenera chambers," Rosa commented. She extended one hand out, tentatively laying her palm on it. After a moment she pulled back, touching her fingers together. Solas could see a layer of dark dust.

"They may have been sentinels," Solas hedged. At Rosa and Tal's confused look he added, "Guardians placed into a false uthenera called stasis using magic."

Tal motioned at the mummified corpse. "And what about that guy? Was he a sentinel too?"

"More likely a slave," Solas said, his voice deepening with solemnity. "Used as a sacrifice to fuel the magic." He snarled. "A barbaric and cruel practice, but I am not surprised that Falon'Din would employ it."

Rosa stepped gingerly away from the sarcophagus and deeper into the antechamber. With casual flicks of her wrist she lit the torches along the walls to both left and right. "So if this wasn't being used as a prison for Falon'Din anymore, what was it?"

"I'm sorry," Solas murmured. "I don't know. I only visited this place once with Mythal." He hoped neither Dalish sibling could see that he had started to form _suspicions_ about the renovations to this place. He kept those to himself.

Rosa walked up the short stairs at the end of the antechamber toward a massive stone door in the same design as the entrance. Lighting the wall sconces to either side, she craned her neck and stared up at the stone door. "Another shard-door."

"Want me to open it?" Tal asked, grinning with pride.

Rosa laid her palm over the stone and again it lit up momentarily and then faded to nothing. She let out a breath and stepped back from it, glancing at Tal behind her. "Have at it."

Stepping sprightly forward up the short stairs, Tal slapped his palm over the stone door. Again it lit up in white and let out a shrill ring. Solas winced against the noise but stared unblinkingly with astonishment as once more the stone door opened, groaning as the ancient stone gave way. But this time Tal's whoop of joy was short lived and premature as a barrier crackled over the narrow entryway. The color was a deep crimson that immediately made Solas choke with horror.

"Tal! Get away from it!" he shouted.

Rosa snatched her brother's shoulder, hauling him back. The two of them stumbled down the stairs, frantically reaching for their staves. Solas' pounding heart eased as he saw neither sibling had touched the barrier.

"What is it, Solas?" Rosa asked without taking her eyes from the barrier.

"A blood magic barrier—and a very powerful one to have lasted this long," he told them, voice grave.

"What happens if I attack it?" Tal asked, daring to look at Solas over his right shoulder. He spun his staff about, as if getting a good feel for it or considering taking action even before he had the go ahead from Solas.

"I would not advise that," Solas said as he too gripped his staff. Stroking over his mana core, he reassured himself that he had the knowledge and the power to disrupt the spell if it came to that. "Your attacks will merely reflect back onto you. They cannot touch this barrier. A large enough dispelling or mindblast may penetrate it, however I suspect it may also be tainted with Blight."

"I thought that was Dirthamen's thing?" Tal asked, groaning.

"Have you forgotten your own lore, _lethallin?"_ Solas asked tartly. "Falon'Din and Dirthamen worked in partnership so thoroughly that their accomplishments were rarely separate. Falon'Din used Dirthmen's Blight just as Dirthamen commanded legions of Falon'Din's charlatan priests to collect valuable secrets."

"Yeah, yeah," Tal grumbled. "Brothers. I get it."

"How do we get around it?" Rosa asked, jumping to the point. "Mindblast or dispelling?"

"Neither," Solas snapped. "It would be safest to leave it."

"What?" Rosa asked, almost squawking with disbelief as she looked at him with a frown. "Seriously? You want us to stop now?"

"Yes," Solas insisted. "This barrier is designed to prevent unintended and unworthy interlopers from accessing the center chamber beyond."

"Hey," Tal complained, glaring. "I am not some unworthy interloper, thank you very much!"

"To this temple you are," Solas told him firmly, gesturing at the barrier. "You are not one of Falon'Din's disciples."

"No," Tal said, still frowning. "I'm his great-_grandson._ I'm his kin."

Solas clenched his jaw, barely managing to hold back his angry retort. _Falon'Din would happily enslave you and sacrifice you without a second thought if it furthered his ends._ Saying that would reveal how well he knew the other Evanuris and he could not risk that. Instead Solas gave a vehement shake of his head. "It is too risky. The magic here will seek something specific to prove your loyalty to Falon'Din. Your gift is almost certainly not enough to allow you passage. And if you fail you will be infected with Blight."

"Then why can't we just destroy it?" Rosa demanded, gritting her teeth as she snarled at the barrier as if it'd personally offended her.

"It will splatter in a way other barriers do not. If touched…"

"Blight," Tal growled. "Yeah, I get it. How do we shut this damn door then?"

"Back away," Solas suggested. "The magic should reset itself and close the door."

Rosa and Tal retreated further away to join Solas more in the center of the antechamber. A few steps away from the short stairs to the main chamber the stone door groaned and swung shut. The barrier disappeared behind it and, finally, all three elves relaxed.

"Well," Tal said with a sigh as he returned his staff to his back. "That sucked balls. Completely pointless."

"Perhaps," Solas conceded, rubbing one hand over his face as he glanced back at the sealed main chamber door again. "But our true reason for being here was not to uncover the secrets of this place—merely to prevent the Venatori from accessing it. We have already accomplished that."

"At a ridiculous cost," Rosa snapped, shooting him a glare. "We lost a lot of good men and women today in the ambush and we don't have any idea why the Venatori were here."

Solas offered her a wan smile. "That should be apparent." At her withering look Solas motioned to her left hand. "You possess the Anchor and Corypheus requires it to access the Fade and the Black City. He is seeking out Elvhen ruins in the hope that he will find another orb."

Tal snorted and broke out into snickering laughter. "Didn't he go on about how he made the orb to begin with? Elgar'nan's fiery cock, that's hilarious. He's full of shit and he knows it."

Even Rosa was smirking slightly as she made the connection. "I wondered if he knew it was Elvhen or not. I guess this proves it." But her shoulders fell a moment later. "Still, I feel like this was a wasted trip if we can't…" Breaking off she gestured exasperatedly at the closed stone door to the center chamber before letting her hands slap back to her sides.

Solas nodded. "I'm sorry, Inquisitor," he told her somberly. Inwardly he still felt pleased they had come here. Stopping the Venatori was worthwhile in itself, even if it didn't fully satisfy Rosa, but more so Solas had had the chance to let her and Tal see the casual cruelty of one of their ancestors. His gaze flicked to the mummified corpse in the crumbling urn and he sighed with real regret—for the men and women who'd died today in the ambush as well as the helpless slaves who'd been sacrificed at the whims of a false-god.

Tal turned slightly, following Solas' line of sight, as did Rosa. "So that guy was a slave?" he asked.

"Yes," Solas replied with a solemn nod. "Most of the Evanuris used slaves like this. In some ways, his death would have been a mercy as it ended an immortal life of suffering."

Rosa's features twisted with something akin to pain. "The vallaslin are slave markings," she said in a quiet voice, glancing between both Solas and Tal. "So if Falon'Din was actually imprisoned here and we woke him up he would see us as _slaves._"

"Yes," Solas affirmed.

"And what about when he learned we're kin?" Tal asked with a tight smile.

Solas clenched his jaw and shook his head once, curt and firm. "I doubt that would have mattered to him." He glanced to Rosa as he added, "Or Dirthamen. Both were fond of sacrifice and blood magic. They cared little for the lives of those beneath them, including their own kin."

Tal frowned. "Then I guess I'm glad the Dread Wolf locked them away." He paused, smirking. "He _did_ lock them away, right? Falon'Din isn't actually in uthenera in that chamber, right?"

Solas tried to keep his heart from suddenly racing, to give away nothing. "That much was clear from the Fade as I slept, yes." He smiled lightly as he added, "We can be reasonably confident Falon'Din is not behind that barrier."

"Good," Rosa said and then glanced at the entrance and grimaced. "It's dark outside. We should get back to camp before Cassandra starts worrying or Sera and Iron Bull start coming up with _creative_ reasons all three of us are gone."

"You mean like we're out here having a threesome?" Tal quipped.

Solas immediately frowned and felt his face flush all the way to his ears.

Rosa glowered with disgust at her brother and then slugged him in the shoulder. _"Sildela!"_ (wrong thoughts/risqué/pervert) she scolded. "Are you really so sex-starved you'd see _me_ as attractive?"

"I didn't say _I_ was thinking that," Tal protested, flinching as he darted ahead to avoid another angry swat from Rosa. "I was saying Iron Bull and Sera might think that." Safely outside the temple on the landing, Tal looked back at them through the entrance and shoved a finger into his mouth, making a gagging noise. "Seriously, _asamalin,_ you know even the thought of you naked makes me want to swear off women altogether."

"One more word out of your perverted mouth, Tal, and I swear I'll—"

"Look at Solas," Tal interrupted, pointing. Solas frowned, silently willing Tal's mouth to sew itself shut. "He's blushing. Give you one guess what he's thinking about right now. And _you_, Rosa, you're blushing too. Now who's sex-starved?"

Solas started to protest but Rosa acted first by flinging a bit of fire at Tal. The wily young elf merely leaned clear of the doorway to let it fly past him and hit the sand outside. He let out mischievous cackle from somewhere out of sight in the darkness. "See you back at camp!"

Rosa let out a deep-throated growl off to Solas' right, a few paces away. "There are some days I just want to strangle him…"

"There are some days I am tempted to help you," Solas quipped, finding a playful smile had leapt to his lips.

They stared at one another in the flicker of the dull yellow-orange torches burning on the walls. The roots overhead dripped water in a melodic tinkle every so often. Solas knew he should excuse himself or encourage her to walk with him back to camp but the glimmer of her violet eyes over her sun-kissed skin held him spellbound. Tal hadn't been wrong earlier when he accused Solas of having less than pure thoughts about Rosa.

But then Rosa dipped her chin to him, smiling in a way that was both tender and a touch melancholy. "I should get back to camp." She started walking for the entrance, her bare feet splattering on the puddles in the loose tiles on the floor. "See you around, flat-ear," she said teasingly as she exited.

Alone in the temple now, Solas sighed. He gazed around at the guttering torches and the decay of the old world—_his_ world—all around him. The mummified corpse trapped in its urn kept grabbing his eye, throttling his heart with guilt. He could almost hear its voice in his head: _You owe me, Dread Wolf. You owe all of us._

Frowning, Solas left the temple.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

He let out a little strangled sound. "This is hardly an appropriate place," he protested, but she could hear the moan underlying the words.

Rosa turned his chin away, attacking his ear instead. She nibbled the lobe and then licked along the point. The groan and shudder that elicited made her chuckle throatily. "Then come to my tent tonight," she whispered into his ear. "We both know you want to." She bit the pointed tip of his ear, hard enough that he gasped. "Don't make me beg, flat-ear."

* * *


	27. Turnabout Is Fair Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas saves Rosa from an attack by a Venatori rogue. Rylen sends word that Cullen's forces have arrived so it's time to storm Adamant. Rosa confers with Solas regarding the possibility that the Forgotten Ones may have allied with Corypehus and *could* be waiting for them at Adamant.

"Dread Wolf take this blighted temple and its fear-ward thing," Tal bemoaned with an overdramatic roll of his brown eyes. "Seriously. I can barely stand it."

"We know," Cassandra grumbled from where she sat near the fire, running a whetstone over her sword. The rhythmic _shink_ rang through the camp, echoing from the canyon walls.

"Yeah, treeface," Sera snapped, glaring at Tal from where she sat beside the Seeker, a bowl of stew with nug meat cradled in her lap. "Not like we haven't heard you whinging about it all bloody week."

"We have not even been here a week, Sera," Cassandra corrected her.

"Yeah? Bloody feels longer, doesn't it?" the archer asked, scowling as she jerked a thumb in Tal's direction. "What with treeface moaning like a stuck pig."

Rosa tried to keep herself from smirking by shoving another spoonful of nug stew into her mouth. When she'd asked Tal to pretend the fear wards guarding the temple affected him she'd known he _might_ overdo it. Sometimes Tal had a flair for the overdramatic because it'd be funny to those in the know. Unfortunately the fear wards had a nasty side-effect both he and Rosa didn't understand: it made their companions cranky. Tempers ran short on a daily basis and Tal's complaining quickly got on their nerves. Even Solas, who was in on the joke, seemed more likely to roll his eyes at Tal than to chuckle.

"I'm only saying what everyone else is thinking about it," Tal grumbled. He slurped on three more spoonfuls in rapid succession. When he'd swallowed he shot Rosa a resentful look. "Well, everyone but my sister over there."

Wiping her expression into a blank mask, Rosa said, "Knock it off, Tal. No one likes a whiner."

Tal finished his stew and set the bowl down beside the fire. With a huff he got to his feet and hefted up his stave. "I'm going to go find Iron Bull and Solas," he announced. "Maybe they're far enough away from the temple that the wards won't bother me so much."

"Please do," Cassandra said without taking her eyes off her sword.

"Yeah," Sera agreed with a smirk that was part humor and part mockery. "Be nice to have a little peace and quiet without all that whinging."

"I do not whinge," Tal told her with a frown as he stomped past her.

"You're whinging right now," Sera shot back.

Tal stalked down the embankment from their camp. Watching him go, Rosa felt something tighten in her chest at the unexpected familiarity in her brother's profile. In the golden light of high noon he looked like their father. Superficially he hardly resembled Ivun at all, but from a distance and in the right light she saw it clearly.

Did Tal ever see a trace of Ivun in her? Rosa had his eye color but little else. That had been one of the reasons she'd never truly expected that her mentor was actually her father until Dirthamen's ravens had finally revealed it.

Letting out a long breath, Rosa finished her stew and set the bowl beside Tal's to be cleaned later. As she got to her feet and grabbed her staff, Cassandra finally looked up from sharpening her sword. "Inquisitor? Where are you going?"

"Call of nature, Seeker," Rosa replied.

Sera giggled. "You want some company?"

"I'm pretty sure I can handle this on my own," Rosa called over her shoulder. "But thanks for the offer."

"Right," Sera shouted after her. "_Handle_ it." She giggled again and Rosa heard Cassandra give out one of her world-famous disgusted groans in response. Sera seemed to deal with the constant tension of the wards by resorting to sexual humor whenever possible. Then again, that was how she dealt with most situations. Still, she'd doubled down over the half a week they'd been in the oasis with crude humor and sexual insinuations. Sometimes it seemed she wanted to seduce Rosa or Cassandra for a fast roll in the hay…or sand, rather, considering their current location. Other times it seemed she just craved the distracting idea of _anyone_ fucking.

Strapping her staff to her back, Rosa set off up the sandy path out of the canyon and toward the abandoned spiral mine. It was devoid of giant spiders, out of the sun, and relatively secluded—making it a near-ideal spot for a temporary latrine. It was also well away from the intrinsic pool, which ensured they wouldn't be fouling their water supply.

Still a ways from the spiral mine Rosa heard familiar voices echoing from the canyon walls. Smiling to herself, she rounded the bend in the path, passing beneath a red archway, and found Solas, Iron Bull, and Tal standing together bickering. "What's going on here, boys?" she asked them as she approached, stopping to regard them with her hands on her hips.

"Inquisitor," Solas greeted her first with an acknowledging nod. Rosa's gaze swept over him, admiring his lean form a moment before spotting the desert hare he carried clutched in one hand.

"Nice catch," she said, grinning.

"_Ma serannas,"_ he thanked her with a small smile. Rosa was certain she didn't imagine the way his eyes dropped away from her face with something other than humility and respect for a split second.

"Ugh," Tal groaned. "Would you two just knock off the eye fucking for five seconds?"

"Excuse me?" Solas asked, immediately irritated. Rosa bit back her laughter as she realized their exchange must not have been as subtle as they both believed.

"Kid has a point," Iron Bull said with a flippant shrug. "You both look like half-starved peasants eyeing up a big meal you _think_ you can't have."

Solas shot the Qunari a glare that transited to Tal quickly before he seemed to square his shoulders and resign himself to ignore the teasing. To Rosa he said, "Inquisitor, you should not travel alone outside of camp. I have seen tracks that do not match any of our people or the miners'. There are still Venatori in the oasis."

Smirking, Rosa said, "You're right, Solas. Would you like to go for a walk with me?"

Solas stiffened and then motioned to Tal. "Perhaps Tal can accompany you. I must return to camp." Lifting the hare as reminder, he smiled tightly. "It would be a shame if the first meat we've had other than nug were to spoil."

"I can take it back to camp for you, Solas," Tal volunteered, grinning. "What do you think, Iron Bull?"

"I think that hare's a little too heavy for you," the Qunari said in mock-seriousness. "Don't want you mages hurting yourselves." He extended out one enormous, meaty hand. "How about _I_ carry that hare back to camp?"

"Neither of you can be trusted with it," Solas protested, glaring venomously. As Rosa blinked with surprise he turned and quickly explained, "Inquisitor, Tal and the Iron Bull have both tried to bribe me into letting them eat this hare rather than return it to camp to be shared communally."

Tal made an exasperated noise and Iron Bull sighed. "Really, Solas," Tal said. "You had to go and rat us out?"

Rosa snorted, shaking her head. "Look, I know nug every night for dinner sucks but since Solas caught it he gets to decide how it's used."

"If that hare gets divvied up and put into that wretched nightly stew I guarantee you won't taste anything but nug," Tal crossed his arms over his chest, his brown eyes narrowed in challenge. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're right," Rosa said and waved a hand dismissively. "And I don't care. It's food and we're on an expedition. We're _Dalish,_ Tal." She bit back her desire to add a barb: _Or had you forgotten?_ Keeping a lighthearted tone, she asked instead, "When did you get to be so pampered? We've eaten _bogfisher _before, _da'isamalin._ Nug is practically a delicacy. Dorian's rubbing off on you." Too late she caught the alternative meaning of those words and covered her face with one hand as the others reacted.

"You bet he is," Iron Bull said, guffawing. "Every night."

Solas rolled his eyes and fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation to the risqué. He scoffed with disgust. "Oh, for…Really?"

Tal blushed, suddenly sheepish as he cleared his throat. "I'm not pampered. I'm just sick of nug. Seriously, bogfisher would be an improvement because at least it'd be different."

"All right," Rosa said, drawing in a breath. "You both." She pointed at Tal and then Iron Bull. "Go back to camp or go hunt down the stray Venatori Solas mentioned. Or, if you're feeling up to a real challenge, try and catch a hare of your own." Next she jerked a finger at Solas. "You come with me and take the hare with you for safekeeping."

"Inquisitor," Solas protested but Rosa lifted a hand to silence him.

"This isn't up for debate. I promise we won't be out long."

"That doesn't sound like fun," Iron Bull said, winking his one good eye at them as he shuffled off, following a dejected looking Tal. "Always leave your options open, Boss."

"Shut up, Bull," Rosa shot back with a snort. Solas beside her was tense, his posture stiff as he examined the hare he still held in one hand, pretending to be absorbed with that as Iron Bull and Tal disappeared deeper into the canyon. When they were gone Rosa pivoted round and started walking for the spiral mine again without a word. Solas followed after her, his bare feet scuffing on the sand and crunching on grit.

"Where are you headed?" Solas asked her and she thought she detected suspicion in his voice.

Chuckling, Rosa shrugged. "The spiral mine."

Solas heaved a sigh behind her. "Truly, Inquisitor? I am escorting you to the latrine?"

"You were the one who insisted I needed a spotter," Rosa retorted as they passed out of the shadow of the canyon and into a stretch of sunshine before the wide entrance of the spiral mine. "Might as well be you, flat-ear." She snuck a peek at his face and saw that his cheeks had a hint of rouge, just as she'd expected. Making him uncomfortable was always so entertaining. With that in mind, she added, "Not like you haven't seen me naked or anything."

Now when she looked back Solas was beet red and staring off in the opposite direction. Clearly trying to hide. The amusement Rosa had felt earlier waned as she pushed down her frustration at his reaction. He was so contrary at times. It was silly to deny the attraction between them now that it had been outed, but he continued to resist.

At the spiral mine entrance Rosa motioned to the dirt beneath their feet. "Wait out here, then. I'll only be a minute. And when I'm done you can have a turn."

Though he was still blushing furiously, Solas was composed as he nodded his understanding. "Inquisitor," he acknowledged her.

Striding into the darkness of the mine, Rosa made her way to a spot away from the lone guttering torch on the wall beside the rickety wooden stairs that ascended overhead. There was an opening to another tunnel in this spot but rocks had caved in to close it. A faint stink of piss and shit wafted at her as she approached and she wrinkled her nose at it but pressed on. Her armor had clasps she could open to relieve herself and when she found a spot that looked unused amongst the small rocks in the tunnel entrance she squatted to do her business.

As she finished and closed the clasps on her armor again, Rosa heard a slight rustle from the wooden stairs that circled higher into the spiral cave's second level. Lifting her head, she squinted through the darkness, immediately tensing. Scanning the area revealed nothing except the wavering shadows from the torch along the wall there. Yet something felt…off…

Then the acrid scent of invisibility powder hit her nose and she let out a shout as she tossed up a barrier with a flick of one hand. "Rogue!"

Something streaked at her from near the wooden stairs, winging off her barrier with a crackling hiss and then the clatter of the metal blade striking the rocks. A shape came visible in the light from the torch and Rosa saw more knives fly at her, flickering in the torchlight. Her barrier absorbed the impacts and Rosa snatched her staff from her back and scrambled to launch Fade stone at him, using more mana than necessary to make it more powerful.

The rogue cried out and collapsed as the stone splintered and flew wildly over the sandy floor of the mine. Solas' silhouette appeared in the brightness of the entrance and he launched a huge fireball at the fallen rogue, making him scream with pain as the flames roared to consume him. In almost the same instant as Rosa felt a thrill of triumph taking the rogue down she realized the scent of the invisibility powder hadn't dissipated and—

Something sprang at her from the darkness behind and to her left. Rosa flinched, trying to evade this new attack as she registered the glint of a blade stabbing at her. In those fractions of a second she knew it would strike her in the back, probably in the kidney, and her barrier likely wouldn't repel it this close. She was already reaching for mana to mindblast him away before he could strike her multiple times when a sharp ringing filled her ears. She winced at the noise and then unleashed the mindburst with a blast of green spirit magic.

Instead of hearing the rogue's body thumping on the rocks, Rosa heard a clatter like rocks falling in a scatter of debris. Breathing hard, she saw the rogue had vanished. There was no sign of him, only a strange layer of fine dust and scree that had a grayer pallor than the reddish sand of the cave floor.

Heart pounding and confused, Rosa tossed up a barrier and then scrambled backward from the rocks. "Solas?" she called, not daring to take her eyes from the darkness.

From the entrance she heard a rustle and a heavy thump. Gasping, she whipped around and saw that Solas had collapsed to the cave floor, limp. "Solas!" Fade-stepping forward, she popped out of it at his side and tossed a barrier over him as she knelt, healing magic already glowing gold in her palms. "Get up!"

Laying hands on him, she checked the darkness, still afraid of the second rogue. The magic settled into him but she could feel it milling about in his flesh, useless. She stopped the healing spell and took his shoulder, grunting as she rolled him over. Dust coated his clothes now and grit clung to his face, but she saw no sign of blood and that confirmed her suspicion that he wasn't actually wounded in a way that would have him bleeding out.

"Solas," she called to him again, tapping his cheek. "What's wrong? Talk to me, please." Searching the mine and swallowing the clutch of fear still gripping her throat, Rosa still saw nothing. Where in the Void was the second rogue?

Solas groaned and Rosa looked down to see his expression twisted with pain. He opened his eyes and stared up at her through the slits. A hesitant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Are you wounded?" he asked her, his voice hoarse and strained.

"Me?" Rosa asked incredulously. She shook her head, not answering him as much as displaying her bafflement. Lifting her eyes again to scan the darkness, she gritted her teeth. "Fucking rogue coward. Show yourself!"

Solas' hand clutched at her arm and she felt a jolt of fear when she saw he was shaking. "He's dead, Rosa."

"What?" Rosa asked, gawking. She didn't trust it and kept searching the darkness, eyes panning about the mine. The scent of burning hair from the other rogue Solas had fried after she knocked him over assaulted her nose and made her scowl with disgust.

"He's dead," Solas repeated, a little louder now—only to break off in another gasping groan.

"There's no body," Rosa pointed out, her words sharp with alarm. But as she looked down at Solas again and saw his grimace of pain she suddenly realized what was wrong with him. "You're in mana burnout."

He let out a shuddering breath that was all the confirmation she needed as the attack flashed through her mind's eye again. There'd been a moment she was certain the rogue would plunge his blade into her back. She felt around her back now to be sure and found no sign the rogue's dagger had hit home. Her mindblast must have knocked him away before he could strike. But the mindblast should have mostly stunned him, not outright killed him. And even if it had killed him, where was his body?

Following her gut, Rosa refreshed their barriers to be safe and then crossed the mine in a cautious tread. In the faint guttering light from the torch she saw the gray dust spread in a wide arc over the reddish sand, contrasting with it. Brittle chunks lay scattered about as well in a half-circle, as if some force centered right where she'd been standing had wafted out to scatter the mess.

…the mess of _what?_

One bit of stone caught her eye and she moved forward, kneeling. It was a large piece and shaped strangely. It was squarish but had four cylindrical projections and then a fifth offset at a slightly different angle from its fellows. It took her mind a moment for the shape to coalesce and make sense to her bewildered brain. It was a _hand_, she realized. A stone hand severed at the wrist.

Her stomach clenched and her body flushed hot and then cold. Turning round, Rosa hurried back to kneel at Solas' side. The image of the stone hand was blazoned on her eyelids as she took a deep breath and leaned down to touch her forehead to Solas' sweaty brow. "Draw from me," she told him.

Solas' breathing was rough, strained with the obvious pain of mana burnout. Still, he made a feeble attempt to push her away and try to sit up—only to fall back flat on his back with a hiss of pain. His eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Pressing her weight on his shoulders, Rosa held him down and moved her face to his again. They shared the same air, the intimate exchange making her heart pound anew even as she pushed that reaction aside. She had to make him listen. There was no reason he had to suffer. "Draw from me," she ordered again.

"No," Solas ground out and tried to roll his head sideways, avoiding her. "I may not be able to stop."

"You did in Hasmal," Rosa reminded him, gripping his chin and turning his face back to her. "I trust you." Laying her hands on either side of his neck, she maneuvered herself until she was straddling him, covering him like a lover. "You might've saved my life just now. Let me help you."

He shuddered beneath her and then gave in, lifting shaking hands to her neck and shutting his eyes. Rosa did the same, letting herself stay open as she felt his will reach out to touch hers. When he started to draw she felt her body flush with heat and then tingle. Her mana core pulsated inside her, yielding. It was pleasant, intimate in a way that had her aching, but the speed he drained her mana quickly made the world spin and her heart roar in her ears. The warmth changed to heat that approached pain and she let out a little gasp.

Solas released her at once and she blinked down at him, smiling as her own mana rebounded almost immediately. His sweating and shaking had ceased, but she felt his breathing hike and saw his nostrils flare. The blue of his eyes was mostly black from dilated pupils. She was about to ask him if he really had turned the rogue to stone somehow when Solas lifted his head from the ground to close the gap between them, his lips crashing against hers.

Inhaling sharply with both surprise and pleasure, Rosa responded with vigor. The woody taste of him seemed to make her head swell as the powerful memory of shared pleasure raced to the fore. He sucked on her lower lip and she opened for him, taking his tongue into her mouth. Their breaths whistled out through noses smashed against each other, growing faster. His tongue caressed hers in a rhythm that set her belly aflame with raw want.

His hands slid up to her neck again, fingers teasing along her hairline and then trailing to her ears. She shivered and her body relaxed, melding to his as she stretched out, letting her hips slide lower on him. When she brushed the hard lump of his arousal through his breeches it sent a thrill through her and straight to her groin.

But bumping his erection seemed to break the spell as Solas broke the passionate kiss, using a palm against her shoulder to push her back from him gently. His lips were swollen and his eyes still dilated. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her. "We shouldn't," he told her breathily.

Frustration beat on the inside of Rosa's skull. Grabbing his restraining hand on her shoulder she pressed close again and nipped at his chin. "Don't you _dare_ push me away," she growled huskily.

He let out a little strangled sound. "This is hardly an appropriate place," he protested, but she could hear the moan underlying the words.

Rosa turned his chin away, attacking his ear instead. She nibbled the lobe and then licked along the point. The groan and shudder that elicited made her chuckle throatily. "Then come to my tent tonight," she whispered into his ear. "We both know you want to." She bit the pointed tip of his ear, hard enough that he gasped. "Don't make me beg, flat-ear."

A twittering giggle echoed off the tunnel walls then and Rosa scrambled to pull away and rise to her feet. A dizzy spell swarmed in her head, making her see stars momentarily, but through it she still managed to make out the tan and brown shape of a hyena just outside the spiral mine's entrance. Its nose twitched as it edged forward cautiously, eyes glinting green from the guttering torchlight. A few other hyenas lingered nearby, letting out more giggling calls and nervous whoops.

"_Fenedhis,"_ Solas cursed. "The hare."

"Shit," she added her own curse to the mix, seeing the kill where Solas had dropped it just inside in his hurry to aid her. Rosa launched a fireball from one palm, aiming at the sand just ahead of the hyena nearest to the dead hare. "Shoo! Get!"

With a dull clatter, Solas launched Fade stone that shattered as it hit some rocks near the cave entrance. "Away with you!"

The hyenas cackled in their anxious twitter and turned tail to dart away, stumpy tails lifted in alarm. As soon as they were out of sight around the canyon's sheer red walls, Rosa trotted forward and grabbed up the hare. She let out a breath of relief as she lifted it high in triumph and grinned back into the cave. "Got it!"

Solas smiled at her, his eyes glittering in the light from the torch and from the outside. He waved a hand casually and Rosa felt her skin tingle with friendly magic as he tossed a barrier over her. "I'm pleased, Inquisitor."

Rosa snorted and used her free hand to wag a finger at him in warning. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me by name and not my title?"

Solas cleared his throat and dipped his head in respect. "My apologies."

Sighing, Rosa shot him a frown of annoyance. "You're just going to call me Inquisitor again two minutes from now, aren't you?"

He surprised her by smirking as he tucked his hands behind his back. "Perhaps I will call you by name over your title when you stop calling me flat-ear."

Laughing for a second, Rosa stuck out her tongue. "Deal, flat-ear."

"Inquisitor," Solas retorted, the playful smile still spread over his lips, but he sobered after a moment. "If you would allow me a moment of privacy…?"

She nodded. "Sure." But, as he turned away to walk back into the spiral mine, Rosa called out his name. "Solas, wait a minute." When he turned round again and regarded her with one brow raised in silent question, she cleared her throat and asked, "Did you…ah, what did you do to the rogue? The second one, I mean."

His jaw clenched, flaring a muscle in his temple. "A very powerful spell that has not survived to this age."

"You turned him to stone," Rosa said, phrasing it with more confidence than she felt. In the aftermath she'd begun to wonder if the grayish hand she'd seen had been frozen instead. That made more sense than _stone._ No mage she'd ever heard of had done _that._

His blue eyes flicked away and then returned to her. "Yes."

"Can you teach me?" she asked, smiling as she tried to summon her truthsaying talent.

Solas' eyes narrowed slightly as he considered it. "Possibly—but it will likely place you in mana burnout as well."

"Still," Rosa said, shrugging. Her talent said nothing as to whether he believed he could teach her this spell or not. "Killing someone that fast is valuable."

"Yes," Solas agreed, his smile tight. "It is."

Rosa waited as he returned to the cave to conduct his own personal business, occupying herself with looking over the hare while keeping one eye and ear out for the hyenas or any other threat. None came and soon enough Solas reappeared. They walked back to camp, threading their way through the corridors of the canyon. The sun painted the already reddish sandstone a brilliant crimson that seemed to glow. It was so beautiful Rosa found herself distracted, staring up at it rather than at the path. Solas seemed to deflate the closer they drew to camp, though he did smile when Rosa pointed out the beautiful scene. Rosa guessed it was the power of the wards weighing him down and decided to offer him a distraction as they reached the slope leading up to camp.

"So," she said, smiling playfully as she switched to elven. _"Have you given my offer any further thought?"_

Solas halted just before the slope. His blue eyes traveled over her and his lips twitched. _"Which offer might that be?"_ he asked her also using elven.

Pressing close and standing on her tiptoes—heedless that their companions could see them from camp—she whispered into his ear. _"Joining me tonight."_

She heard Solas' breath hitch and he pulled back enough to meet her gaze with his own. His expression was blank and unreadable, but there was something brighter in his eyes—a glint that made her heart suddenly pound with anticipation. "That would be inadvisable," he told her in common.

"Why?" Rosa rejoined, smirking. "I think it's a _fabulous_ idea." She lowered her voice into something intimate and conspiratorial and fluttered her lashes at him, deliberately coquettish. "We could both benefit from a bit of stress relief, don't you think?"

"Perhaps," he said, with a sort of half-nod that let her feel the brush of his breath over her cheeks, hot and moist. "But it is still inadvisable." Switching to elven, he added, _"We would wake the entire camp."_

She grinned. "Is that a promise?"

Solas cool mask cracked as he smiled and the glint in his eyes came perfectly clear as the tease it was. "Another time, Inquisitor."

Laughing as she felt a flush of heat color her cheeks, Rosa playfully shoved him with her free hand not holding the hare. "I'll hold you to that, flat-ear."

Solas led the way into camp to sit beside Cassandra. Rosa followed after him, staggered behind by a few steps. She passed the hare off to the requisitions officer to add to the nightly meal and started to head for her tent—only to have Sera call out to her. "Your holy lady parts!"

Sighing, Rosa turned round and saw the other elven woman sitting on Cassandra's other side with an arrow in her lap that she was currently fixing the fletching on. "What is it, Sera?"

Sera broke out in a giggling fit that made Rosa remember the hyenas. Her eyes flicked past Cassandra to where Solas had begun sorting through the various contents of his backpack to take stock of the herbs and ores he'd gathered. "You two start banging bits yet?"

Cassandra's sword sharpening halted as she let out a disgusted grunt. "Ugh."

Solas immediately lifted his head and frowned at the other elf. "Pardon?"

"Shut it, droopy ears," Sera scolded. "I asked Inky, not you." Stabbing a finger at Cassandra, Sera added, "Or you."

In a tone of mock-cheeriness, Rosa said, "That's a very good question, Sera, but so difficult to find an answer." She lifted her index finger in an _ah-ha_ gesture. "I have an idea! We could find a spirit and ask it!" Motioning to her left hand, she added, "I could open a little rift just outside camp and I'm sure we could pull a spirit out to have a little chat and you can ask it that question."

Sera's nose wrinkled with disgust. "That's not funny."

"It is a marvelous idea, Inquisitor," Solas put in without missing a beat. "Perhaps we can teach Sera a few simple spells to aid us in securing the spirit. Arcane talent may not have manifested in her naturally, but there are a number of ways to test for it."

"Shut it, droopy ears," Sera snapped. "Don't want to hear that shite. I got to sleep tonight." Glowering, she shoved the partly-fletched arrow into its quiver and shot to her feet, stomping out of camp.

Cassandra let out a breath as the elf disappeared down the slope. "Finally, a little peace and quiet."

"My sentiments exactly, Cassandra," Rosa agreed, smiling at the other woman. She shot Solas a brief look, seeing his blush at Sera's earlier topic already beginning to dissipate, then turned to her tent to review the scrolls she'd received earlier that day.

It was the third scroll she opened, the one marked with the Inquisition's official seal—Rylen's specifically—that made her draw in a deep breath as anxiety squeezed her stomach. Rylen reported that the last of Cullen's troops—and the Commander himself—had reached their main camp around Griffon Wing Keep. They now had the numbers to lay siege to Adamant. Commander Cullen, Warden Stroud, and Hawke all advised she swiftly return to engage.

Rosa sighed with both relief and frustration. The Forbidden Oasis had been an entertaining and enlightening distraction, but overall she'd accomplished little here officially. She, Solas, and Tal had not revealed that Tal could open the doors within the temple simply by touching them as it would draw too many questions. As a result her people had spent a week combing the desert for shards using the creepy ocularum. A few days previously they'd found just enough to open the main entrance to the temple. Scouts and soldiers and most of her inner circle companions had walked through the temple then, looking at the inner doors and wondering at their purpose. Solas and Tal had pretended to be surprised as well, as had Rosa, but the inner doors required increasingly more shards. There simply weren't enough within the Forbidden Oasis to open any of them.

Cassandra had been in favor of forcing open the doors, and Iron Bull had suggested getting hold of some Qunari weapons through trade. He felt confident they could blast their way through the doors, spells and shard locks be damned. Yet Rosa and Solas had both been against the idea, citing unknown dangers the ancients may have left as booby-traps to dissuade force. With Rosa ultimately the decision-maker, she'd ordered the scouts to take etchings of all inscriptions and to take notes and illustrations of the inside of the temple. Beyond that there was little more to be done.

So it was that although Rosa had learned a lot from Solas regarding the temple, and with Tal's help in gaining entry, but the Inquisition itself had accomplished nothing except removing the Venatori from this place. It _was_ something to be proud of, Rosa supposed, but it felt hollow. Still, she couldn't dawdle in the oasis with Cullen and his men here.

She penned a quick reply, telling them she would leave at dawn and hopefully they'd receive her scroll just before she arrived at the keep in person. Some of her scouts would remain at the oasis to continue taking notes on the temple, but all of the soldiers would return with her to bolster their numbers. They'd need everyone they could to succeed with the siege against demons and Wardens.

* * *

A dust storm rolled in over Griffon Wing Keep as the Inquisitor's group returned from the Forbidden Oasis. Scouts found them through the airborne assault, bracing and winching against the constant barrage of grit. The horses kept trying to slow, tossing their heads and snorting at the assault on their eyes, noses, and mouths.

Rosa was one of the first to dismount and walk her horse, trying to fight off the fear that left her bone-chilled and stiff. Despite months of travel on horseback she could still find herself stricken with terror. The gravity of her loss and trauma over a year ago could still bring her low. She tried not to let her mind drift to everything she'd lost that day. Not just a child, but a future she'd never know. A _person_ who might have been a great leader for his clan and for the People; a Dreamer.

As scouts from the keep appeared through the roar of the sand-laden wind to take the horses and attend them, Rosa saw Rylen and Commander Cullen hurrying to her. "Inquisitor!" they called, sounding strained as they shielded their eyes from the sand.

Rosa tugged her scarf higher and moved to meet with them as the rest of her companions assimilated into the camp or the keep. Rylen and Cullen guided her through the gates of Griffon Wing Keep and to the room they'd secured as a meeting place for discussing strategy mostly out of earshot of the troops. Cullen had fresh intel and strategy from Leliana, as well as a report on their raw numbers on both sides.

As she nodded her approval of the plans, staring down at the dusty map Cullen and Rylen had spread over their impromptu, uneven table, Rosa asked, "How soon can we march? I don't want to give the Wardens any more time than we already have."

"I agree," Rylen said with a grunt. "The longer we wait the more Wardens we lose to that bastard Venatori's demon summoning ritual."

Cullen nodded his understanding. "I can rally the men and march at midday tomorrow."

Rosa arched a brow. "Why not at dawn?"

Cullen smiled at her. "I do need _some_ time to make preparations, Inquisitor."

Rosa clucked her tongue in mock-disappointment. "Such a disappointment, Commander. Still, I'll take what you can give me." She pinched her lips together as she returned his smile. "We march tomorrow at noon."

"We will be there before the sun sets," Cullen promised. "And it should only be a few hours to breach the walls."

"Very good, gentlemen," Rosa said with a playfully serious tone. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Inquisitor," both men said to her as she left the room, ducking out the thick cloth drape they'd used to provide themselves with a semblance of privacy inside the makeshift command. The wind hit her immediately, scraping her skin with the sand in it. Rosa clenched her jaw and shielded her eyes a moment before losing patience and flicking one hand to toss up a barrier over herself. The blue energy shimmered and crackled faintly as the continuous sand blasting.

The tents scattered about this third level of the fortress flapped in the howling wind. Soldiers, scouts, and her inner circle sat huddled in the lees of some of the tents, hunkering down against the wind. With the sun down and the harsh wind ripping at them the air temperature had quickly grown chilly. Rosa's barrier couldn't keep her warm without an addition of extra mana to generate heat that she didn't bother with now out of a desire to suffer with her people. As a result she shivered as she wove her way through the tents, spying shadows from candles lit inside occupied shelters.

She saw Cassandra still outside, sheltered beside her own tent and seated beside Enchanter Vivienne, who'd arrived with Cullen and his troops. Both women nodded to her, though their eyes were squinted against the wind and dust. Rosa returned the gesture. Vivienne had accompanied Circle mages and enchanters from "loyalist" groups still in Orlais. She would lead them in the assault, but Rosa could already anticipate the sniping and bickering that'd soon erupt between herself and the snobbish enchanter.

In the lee of another tent Rosa saw Cole and Varric, neither especially bothered by the wind. One because he was short enough he didn't have to hunch to stay clear of it and the other because he was somewhere between physical and spirit and didn't seem to be troubled by the sandstorm. Varric seemed to be explaining Bianca's inner workings to the spirit boy, but the wind ripped his words away from Rosa's ears.

There was no sign of Tal, Dorian, Iron Bull, Solas, Sera, or Blackwall and she assumed they must be hunkered inside their tents for the night. No matter—they'd all hear soon enough the grand plan.

Reaching her tent, Rosa ducked through the closed flap—only to tense as she registered another presence unexpectedly. But her alarm evaporated as she recognized Solas seated on the canvas floor beside her bedroll while Tal sat across from him. Her brother grinned at her. _"Asamalin!_ Good of you to drop by."

Rosa snorted as she ducked forward and began to shrug off her travel pack. "This _is_ my tent. You're always welcome to stop by, but I thought you'd want to cuddle up next to Dorian now that we're back at the keep."

Tal made a noise that was halfway laughter and halfway a choke. "Why is it everyone thinks Dorian and I are attached at the hip? We're really _not."_

Smirking at him, Rosa said, "Sure, whatever you say." Before Tal could protest—and oddly, he was already blushing when usually he was completely nonchalant about his sexual partners—she turned her attention to Solas. "What brings you to my tent, flat-ear?"

Solas shuffled slightly to face her more directly. It should have been an awkward movement but Solas somehow made it smooth with his typical feline grace. "I suspect we will soon be marching on Adamant fortress," he said with a smile that was professional and polite but did nothing to hide the warmth she saw in his blue eyes.

"We're moving tomorrow, actually," Rosa confirmed as she sat partway between her brother and Solas, forming the third point in their triangle.

"Yes," Solas said, sounding unsurprised at the speed. "And we will be facing an army of demons bound to enslaved Warden mages." He shot her a knowing look. "It occurred to me that you will find that challenging."

"Which part?" Rosa asked, shrugging. "Killing the enslaved Warden mages or kicking demon ass?"

Solas' smile tightened. "You wear a mask of bravado," he said. "But I have seen how poorly you fare in the presence of demons."

"I can handle the fight, Solas," Rosa protested, bristling instinctually. "I'm not going to sit back and let everyone else fight for me if that's what you're—"

"No," Solas assured her, lifting one hand palm up. "I did not mean to suggest you should not be in the battle."

"Even though that's what you _wish_ you could get me to do," Rosa grumbled lightheartedly. Tal chuckled in agreement and Solas' lips thinned with irritation.

"Pardon me for trying to preserve the single most important person in all of Thedas," Solas retorted. "Should you die we will have no means of closing rifts—but this was not what I wished to speak with you about." He turned and reached for his own pack, opening a side pouch and reaching in for two small glass vials that held a viscous green fluid. Speaking in a softer voice, he explained, "In Elvhenan Dreamers quickly became accustomed to the presence of demons as it was difficult to pass even a single day without encountering a spirit of some kind."

Tal whistled. "That's crazy. The Veil was that permeable then?"

Solas' gaze flicked to him and for a brief second his brows furrowed as if he wanted to frown but then the expression cleared. "Yes."

Feeling something tug on her—suspicion or her truthsaying talent, Rosa couldn't quite say—she tried to summon it to the fore and smiled as she pointed to the vials. "So, what are these? What will they do exactly?"

"This is a concoction that dulls the Dreamer's reaction to demons," Solas said, shifting the vials in his palm so they clinked. "We provided it to young children who had not yet fully grown a tolerance."

"Like wrapping a wound with a bandage until it heals?" Tal asked. "Right?"

Solas nodded. "That is as apt a description as any, yes." Extending the vials out to her, Solas said, "Drink one before the battle and carry the other should it last longer than twelve hours."

"I hope it doesn't," Rosa said, frowning down at the vials. Turning them about in her palm she watched the sticky green fluid cling to the walls of the glass. There were chunks that might have been bits of herbs. "What's in it?"

"Several herbs your Keeper would not approve of," Solas replied cagily.

"You mean poisons?" Tal asked.

Rosa scowled more deeply now as she looked up to observe Solas' reaction to Tal's comment and found him throwing her brother a sour stare. "Many things deemed poisonous or forbidden can be helpful in small doses."

Rosa closed her hand over the vials. "If you say it's safe, I believe you. Thank you, Solas."

"It's going to taste like shit," Tal warned her, chuckling dryly. "You just know it."

"I don't care as long as it works," Rosa said as she began tucking the vials into her travel pack. She heard Solas shift then, doubtless about to excuse himself and make a smooth exit, but she decided to thwart that. "Solas," she said as she cinched her pack shut again with the vials inside. "Can you stay a moment?"

He hesitated and, when Rosa looked up at both men she saw his expression was torn and unreadable—but Tal's was twisted with obvious amusement. Shooting Tal a mild frown she said, "Tal, can you give us some time alone?"

"How long?" her brother quipped, snickering. "An hour or all night? I can go share Dorian's tent if Iron Bull hasn't moved in there yet for some hanky panky."

"An hour's more than enough," Rosa told him evenly, restraining the heat trying to creep into her cheeks at both his insinuation and his comment about Dorian and Iron Bull. She'd noticed some…tension between those two but had thought it stemmed from their diametrically opposed cultures rather than something else. Was her brother having threesomes now on a routine basis with the human and the Qunari?

"Got ya," Tal said, winking at her as he got to his feet and headed for the tent flap. Over his shoulder at the entrance he called out, "See you both tomorrow morning—but try to get some sleep around all the passionate sex."

Before either of them could protest or chasten him, Tal was gone. Alone now, Solas cleared his throat and spoke first, "Inquisitor, we should both rest before tomorrow. It will be—"

"Hold that thought," Rosa told him, cutting him off with a gentle sweep of one hand. Edging a touch closer, she lowered her volume as she said, "I thought we should discuss our mutual enemy." Patting her pack where she'd tucked the vials away, she clarified at his confused look. "Speaking of demons, I mean."

Understanding brightened Solas' face, chasing away the embarrassment from Tal's comment. "Ah," he said. "You are referring to the Formless One and the Forgotten Ones."

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I kept meaning to ask you again what you think about all this but distractions kept coming up." Fidgeting with her hands in her lap, she dropped her gaze as she asked, "Do you think the Formless One really would team up with the so-called Freemen of the Dales? Or Corypheus?"

Solas inclined his head. "Possibly."

Pinching her lips together with irritation at his cagey reply, Rosa sighed. "And what about Livius Erimond out there at Adamant? Do you think the Formless One might be helping bring him demons for his ritual? Most of them aren't going to willingly come forward to be bound. They want to cross the Veil through possession, not wind up some Warden mage's pet."

With a bit of a grimace, Solas repeated his earlier vague response, altering it only slightly. "It is certainly within the realm of possibilities."

Rosa scoffed in annoyance now. "Really, Solas? You don't have anything better than that for me?" It was always best to try and goad his pride, she'd found, when trying to extract information from him.

His jaw clenched. "I cannot say with any certainty," he explained, a little testily. "In my time spirits and demons were far more common. One did not require an elaborate ritual to lure or bind them; rather they were a simple part of nature, like encountering songbirds." His expression softened with amusement and his eyes glazed slightly with memory. "Well, spirits were much like songbirds or other wildlife, content to exist in reflection of their purpose and representative emotion. Demons were more aggressive and actively sought interaction with physical beings. Therefore, I cannot be certain the demons bound in the Wardens' army are not participating willingly, without pressure from a more powerful and intelligent demon."

"Just because they want to see this world?" Rosa asked, unable to keep the note of skepticism from her voice.

"Their desire may blind them," Solas told her. "And I doubt they understand the binding. They cannot fathom a world that is purely physical."

Rosa nodded, remembering the difficulty Rogathe had had with understanding the world beyond the Veil and the entirely different rules it followed. "I hear you," she agreed. "But I still feel it in my gut that there's something on the other side of the Veil aiding that Venatori rat in tricking the Wardens. And who—or _what_ else could it be but the Formless One?"

Solas flashed her an enigmatic little smile. "The Fade has no shortage of other powerful demons that may also play a part. We must keep an open mind, Inquisitor."

Rolling her eyes, Rosa corrected him, "Rosa. My name is _Rosa_." Following a childish impulse she reached across the small space separating them in the tent and took his chin in a gentle hold. "Say it with me now," she teased, trying to make his lips form the shapes of her name.

Solas turned his head with a short little jerk, throwing her a glance that was equal parts amusement and annoyance. "Have a care, _Inquisitor,"_ he told her. Any irritation seemed to evaporate though as the playful glint in his blue eyes intensified, making Rosa's stomach flutter. "I've known men—and women—who would have flogged you for such foolish, uncouth behavior."

"Foolish, uncouth behavior?" Rosa repeated, smirking. "Really? You should know that's absolutely normal for my savage Dalish culture. Is it too much for you to handle, _flat-ear?"_ she teased.

He let out a husky laugh, short but real. "Hardly." Blue eyes raked over her for a moment, assessing her. His pupils had blown wide. They were easily within arm's reach of one another. All either of them had to do was make the first move…

Rosa leaned forward, challenge in her eyes. "Prove it, then."

He seemed to inch closer and then, abruptly, sobered and withdrew with a shake of his head. "It is late. I should go." Before she could try to stop him or protest Solas was on his feet and grabbing his pack with a little restrained grunt.

Shooting to her feet and blocking his way, Rosa laid a hand over his chest. "Don't go," she said quietly. The candle at the back of her tent flickered, casting wild shadows over the canvas and casting Solas suddenly dark in harsh contrast. She caught a glimpse of something brooding and hard and dangerous that momentarily chilled the heat of desire in her blood before Solas gripped her hand on his chest in his own and squeezed.

"I…" His blue eyes flitted over her face and he swallowed dry, his throat bobbing. "I cannot." Her tugged against her hand but Rosa kept her hold tight.

"You can, Solas," she insisted, breathy and croaking with sudden emotion that swelled in her chest and stung her eyes. "Stay. You've said you love me. You think by holding me at arm's length you're protecting me but it just hurts." She had pressed close enough almost to kiss him as she spoke and Solas reacted by inhaling sharply and jerking his head away from her, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Don't look away from me," Rosa said, almost growling.

With a shuddering breath Solas looked back at her, lips parted and pupils dilated. He lifted tender fingers to her cheek, caressing along her jaw and to her ear. Rosa shuddered with pleasure, her body slackening and falling toward his. "I cannot bear the thought of causing you pain." His thumb trailed over her cheekbone. "But this night we must remain focused on the battle to come. We cannot afford distraction."

Rosa's shoulder slumped as she resigned herself to another night alone, tormented by longing. Had she not been protecting her dreams as warded safe havens the way Solas had taught her months ago she knew she'd be chased and taunted by desire demons now instead of the despair variety that had plagued her previously.

Irritation made her terse as she pulled away and stepped out of his path. "All right then, flat-ear." She indicated the tent flap with a sweep of her hands. "Go on."

Solas hesitated, eyeing her with something reluctant and sad and...adoring. He took a small step toward the flap and then his jaw clenched and he whipped back to her, reaching out. Rosa tensed with surprise, but only for a split second as Solas' arms slid around her and his lips crashed into hers. Her heart hammered in her chest as he seemed to steal her breath right out of her lungs. His hands slid over her, knowing and confident and wholly welcomed. And, despite her armor, Rosa could feel her skin dimpling with desire as his taste filled her mouth, warm and woody and richly male.

But just as she was about to claw at his clothes and open her lips to deepen his fast, passionate kiss, Solas broke it. The fingers of his right hand tugged her chin to the right and the next thing she knew she was breathless as she felt his lips on her neck and then her ear. The hot exhalation of his whisper made her gasp.

"_Ar lath ma, vhenan,"_ he said and his teeth nipped at her lobe quick before he added, "When the battle is over…"

The promise and the declaration both hung in the air as he pulled back from her, his lips curling in a smile that was both loving and feral. Stunned and dizzy, heart roaring in her ears, Rosa watched dumbly as Solas ducked out of her tent. She found herself staring at the flap in disbelief for several long minutes before she shook her head and cursed. _"Fenedhis."_

She had been toying with him a long time now, deliberately reminding him of their past with titillating comments and finding ways to be alone with him unnecessarily, but now it seemed he'd turned the tables. Dragging a hand through her messy hair, tugging strands from her bun, Rosa groaned with frustration.

The end of the battle for Adamant and the Wardens could _not_ come soon enough.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"You have impressive reserves, apostate," Vivienne told him, haughty and yet also with grudging respect. "You do an excellent job of spellcasting without any concrete knowledge of techniques."

Solas bit back his desire to snort—_barely_. "Odd," he said, cold and polite and just a touch too quiet for her to completely overhear. "I was just thinking the same thing regarding you, Enchanter."

"What was that, my dear?" the Enchanter asked, leaning closer to him and arching one sculpted brow.

"Nothing," Solas told her, smiling with secret enjoyment at just how little she knew. "As you were."

* * *

Is everyone ready for the Adamant scenes? Literal Fade walking, man! And of course my Fade-walking will involve a huge amount of canon breaking.


	28. The Siege of Adamant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition takes on Adamant and its brainwashed Wardens. 
> 
> Apologies ahead of time for this chapter. It uses way more game dialogue than I typically do. I know I find that boring as a reader so I thought I would warn everyone. It was tough to avoid here because we have to establish what's happening with the Wardens and all. Not much room to break canon. But next chapter we'll start breaking mucho canon!

The Dread Wolf was no stranger to dread himself, though he wished that weren't true. Overlooking the siege of Adamant with the rest of Rosa's inner circle and her advisors and commanders left his stomach loopy and his arms and legs feeling light and weak. He drew mana repeatedly, letting it spread through his flesh as a reminder that he was stronger than any other mage here and he had no fear of the demon army the Wardens had created.

And yet he knew there was much to fear here. The most obvious risk was that Rosa would perish. Just one unlucky blow or a poorly timed arrow that caught her between barrier refreshes could be enough to destroy Thedas' savior. But Solas could comfort himself that he was strong enough to protect her, even if he exposed himself in doing it. Such a sacrifice would be worth it in the end.

It was the lesser, unknown risks that could truly devastate him, however. Like the disturbing fact that Solas _had_ felt the Formless One in the Fsde the night before as he sought out answers to some of Rosa's suspicions. He had not summoned the demon to him, preferring to remain enigmatic as much as possible. The Formless One would have identified him just as he sensed it, however, so although Evanuris and Forbidden One had scented one another they had no insight as to the other's plans. The Fade otherwise proved relatively deserted in this area—except for an abnormally large fear demon that had apparently resisted leaving in spite of the Formless One's presence.

That was highly unusual and it set Solas' mind spinning along the same lines as Rosa's had been the night before. The fear demon must be connected to Corypheus' plot. The Formless One might be as well, considering the two demons were sharing territory currently.

He didn't share any of this with Rosa, merely watched her and tried to ignore the lance of anxiety in his chest. Did the Formless One actually have an agenda with her that he didn't know about? Was it here to try and slip through the Veil to attack Rosa physically for her blood?

"Worried, apostate?" Vivienne asked from where she stood nearby on a slight outcropping of rocks to his left. She was trying to keep her heels clean and her fussiness—not to mention such ridiculous footwear for a battle—made him barely able to restrain a sneer.

"No, Enchanter," he replied, icily polite. "But _you_ must be very anxious that you may get a touch of dirt on your fine Orlesian shoes. One might think you inexperienced and impractical if they did not know you."

Vivienne glowered down her nose at him, a tight smile curling over her lips. "Quite," she said. "But perhaps I merely hope to level the playing field, my dear."

"The only leveling you will be doing in such footwear, Enchanter, is sinking into the ground," Solas shot back.

She let out a smug chuckle; as if his response was so stupid it was cute. The sound made Solas bristle but he stuffed the reaction down inside, deep. The last thing he wanted was for Vivienne to see that she could rile him with just a laugh.

The trebuchets the ambassador had found for the Inquisition fired again in a barrage of fire and clattering. The smoldering projectiles flew over the battlefield and crashed against the walls. The soldiers cheered as some of the old fortress crumbled under the impact. Solas watched Blackwall a few meters away, knowing that the task ahead would be a difficult one for the other man as the Inquisition slaughtered many of his fellows. Indeed, the Warden flinched and grimaced, lowering his head to look away.

Cullen shouted from up ahead, motioning. Solas watched as men surged forward with ladders as fast as they could, doubtless praying for all their worth that the Wardens' arrows didn't find them. Warriors accompanied them, using their shields to protect the ladder men. When they were close enough to the fortress's base they lifted the ladders up with men already clinging to them. The soldiers around Solas shouted with triumph as the first men on the ladders leapt off onto the upper ramparts.

"Forward!" Cullen shouted, unsheathing his blade and stabbing it in the direction of the fortress. "Bring the battering rams forward!"

On Solas' right, much closer than Vivivenne, Cole shuddered. "I don't like it here."

"I know, Cole," he told the spirit in a soft voice. He had talked with Cole, learning what the boy had done in his first months as a newly-manifested conscious and physical being. Cole had been twisted, somewhat, unclear of his purpose, but he'd never quite let go of his origins. Cole didn't speak of what had drawn him across the Veil, but Solas could guess. Being a spirit of compassion, he had seen suffering and been unable to aid it. Solas suspected that _Cole_ had been the name and identity of whomever Compassion had wanted to help, but in being unable to, it had _become_ him instead.

But Cole's dislike of Adamant was unrelated to his original manifestation. The boy had been here before, following a mage he called Rhys—his first friend. Solas had been awake during the time so he hadn't witnessed it via the dreaming but had to rely mostly upon Cole's limited information. Still, it was enough that he'd realized Cole had been involved in the events that had led to the Circles' rebellion when they uncovered that Tranquility could be reversed.

Something unpleasant had certainly happened at this fortress and was clearly happening again, however. Solas could feel the Veil thinned and twisting. He suspected Rosa and the other mages felt the differences in the Veil here as a queasiness, but for him it was a little thrill of pleasure as his body and mind sensed the nearness of the Fade. It was like the smell of water to a man who'd gone hours toiling away under the hot sun. But Rosa and other elven mages would not recognize it as a pleasant sensation and Vivienne and Dorian and their human ilk would only associate it with the threat of demon possession.

Down at the gates the battering ram had been moved into position and the men chanted as they strained to swing it back and hammer the gates. The Wardens tossed stones down at them, but the men pushing the ram were sheltered by its bulk while the soldiers on either side lifted shields to cover themselves and their companions. The first impact of the ram boomed over the rocks even as far out as where Rosa stood with her inner circle, all watching tensely. When the gate came open after the third or fourth ram—it was old and rusted with time and in ill-repair like the rest of the fortress—the soldiers flanking it surged forward with their shields held out in defense.

With the fortress breached Cullen shouted out: "Advance! All troops advance!"

Rosa seemed to think that was her cue—though Solas wished she would wait until the ramparts were quieter—as she turned round and shouted something, lifting her staff and tossing barriers over everyone. As Solas sighed and squared his shoulders, stroking his mana core again for reassurance, they rushed forward. Wardens on the ramparts tossed rocks down and their archers fired in a frenzy, trying to repel and decimate the incoming breaching force.

Rosa waved a hand without slowing her charge, tossing barriers up over the soldiers ahead of her. The rocks from above shattered over it, though the barriers crackled and died at the impact. Vivienne added her own barriers, refreshing them and both Solas and Tal covered their team as they passed through the smashed gates and into the lower bailey.

Inside they found chaos. Warden warriors fought with Inquisition men and women. Their armors both glittered orange in the fires of debris flung from the Inquisition's trebuchets. Cracked stone had tumbled from the walls, some of it recently and other bits looked softer, as though they had weathered for months or years. The floor was uneven and sand inundated the corner.

"For the Maker!" Cassandra shouted, lifting her sword aloft before she charged forward to take out a Warden warrior. Vivienne engaged a clump of demons, her spectral blade buzzing with white light in a way that drew Solas' gaze and tightened his gut with both grudging respect and irritation. Knight Enchanters had stolen the spectral blade from Elvhen arcane warriors like Solas' own agents Lyris and Mathrel.

When Solas looked back to where he'd last seen Rosa a few meters ahead he felt a stab of cold through his chest. She had disappeared. Just in front of him Sera dropped to one knee to snipe a shade slithering toward them. Varric hustled around her from behind, also taking aim.

Scanning the battlefield chaos, Solas finally caught sight of Rosa fighting alongside Blackwall, Dorian, Tal, and Cole in a cluster. Shades had surrounded them, hissing and moving in their undulating, slithering motion. One bristled and slashed at Blackwall, but the Warden blocked it with practice motion of his shield. Another shade moved in on Tal and all three mages unleashed their favored spells on it—Tal flung a fireball, Rosa shot it with Fade stone, and Dorian grunted as he spun his staff and sent chain lightning crackling as it arced between all the demons around them.

Solas Fade-stepped forward to join them, passing through one of the shades and freezing it solid. When he came out of the spell he stabbed backward with the butt of his stave and shattered the demon.

"Nice one," Blackwall complimented him and then flinched as he lifted his shield just in time to deflect a Warden mage's fireball.

Cole slashed through another shade, making it groan as it fell, dissolving into green Fade ether, then had to duck a barrage of fireballs from the mage as well. Rosa flicked her hand, putting a barrier over him and the rest of their group as Solas moved to take a spot at her side, inserting himself between her and Tal. The younger elf grinned at him. "Nice to see you, _hahren!"_

The Warden mage motioned then in a gesture Solas knew was for fire mines and Dorian cursed, seeing it too. "Oh no you don't, cretin!" he shouted and cast dispel on the mage—but the other man countered it. _"Kaffas,"_ Dorian swore.

Orange circles lit up beneath them as the fire mines sprang into existence. Tal yelped and scrambled away, as did Dorian. Solas tossed a more powerful barrier over himself and Rosa as he saw Blackwall and Cole both dance clear of the runes but realized he and Rosa would not get clear in time. When the fire runes activated the flames licked up their barriers, setting them flickering—but they held. Rosa shot him a quick look of gratitude and then Fade-stepped away, passing through the Warden mage with a shout. He froze nearly solid, slowing his movements and grimacing. It was a long enough pause that Rosa thrust her stave through him like a sword, grinning hard and fierce.

The fighting in the bailey had mostly finished and Inquisition soldiers rushed past them. Some were spattered with Warden blood and the distinctive armor on the Warden bodies scattered around the area made it clear who was losing. Rosa stared out at the carnage and Solas saw her lips twisting downward with regret. Despite all his criticisms of the Wardens, she seemed set on believing they were heroic, valiant heroes who had saved Thedas five times over. He wished he could tell her what he knew of the truth—that their method of fighting Blight would ultimately lead to destroying all of Thedas in an unending tide of Blight corruption. But revealing what he knew meant exposing _how_ he knew it.

"We have to try and convince the warriors we're not a threat," Rosa yelled, glancing at him and then beyond, at Blackwall. "Do you think we can do that?"

He was breathing hard as he stared back at her, winded form the battle, but his expression was one of devotion and gratitude. "We can try, your worship."

"Then let's do that," Rosa said, jogging past Solas and into the middle of the bailey where Commander Cullen had appeared through the breach with more men charging past him.

More projectiles from the trebuchets roared by as they slammed into the fortress ramparts up above. Solas tossed barriers up over everyone nearby, spreading the mana out over dozens to protect them from falling debris. Vivienne was beside him when he turned back to watching Rosa's meeting with Cullen.

"You have impressive reserves, apostate," she told him, haughty and yet also with grudging respect. "You do an excellent job of spellcasting without any concrete knowledge of techniques."

Solas bit back his desire to snort—_barely_. "Odd," he said, cold and polite and just a touch too quiet for her to completely overhear. "I was just thinking the same thing regarding you, Enchanter."

"What was that, my dear?" the Enchanter asked, leaning closer to him and arching one sculpted brow.

"Nothing," Solas told her, smiling with secret enjoyment at just how little she knew. "As you were."

Her mask briefly flickered with irritation at his casual command. Solas realized his experience as a leader was showing through a little too much and searched about for distraction. Fortunately Rosa had finished speaking with the commander and her return stopped all chatter as they headed deeper into the fortress.

They encountered more fighters, warriors in armor who fought with snarls on their faces and desperation in their eyes. Rosa hung back and let Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Blackwall lead, clashing with the warriors as she shouted, "Please! Wardens! We aren't here to kill you! We come only to stop your commander!"

The men and women they faced off with didn't budge from their stalwart defense of the fortress. Cassandra stabbed one through a gap in his side armor and he fell to the sand, bleeding out. Iron Bull roared as she swung his battle axe in a great arc, cutting down two soldiers who got in his way.

They encountered Stroud fighting in the main bailey and Solas pitied the man, guessing that he knew many of these men personally. Blackwall was likely the same, though he had been removed and remote from the Order for longer, apparently. That much was obvious as none of the Wardens shouted Blackwall's name in recognition as they fought, but one warrior cursed and spat at Stroud when he saw him.

"Stroud," the man bellowed. "You son of a bitch! Traitor!"

Stroud had his sword out and leveled at the other man as they circled one another through some dry grass and a skeletal tree that was growing from sand in this section of the bailey. "I don't want this, Hendley," Stroud yelled back at him. "You and the others are being used."

"Bullocks," Hendley growled and lunged at him, leading with his sword.

Solas lobbed an ice clump at the Warden, knocking him flat with the power of it and then watched as Stroud strode to the other man and used the end of his shield to hit him in the head, knocking the warrior out rather than killing him. "You'll thank me later, my friend."

Solas hoped that was true.

They hurried deeper into the fortress, crossing lower battlements to find a Warden mage actively trying to sacrifice warriors for the demon summoning ritual. But these Wardens resisted, refusing. Rosa hurried to the front and Solas quickly tossed barriers over her and everyone else—but he made sure hers was the most powerful.

"We won't be sacrificed for some insane ritual," one of the warriors shouted, but the Warden mages paid their protests no mind and actively tried to kill them as Rosa led her group on the offensive.

Dorian dispelled ice mines one of the mages cast and this time it worked, leaving the mage stumbling as his mana recoiled painfully back to him like a whip. Iron Bull raced in, shouting and with his battle axe flying. The weapon hit the mage and cut into his side so deeply it stuck. He collapsed in a growing pool of blood and guts as Iron Bull hurried to reclaim his weapon, grunting as he pulled it out of the dying mage. Solas felt his gorge rise at the sight. War was always ugly but modern Thedas was especially ugly with its frequent use of brute force and brawn rather than the swift preciseness of magic.

"Please stop this!" the warrior yelled from across the way where he stood on some scaffolding with other warriors and a few archers. They looked confused, troubled by what was happening and baffled at what they should do and who they should fight. Most of the warriors with shields had been trying to block the mages' attacks rather than actively fight them. They tensed in preparation to fight the Inquisition now even as the mages kept firing fire at them.

Solas cast a lightning bolt at one mage as the woman tried to attack one of the Warden archers. The bolt crackled and made her twitch as the purplish light engulfed her. Rosa cast incinerate beneath her in a little explosion and she fell without even a scream to the stones, dead.

When the last Warden mage had fallen the warrior shouted to them, "Keep your distance!"

This was the first time the warriors had tried to warn away the Inquisition and Rosa was quick to step forward and call to them, "We're here to stop Clarel, not to kill Wardens! If you fall back you won't be harmed!"

The warrior hesitated only a moment as he exchanged quick stares with his comrades. None of them moved to attack. Finally the warrior said, "Fine! We'll stay back. We want no part of this." He sheathed his weapon and the archers near him lowered their bows.

"Thank you," Rosa called to them and Solas didn't miss the real relief in her voice. It wasn't because she feared fighting them, only that she dreaded killing them.

"You won't regret this," Stroud promised them.

The Wardens were mute as Rosa left. Solas followed close behind her. They dashed up a stairwell to the higher levels, encountering more shades. Cole lashed out at them and the warriors in their group took the demons out with ease while Solas and the other mages provided support with barriers and other mostly defensive spells.

On the battlements they found stronger demons—rage and pride. The Wardens had apparently placed their strongest demons here to protect against breach by the ladders. Still, there were a few dozen Inquisition soldiers fighting their way through the demons. Rosa's group joined them and quickly took them out. They also killed the Warden archers and warriors who wouldn't stand down. It seemed common sense was lacking broadly across the Wardens' whole order.

They met Hawke in the thick of the fighting on the battlements, hacking and slashing with their people after apparently managing to make it onto the battlements by ladder assault. Even Solas had to admit that the man was impressive, solidly built and powerful but with a swift-footedness that would do any rogue proud.

"Inquisitor," Hawke called, recognizing Rosa and her party. "How good of you to come by." He whipped around to stab with his sword at an ailing rage demon. Solas spun his staff to help the Champion, casting winter's grasp. The rage demon dissolved into Fade ether.

"Which way to the Warden commander?" Rosa called to him, gritting her teeth.

Hawke motioned to some stairs behind them leading down. "Through the main bailey again and…" He broke off as Stroud hurried forward to take the lead.

"Here," the Warden said. "I will show you."

They headed down a flight of stairs and through more crumbling and sandy passages, following close behind Stroud. They passed burning scaffolding, half-emptied crates of supplies and even a large coin purse. Sera made a detour for it, grinning like a cat that'd found her way into the cook's cream as she stooped and gathered up the scattered coin, glittering gold as they reflected the flames.

Stroud, Cassandra, and Blackwall reached an old metal door and worked at it together, grunting as they hauled it open only to reveal a shade and a rage demon with a Warden mage beyond. The shade made its guttural groaning sound and the rage demon roared, spouting flame at Hawke, Rosa, and Iron Bull who were next in line. They flinched, tensing for battle, but Solas just behind them was faster than the demon's flame as he tossed barriers up over them all. The fire broke over the barriers, making them glitter and flash blue.

Cassandra was first around the door, sliding past Rosa and Hawke and Iron Bull as she lunged to put her blade through the shade's throat. It gurgled and dissolved. The rage demon slithered forward in its puddle of fire, blowing fire at the Seeker and Hawke. Both warriors lifted their shields as the last bit of Solas' barrier expired. He refreshed it with a wave of his hand and Rosa let out a cry as she spun her staff and cast winter's grasp. Tal dispelled the demon's barrier and Dorian swept one hand out to summon a wall of ice to block the demon and the mage beyond it.

Solas cast a blizzard as Cole slid past him, invisible to most though Solas sensed the spirit's presence as a greenish haze. Hawke, Blackwall, and Iron Bull snuck around the edges of the wall and attacked the rage demon with sword, shield, and battle axe. The demon crumpled before them, gurgling in that strange metallic way of all rage demons as they succumbed.

The blizzard had slowed the Warden mage with its fierce chill and allowed Iron Bull, Hawke, Cassandra, and Blackwall to close on him. Sera and Varric pressed forward to take a few shots at the Warden but Cole struck from invisibility before either could loose either bolt or arrow. The Warden fell without a cry, bleeding out in a harsh spatter over the stones.

"This way," Stroud called, already spinning to rush down the corridor. It was open to their left, revealing the black scar of the Blight infested abyss that the Wardens had built this fortress to stand watch over so many ages ago.

They followed Stroud around a dogleg, through another metal door and through a dusty, partly weed-choked side yard. Another metal door waited them ahead and here the battle sounds seemed to have diminished somewhat. Something prickled Solas' skin as he watched Stroud yank the door open and hurry through, Blackwall at his heels and Hawke close behind him.

"Blood magic," Dorian grumbled from where he stood beside Tal. He wrinkled his nose with distaste, clearly hesitating at the idea of plunging forward into the courtyard beyond. Behind him Sera was also grimacing with disgust and one look through the door revealed why easily enough to Solas. There was a Fade rift in the courtyard. Shimmering and green, it took up the space between the dais where a mage who must be the Warden commander stood and the base level of the courtyard where the remaining Wardens lingered.

The sight of it made his blood turn to ice.

"Enough chatter," Rosa scolded them as Iron Bull, Cassandra, Varric, and Vivienne moved around them to enter the courtyard. She led them forward into the courtyard, shoulders squared and spine straight. Solas stayed close to her and tried not to think about what might be waiting on just the other side of that Fade rift.

* * *

The Warden commander, it seemed, was in the middle of her very own demon-summoning ceremony. Rosa saw the body of an old man fall to the woman's feet, blood flowing into the air as arterial spray and then becoming a crimson haze that gleamed with magic.

"Always with the blood magic," Hawke growled from nearby, shaking his head.

Rosa nodded slightly, feeling nauseous at the sickening tingle of the magic in the air here. Her eyes drifted to the Fade rift, seeing only the unclear haze of its outline and the occasional ribbon of green light. She almost wished she hadn't taken the potion Solas had given her to dull her sense of demons. If she hadn't she felt certain now she'd be able to feel _something_ on the other side of the rift.

"Stop them," Livius shouted from the dais. "We must complete the ritual!"

The Wardens assembled in the courtyard turned to regard Rosa and her party. They lifted their weapons—staves, bows, and swords alike—but they seemed hesitant at the sight of their supposed enemy not rushing headlong into battle. Rosa felt the others tensing behind her, ready to fight, but she lifted a hand to hold them back. Taking a calculated risk, she strode a few steps ahead and called out, "Clarel, stop this before Livius binds you!"

That rat-bastard Venatori weasel moved forward before Clarel could speak, interrupting. "Yes, Inquisitor, everyone here already knows I will bind the demon to Warden commander Clarel. And yes the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty."

Clarel chimed in now: "We make the sacrifices no one else will. Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them."

"And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus," Stroud shouted from behind Rosa, immediately drawing looks of confusion and alarm from the Wardens in front of Rosa.

There seemed to be hesitation on the dais as Clarel and Livius exchanged a few words. For a moment Rosa held her breath, hoping the Warden commander would refuse to continue, but whatever Livius said had been enough to keep her going forward on the disastrous path forward. "Bring it through!" she ordered the Warden mages below in the courtyard scattered around the Fade rift.

The mages worked their staves, warping the Veil to widen the tear. On the other side Rosa could see a strange shape: pallid flesh with round structures like eyeballs flicking. It seemed to be looking out at the world beyond the Fade and Rosa felt sick just seeing it—whatever _it_ was. Had the Formless One taken a new shape?

As the Wardens not occupied with the Fade rift hurried forward with their weapons out Hawke shouted, "Please, I have seen more than my fair share of blood magic! It is never worth the cost!"

"I trained half of you myself," Stroud added, plaintively. "Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!"

With desperation building in her throat like bile, Rosa gritted her teeth and yelled, "Stop this! You have a proud history! You stopped the Blight _five times_ since the darkspawn first came to Thedas! No one else can do what you do. I didn't come here to kill Wardens, I came here to stop you from destroying yourselves and serving the very Blight you've sworn to protect this world from! This world owes you a debt it can never repay and I am _trying _to save you! I would not stand against you if I did not _know _you were being deceived!"

The Wardens arrayed in front of her had paused again and now openly looked back at Clarel for guidance. Again, Clarel hesitated and Rosa felt her heart crawling up her throat. Iron hands seemed to grip her throat in a crushing grip as she waited.

This time it seemed Clarel disappointed Livius as he strode toward the end of the dais, glaring down at Rosa and her group as he banged his staff down and shouted, "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!"

In the sky Rosa heard the screech of a dragon and her skin prickled with gooseflesh. "Shit," she cursed, whipping around to see the black archedemon-esque dragon flying out of the cloudless, starry night sky on rotten wings. it gurgled as it drew near, preparing to blow its red-lyrium infested fire.

"Move!" she shouted and her group and a few of the Wardens split, darting away. Rosa rolled clear of the corruption, hearing it splatter in a way that was both liquid and solid, clattering as it struck the stone and some nearby wood and scaffolding. Red-lyrium tainted fires roared in its wake. Rosa realized Solas had tossed a barrier over her as she got to her feet and shot him a knowing look. He'd been right at her heels almost the entire battle—her very own protective Elvhen shadow.

The dragon circled by overhead, coming in to land on one of the fortress' towers. Seeing it must have finally made Clarel realize Rosa and the Inquisition had been telling the truth all along. She struck out at Livius and then at the dragon, making it blast the dais with its hideous red breath. It took wing again as Livius took off running and Clarel yelled to her Wardens, "Help the Inquisitor!"

"Where are they going?" Rosa asked.

"A very good question," Solas said from her side, breathing a little rough. "But unimportant for the moment."

She grimaced as she saw he was right. The Warden mages at the Fade rift had apparently ignored Clarel's orders and brought a massive pride demon through it. Were they enslaved? It hardly mattered, however, as the pride demon and a few shades that had also appeared slithered forward to attack both the warrior Wardens and Rosa's party.

"Let's make this quick," she yelled to her people. "Iron Bull, Cassandra, Sera, Varric, and Vivienne." Motioning at them, she stabbed a finger at the demons and the enslaved Warden mages. "Take care of that! Everyone else, either come with me or stay here. I need to find Clarel!"

Without waiting to see who would accompany her and who would stay, Rosa Fade-stepped through the battlefield, freezing the nearest shade as she passed through it. She heard and sensed Solas shadowing her, shattering the shade. They ran up a series of stairs to leave the fighting in the courtyard, feet slapping over the stone. The roars of the dragon still circling overhead followed them.

Along the outer wall they ran into some more shades. Solas spun his staff, casting winter's grasp and freezing them solid. Rosa stabbed it through with her staff. Another shade growled and lurched for Blackwall and Tal who were just coming up the stairwell behind them. Tal yelped and tossed a barrier over himself and Blackwall just as the shade reached them and tried to bang its fists on Blackwall. The Warden let out a shout and shield bashed the shade, knocking it back. Tal flung a huge fireball at it, engulfing it in flames and slowing it long enough for Blackwall to run his sword through it.

With the demons dead Rosa ran on again, following the outside edge of the fortress. In an enclosed section of corridor Corypheus' dragon suddenly swooped in, slamming against the railing. It tore at it with its claws, snarling in its thunderous but also sickly voice. Rosa skidded to a stop, cursing under her breath as the dragon tossed aside stone and metal railing, thrusting its enormous head through the gap. With a gurgle, it blew out a gout of red-lyrium fire, turning its head to send it racing straight for Rosa and her people.

"Fuck!" Blackwall swore, hunkering down behind his shield. Rosa tossed a barrier up over herself—even as she felt Solas doing the same thing for her and himself—while Tal quickly did the same for himself, Blackwall, and Dorian who'd just rounded the corner after them.

The red-lyrium fire broke over them, guttering and splattering. Red lyrium shards sprinkled about Rosa's feet and her barrier hissed under the strain, flickering blue. But the dragon lost its grip on the wall after just a moment and withdrew, pushing off. It flapped its filthy black wings, billowing out a faint stink of something sour and rotten as it circled away.

"Vishante kaffas!" the Tevinter yelled. "It is hideous, isn't it?"

"Just like your drunk face," Tal quipped.

"I take exception to that," Dorian retorted. "I have it on good authority I am handsome and impeccably groomed even while intoxicated, thank you very much."

"Not when you've puked all over yourself," Tal added, sniggering.

"Enough," Solas called over his shoulder in irritation. Looking back that way, Rosa recognized her brother's tense posture. The dragon must remind him a little too powerfully of Haven and how close to death they'd come. Hence the ill-timed humor, to deflect his own horror. 

"Inquisitor!" Hawke shouted, rounding the corner then with Stroud at his side. "Where's Clarel?"

Rosa didn't answer as she turned and ran on. There were no other paths here; just the one leading around the edge of the fortress and then, when they reached a final staircase, it went up. Charging up it, Rosa rounded another corner and saw a half-collapsed surface extending out into the air over the Blight-tainted chasm. She wondered a moment if this had been a massive bridge to allow the Wardens to cross the abyss below. It must be, but it had fallen to disrepair—literally. It no longer extended far over the abyss and simply ended in a clutter of stone. Great cracks crisscrossed what was left.

The sight of it made her stomach feel loopy but Clarel and Livius apparently had no fear. Livius had run out of road and now faced off with the angry Warden commander, flinging half-hearted fireballs at her that her barrier effortlessly absorbed. Unwilling to cross the bridge just yet, Rosa halted and watched the confrontation. She hoped Clarel would blast Livius off the ledge and be done with him, but their exchange of words made her slow and sloppy. She must have thought to take him alive as she instead positioned herself behind him, trapping him between herself and Rosa's group at the opposite end of the bridge.

Clarel blasted Livius closer and Rosa smirked with satisfaction. Finally! They'd take him prisoner and her forces and Clarel's could both—she gasped and stumbled backward into Solas as the red-lyrium dragon landed behind Clarel and snatched her into its jaws.

"Holy shit!" Tal cursed. "Holy _fucking_ shit!"

They watched, craning their heads, as the dragon circled around to perch on the tower behind them. It shook its head, swinging Clarel's body about for a moment. Rosa swallowed the gorge in her own throat as she thought the dragon would swallow the poor Warden whole. Instead it tossed her to the stone bridge and then clambered down overtop of her.

"It's herding us," Dorian cried out as indeed, Rosa realized they had nowhere to go now and were backing away from it toward the abrupt end of the bridge behind them.

"This is _bad,"_ Hawke grumbled. "This is _very_ bad!"

Rosa's mind spun with horror. Her eyes darted between Clarel's body, surrounded by red-black blood and the red-lyrium dragon as it slowly advanced, snarling and growling its metallic gurgling cry. Astoundingly, Clarel was still alive. She crawled, leaving a trail of blood and gore as the dragon continued its advance. She was speaking something, faintly, as she rolled onto her back and lifted a hand. Rosa felt the air tingle with electrical magic.

"Hit it with everything!" Rosa shouted, desperate to aid the commander and perhaps scare off the dragon to make it out of this alive. She thrust with her staff, launching Fade stone just as Clarel unleashed a lightning bolt into the dragon's more vulnerable chest. The dragon had been crouched, prepared to spring, but Clarel's blow and Rosa's made it clumsy and unsteady. It missed Rosa and her group as they threw themselves collectively to the stone, trying to avoid being hit and crushed. With a roar the dragon fell free of the bridge and into the void, but the sound of its billowing wings made it clear it hadn't fallen to its death.

"That was a close shave," Hawke quipped, grunting as he rose to his feet—but no sooner had he spoken than the bridge shuddered beneath them. Stone clattered and then there was a sharp cracking noise, cutting into Rosa's ears and clenching her stomach with dread.

"The bridge is falling!" she shouted, hopping to her feet and reaching for Solas, who was beside her. "We need to _move! Now!"_ Tal was closer to safety, but slower to get up and Rosa lunged to try and help him next.

Blackwall and Hawke were on their feet now too as Rosa streaked by them, her entire attention on Tal. Her brother was already halfway upright but he paused to grab for Dorian. She hit them at a sprint, frantically grabbing at Dorian's other arm. "C'mon, c'mon…" Solas reached Tal's other side, half-supporting him. Dorian grimaced as he stood erect and they began to jog for safety.

"Inquisitor!" Blackwall shouted from behind her.

Whipping around, Rosa felt her stomach drop as she saw Stroud at the edge. The bridge was falling in pieces and he had slipped as one gave way too close to where he'd been standing. Hawke was reaching for him, grabbing the Warden's arms and hauling him up over the edge—but the bridge was falling apart fast. The stone split in jagged cracks, sending plumes of ancient dust shooting into the air.

"_Fenedhis,"_ Rosa cursed and, knowing she was faster than Blackwall, she Fade-stepped back to the edge. The shifting stone underfoot made her pop out of the spell with a clumsy wobble and she fell to her knees. Gnashing her teeth, Rosa reached for both Hawke and Stroud. "C'mon! Get up! Get up, both of you—_dammit!"_

Stroud climbed over the edge, scrambling to his feet. Hawke moved with him, still holding the other man. Rosa shot to her feet as well and pivoted round to do another Fade step and escape—but as she reached for the mana she felt the stone beneath her feet drop.

Time seemed to freeze as she saw Solas, Tal, Dorian, and Blackwall staring at her in shock and horror. Solas' face creased with something akin to agony and Tal was already screaming for her, lunging in a Fade-step of his own. She knew he'd never make it and only succeed in falling as well. She wanted to yell out a plea for him to stay—_stop! Stay where you are! Live, little brother!_

But only a wordless scream issued from her throat as gravity took over. She fell into the empty air, tumbling. She saw stone careening down and around her, spinning and shedding a layer of dust that glowed like halos in the light from the moon. The bridge above her was dissolving. Chunks plummeted faster than her mind could process and she saw Hawke and Stroud had fallen with them. More bodies entered the air, silhouetted by the moonlight.

_No,_ she thought. _No, no, no!_

Twisting in the air, Rosa thrust out her left hand and willed the Anchor alive. It crackled, the green light seeming to cut through the darkness of the Blight sea waiting in the abyss below. _Open_, she willed it. _Open for me._

Green filled her vision on all sides as the Veil tore apart and swallowed her whole.

* * *

When the darkness switched in the blink of an eye to greenish light, Solas' first thought was that he had perished. But as his mind made sense of what was happening—he was still falling but his _surroundings_ had changed instantaneously—he realized immediately what had happened. The speed of his fall slowed and he made out grayish crags of rock and sandy dirt with small rocks within it. Water dripped and splattered everywhere. He saw a stream running perpendicular to himself. It was physically impossible, gravity defying.

A second later and _he_ defied gravity as his body swung round and the ground rose up to meet him rather than the reverse. He landed hard but with the reflexes of a cat on all fours. Breathing hard, he shuddered as he felt his core pulsate with strength, doubling and then tripling in size spontaneously. Pleasure burned through his blood as the Fade caressed him, reconnected with him. His hands in the moist soil closed into fists, snatching chunks of the wet dirt into his palms as he struggled to contain his reaction. If he had not kept a careful grip on himself he was certain he would have laughed, giddy with euphoria and triumph.

They should have died but Rosa had done the one thing that could have possibly saved them: she'd opened a rift in the Veil and let them fall physically into the Fade.

Lifting his head and opening his eyes, Solas saw the greenish, dusky light of the raw Fade and his mouth fell open with surprise. He saw the green swirl of another rift in the distance, high in the sky. To the left of it the Black City loomed. Little lights burned in its windows like campfires. Statues from Ferelden dotted the area, lining a stairway that led over a rocky outcrop. Little pools dotted the nearer landscape. Grayish crags floated in the sky, green-tinted water flowing off them and splattering into puddles that were slimy with Fade ether. The same ether floated along the ground and the water, coiling and curling about every statue. It called to him, making his skin tingle and his core ache with yearning.

He could reshape this place with but a thought. He was a full-fledged Dreamer here, able to shape the land around him. Rosa would be the same. Unfortunately, he knew they'd never be able to enjoy it as he saw Blackwall shuffling awkwardly to his feet a few meters away. Hawke, meanwhile, stood diagonally to Solas on a nearby crag to the left. Stroud was above Solas to the right on a different spit of rock.

Behind him, Rosa was on her feet and looking about dazedly. Her cheeks had a red flush of pleasure—one he'd seen previously, mostly after lovemaking. He pushed the reminder from his mind. The Fade left him already feeling erotic. The last thing he needed was for his body to betray what he was thinking.

"Where are we?" Stroud asked, shaking his head as he turned in a circle, which took him into a spot that he could look directly down on Solas.

"We were falling," Hawke said, sounding shocked and a touch hoarse. "If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom."

"This is the Fade," Solas told him, his voice soft with the awe he still felt at being here. When he had sundered the world and held back the Fade with the Veil, it had created this place, cutting it off. To walk the Fade in Elvhenan one had only to walk the waking world. They were one and the same. But the Veil had forced the Fade—and a few sections of physical earth—to shape a new place that was entirely its own and inaccessible. It had evolved over time, becoming this. Solas had glimpsed the raw Fade in his dreams plenty of times, but he had never walked in it physically until now.

"How?" Blackwall demanded, frowning through his thick beard. He fastidiously picked at dirt and debris caught in it as Solas answered.

"The Inquisitor opened a rift. We came through…and survived." He drew in a breath, smelling the humid air and a faint stink of decay as he added, "I never thought I would ever find myself here physically." He pointed up at the sky. "Look. The Black City, almost close enough to touch."

"Wow," Rosa breathed behind him in awe. "This is…this is incredible."

"This isn't how I remember the Fade," Hawke said, clearly confused.

"Nor I," Dorian added, grunting as he splashed his way out of a slimy pool behind Rosa. "The first time I entered the Fade it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks. I met a marvelous desire demon. As I recall, we chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me." He chuckled. "Good times."

"Maybe it's because we're here physically and not just dreaming," Hawke suggested and then twisted to look down at Rosa. "The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was this what it was like?"

"I haven't a clue," Rosa said, shrugging as she turned in a circle, violet eyes narrowed. "I…still can't remember." Her voice had a strained quality to it as she continued her slow circle, searching around them. Solas frowned, wondering what she was looking for. He also turned about, gazing for a moment before the answer suddenly hit him. Rosa spoke it before he could.

"Where's Tal?"

Dorian blinked and jerked his head, scrutinizing their surroundings as well. "He was right beside me," Dorian said. "We fell together. I'm sure he would have come through with me."

Fear gripped Solas' chest. "He was beside me as well."

"Tal?" Rosa cried, jogging around and beneath Hawke's crag and then darting back in a wide arc to reach Stroud's. "Tal!" she called, louder now. "Tal! Where are you?!"

Her voice echoed off the rocks and the sky. Silence answered her, except for the ongoing, quiet groan in the air from the raw Fade itself and the splatter of water. Rosa's hands fisted at her sides and she shook her head with mounting desperation. "He…he came through the rift. He had to have come through it." Her eyes leapt to Dorian's and then Solas'. "Right?"

No one answered. Blackwall dropped his gaze to the ground while Hawke looked to the Black City and Stroud's gaze clouded with sympathy. Rosa's eyes finally settled on Solas and he drew in a deep breath, shutting his eyes as he concentrated. Reaching out to connect with the Fade, he let it passively commune with him, yielding its secrets. He could feel dozens of demons scattered in the area, as well as the enormous shadows of the two powerful demons that shared this locale—one unknown to him and the other…

_The Formless One._

He could feel the presence of a mortal somewhere else: hidden, but near the Formless One. Opening his eyes, Solas smiled and nodded to Rosa. "He passed through the rift with us, but he has apparently laded elsewhere."

Rosa's tension evaporated. "He's alive." She breathed out a long sigh of relief. "That's all that matters."

"That and finding a way out of this wretched place," Hawke grumbled.

"That part is simple," Rosa said, splattering her way through a puddle to stand closer to Hawke's crag. "We find the rift the Wardens opened on the other side and walk through it." She paused, frowning and wringing her hands together. "Not like they can close that rift without me. Probably. Only downside is that there was a huge demon just on the other side and it's probably still there."

"We have little choice," Stroud lamented.

"I agree," Hawke added.

Rosa nodded decisively. "Than we move. We'll look for Tal along the way."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

The man's sad eyes continued to bore into Tal. "Have you forgotten me so easily, Talassan, that you would refuse the chance to avenge my murder?"

"What?" Tal spluttered with shock. "Murder? You were—" He scowled and looked away, irritated with himself for the stupid slip. Still, he couldn't stop himself from finishing the question. "My father was murdered?"

* * *


	29. The Abyss (Part One): Somniari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Tal missing, Solas leaves the party to find and rescue him. Meanwhile, Rosa leads the rest of their companions through the Fade, but when they run into serious danger she finds the only way to save them is to reveal her power as a Dreamer in front of these humans. And Tal encounters the Formless One masquerading as Felassan. The demon has some startling insight into what happened to the siblings' father...

Rosa fell in step with Solas as they began to search around the area. The raw Fade was not as shocking to her as she knew it should have been. Like Solas, she'd seen this before when banishing dreams away. Somehow, disturbingly, Solas had made a good show of pretending to find it amazing, as though he'd never seen it before. Maybe it was just the realization that they were here physically that let him be so convincing? She hoped so.

The sandy, wet marsh stank of plant decay and salt, a scent that hadn't been as pungent in her dreams. When they were apart from the others, Rosa asked in elven, _"Is the Formless One here? Does it have Tal?"_

Solas nodded, his expression grave as he surveyed the grayish rock outcrop in front of them, to the side of the stairs. The sounds of fighting echoed from the stones and the marsh around them and Rosa twisted to see that Hawke, Stroud, and Blackwall had taken on a wraith that seemed only halfheartedly interested in attacking them. Their blades made short work of it, dissolving the spirit away. Rosa suspected it was more their will that killed the hostile spirit, rather than their blades.

"_Will it hurt him, do you think?"_ Rosa asked, her voice strangled with the cold fear clutching at her throat. It dulled even that blissful song that coursed in her blood. She felt…drugged. She should have been able to feel the presence of the wraiths—not to mention the fucking Formless One! Instead her connection to the Fade felt unsteady, though it hadn't stopped the swelling of her mana core and the euphoric sensation pulsating through her. It was the same feeling she'd experienced in the dark future at Redcliffe.

Solas frowned, glancing at her and then away again. He lifted one palm and touched the wet stone in front of them, running one thumb over it. _"More likely it will attempt to trick him. The Formless One and its brethren are complex beings that were once flesh. They respect _choice_ above all else and rarely use coercion to achieve their ends."_

There was something in his voice that made Rosa's skin dimple with gooseflesh. She tried to summon up her truthsaying talent, to feel any lies, and then said, "You respect it. Admire it, even."

Instead of appearing alarmed or insulted as she'd expected, Solas merely nodded. "As I respect any worthy enemy." Turning his head slightly, he smiled. "To do any less is to invite defeat before the battle has even begun. And I do admire any foe that refuses to use coercion through torture or blood magic."

"Manipulation and emotional extortion aren't much better." Fidgeting with anxiousness, Rosa reached out and grabbed Solas' bicep, squeezing hard. "You really think he's safe here?" she said, almost scoffing with her own disbelief. "Didn't you tell me a few weeks ago that no matter what, you and I couldn't face the Formless One or any of its _brethren_ in the flesh like this?"

Solas nodded somberly. "I did, yes. I believed that, at the time. Yet the Formless One may have no need to collect your blood, or Tal's, if it has already taken Felassan's." His jaw clenched. "It still requires mine and it may use you and Tal in some way to coerce me into giving freely what it desires."

"But we don't know that it killed _lenalin," _Rosa protested as the vise around her chest seemed to tighten even more. "It could be stalking Tal right now—killing him." She stared at his hand then on the stone and drew in a shaking breath. "I need to go after him. Now. I don't care if the others see what I am if it means saving my brother."

"No," Solas told her firmly, turning and reaching to grasp her shoulders. "Allow me, Rosa. There is a chance the Formless One will barter with me, or that I may snatch Tal away through subterfuge. I have…information it requires to free its masters. In addition, it may have found Tal's blood is too dilute for its needs—assuming it has not taken Felassan's blood and merely holds Tal to entrap us."

Gripping his hand on her shoulder, Rosa squeezed tight, searching over his face. "If it wants you for sure then it should be me who goes."

Solas shook his head. "You are too valuable to Thedas." His other hand reached down and grabbed her left one, pressing along her palm where the Anchor lay hidden. "You must save this world from Corypheus." His smile was soft and sad. "You do not truly require me to accomplish that."

"Nugshit," Rosa snapped and then grabbed his collar with both hands, pulling him forcefully down to her. He didn't resist, moving to kiss her with the same fire she felt. His lips were warm and salty, his mouth hot and with a sharp mineral taste. It was over far too soon as Solas pushed back from her, nostrils flaring and his breath already too fast—matching hers.

"I will return with Tal as quickly as I am able," he promised.

"You'd better," she retorted, mustering a smile through the tightness in her chest. Both men she loved would be gone if Solas failed.

A rumble from a nervous clearing of a throat made them separate suddenly, feet squelching in the sand and splattering in a puddle. Dorian stood a few meters away, a small but tense smile over his lips. "Sorry for interrupting," he said, though he didn't sound at all contrite. "But it appears there's no other path except this one up the stairs."

Sucking in a breath, Rosa nodded. "Then that's the way we'll go." Looking to Solas, she switched to elven. _"Safe journey…_vhenan."

Solas smiled at her, tender and affectionate despite Dorian's presence. Then he strode off to walk past where Blackwall, Hawke and Stroud stood about, scuffing at the dirt or examining their weapons in a show of patience. Rosa felt her cheeks burning as she wondered how long these men had been watching her and Solas. Pushing that thought aside, Rosa called to them in her best authoritative voice, "We're going to ford on ahead. Solas is going to try and find Tal."

Hawke snorted, turning slightly to watch as Solas rounded a corner in the marsh, nearly out of sight already. "Alone? What can he do? There's nothing out that way but more stone. We're hemmed in here."

Stroud cleared his throat. "With respect, Inquisitor, we cannot spare anyone. We do not know what we may face ahead."

Rosa narrowed her eyes at him, glaring. "Are you suggesting I leave my brother to die here?" Motioning in the direction Solas had walked away in, she said, "Solas volunteered to go after him and if there's _anyone_ who has a chance of finding Tal and bringing him back, it'll be Solas, my _Fade _expert."

"Aye," Blackwall said, shooting Hawke and Stroud stern looks. "We can't just leave the lad. Solas volunteered to go. I'm sure he will find him and then reach us before it's too late."

"Thank you, Blackwall," Rosa said, smiling warmly in his direction. "That was my hope, exactly." Turning round, she indicated the stairs with a sweep of her hand. "Shall we be on our way then?"

* * *

Tal woke with a gasp, jerking his head off the damp sand under him. He spat, grimacing at the foul taste in the air. It smelled of something caustic and metallic, like blood or copper. For a second he flashed back to the time he'd snuck into his birth clan's Keeper's aravel to leave skunk stink glands in the other man's cookware. On that prank mission he'd discovered a pendant made of copper hanging in the aravel and had decided to leave his own personal mark on it by mouthing it to make some of the paint run off it. The air here tasted a lot like that pendant.

_Where am I?_ Tal thought as he hauled himself to his feet and stared at the gray rock ahead of him. It glistened in the greenish light, wet with dew or rain or…something. Tawny grasses swayed in a gentle breeze that made Tal think again of the Dales, where he'd spent most of his life with clan Ghilath. A little pool stood off to his right, lapping against the gray rock wall. The water was oddly black and a greenish mist hung over it.

Tal shuddered with the warmth churning through his blood. Wriggling his fingers, he summoned fire into both hands and grinned with visceral enjoyment. Calling magic always felt pleasant but now it was, well, almost _sexual._

Weird.

Turning round, Tal saw the gray wall of rock extended in a circular shape, curling unevenly off to his left and right. Tal frowned, wondering how he had come to this place. His mind was foggy, as if he'd just woken from a long, deep sleep after a night of heavy drinking. Was this a dream? It felt like one and yet also didn't. In a dream Tal had learned his magic always felt dull, distant. He could still cast but it was more a willpower trick than actual magic because his body was asleep outside of the Fade and this was only his spirit, his mind. His core felt very much _here_ currently, which suggested this was reality and he was awake.

Staring up, Tal saw the sky was washed out and dim, as though the sun was setting but the craggy gray rocks obscured it and threw him into shadow. But, as Tal craned his neck even more he saw the Black City and froze, inhaling sharply. The tiny lights in the distant, eerie windows glittered out at him.

"Mythal have mercy," he muttered, shaking his head. "I guess I _am_ dreaming."

A familiar chuckling cut through his thoughts and Tal spun around to see a man standing in the narrow, sandy path behind him. The hooded man stood with his hip leaning against a boulder encroaching on the path and his arms crossed over his chest. His staff stuck up over his shoulder, made of elegantly carved wood.

Tal stiffened and his chest tightened with old grief. "You're dead." He let his voice change over into a growl. "You're a demon."

The man clucked his tongue and casually dropped his hood back to reveal pale blond hair and violet eyes. Mythal's vallaslin twined over his forehead, around his eyes, and down onto his chin. "Am I now?" the demon replied with a smirking smile. "And here I thought I was just a projection of your memories to fill this dream."

Grabbing his own staff from his back, Tal squared his shoulders and stiffened his spine. "Step aside, demon."

The man pushed off the boulder. "I have a name, _ishalen._ Several of them, in fact._"_

Tal let out an irritated hiss though his clenched teeth. "You're not worthy of his shape or any of his names, demon."

Walking forward, tense as he passed the masquerading demon, Tal started forward on the sandy path. It led downward slightly, glistening in the low light with dew. A faint green mist obscured the path ahead, as did a sharp corner. He expected the demon would lash out at him as he passed, but it merely watched him with smiling violet eyes. It was only when Tal was beyond the demon by a few steps that it finally spoke again.

"You're really going to leave without finding out how I died?"

Tal stopped mid-step. Chewing his lip, he reached in to his core, considering tossing a barrier up over himself, and felt again how _present_ it was. Was this really a dream? But what else could it be, considering just who was speaking to him now?

Spinning round, Tal glared at the man. "What price would you ask, demon?"

The man shook his head, still smiling. "There is no price, _ishalen."_

"Don't call me that," Tal snapped, hands fisting at his sides. "I'm _not_ your son."

The demon kept up its unblinking stare, the edges of his mouth still smiling. "Is that any way to speak to your _babae?"_

"Don't play these nugshit games with me, demon," Tal snarled, lifting his staff and dropping into a battle ready stance. "It won't work."

Felassan spread his arms wide, as if he wanted Tal to hug him. "You think I intend you harm, child? How could I? You are my only son. We were always a team, you and I. We protected your _mamae_ against that harebrained Keeper. You taught me how to identify spindleweed even though I was a terrible student." He had taken a few steps closer as he spoke and now was near enough that he could touch Tal if he just extended his arm…

Tal erected a barrier over himself and summoned fire into his fists. It roared, energetic and more powerful than he'd intended. He kept his surprise from showing with an effort as he squared off with the demon, letting it see his strength. "Don't come any closer, demon."

Felassan halted. The friendly expression didn't waver, but his violet eyes were sad as they reflected the orange-red of Tal's flames. "I see you still enjoy fire. I taught you that." His brow furrowed with pain. "Have you forgotten me so easily, _ishalen?_"

"You're not my father!" Tal shouted, gritting his teeth. Still, the demon's words made his eyes sting and his throat tight. He swallowed hard, trying to push that emotion away. This was a demon, or possibly a spirit, and this was a very strange, very real dream.

The man's sad eyes continued to bore into Tal. "Have you forgotten me so easily, Talassan, that you would refuse the chance to avenge my murder?"

"What?" Tal spluttered with shock. "Murder? You were—" He scowled and looked away, irritated with himself for the stupid slip. Still, he couldn't stop himself from finishing the question. "My father was murdered?"

Felassan nodded somberly. "Yes, child." He sighed then, turning his head and staring off at the rocks and the sand back in the direction of where Tal had first awoken. Abandoning the pretense of actually _being_ Felassan, the creature wearing his shape now said, "He was indeed murdered. His killer still lives, as well. Felassan's spirit calls out for vengeance. He died unfulfilled, you know, trying to protect you and your sister from a powerful enemy that is hunting you, though you know it not."

Tal shifted from foot to foot, anxious as his stomach twisted and his throat ached with mixed reactions. This was anything but smart, but knowing nothing about what had happened to his father had been difficult. Tal sometimes had dreams where he watched his father be torn apart by wild animals or carved up by depraved humans. Usually Tal spent those dreams feverishly trying to reach his father. He wanted to save him but always knew he'd fail. Still, he tried because if he could just _speak_ with his father again he could have some closure. He would tell Felassan he loved him, that he forgave him for abandoning him and Rosa. He would also tell Felassan that Rosa forgave him, missed him, had loved him more than she knew.

But there was no chance of that ever again.

The creature in front of him smiled wider now with amusement. He chuckled as he said, "I can hear your thoughts, child, and you're wrong. There _is_ a way to speak with him once more."

Tal scoffed. "Get bent," he said, using one of Sera's phrases. Refreshing his barrier, he started to back up to put more distance between himself and this thing pretending to be his father.

Felassan grinned now and turned to keep facing Tal as he moved further away. "Have you already forgotten who you are?" Lowering his violet eyes, he spoke in a deeper voice, rumbling. "Child of Falon'Din."

Tal froze, forgetting to breathe for a moment.

"Hmmm," Felassan hummed, still grinning. "You're intrigued. Good. I can see the curiosity inside you. You've been wondering what you can do with that new talent in your blood. You can feel it is not just necromancy magic but something much, much more. I can tell you how to reach your full potential. I can feel that you're strong enough to bring back Felassan's soul."

"Piss off," Tal snapped, snarling. "That's not possible…"

"According to whom? The Chantry? Andraste? The Maker?" Not-Felassan laughed, eyes glittering with amusement. "Aren't they the same fools who say magic is evil? Aren't they the same barbarians who would kill your sister if they knew she had been possessed?"

Breathing hard and fast with his nervousness now, Tal shouted, "What do you want, demon?"

"I want only to see that your father's murderer is punished," Not-Felassan said, seriously. "He has committed many wrongs and I would see him punished. Beyond that, I wish to see you side with me and my ilk in the struggle to come."

"You're full of nugshit," Tal grumbled. "I'm not buying that for a second—and there's _zero_ chance I'd serve you or your _ilk_."

The demon's smile returned, wide and knowing and smug. "But you are interested. I am confident you will choose to follow my guidance out of curiosity alone. It does not matter that you doubt my sincerity. I will prove myself to you in the end and you will then be in my debt." He shook his head as he sobered again. "But there is no price for this. My reward will simply be in seeing your father's killer destroyed."

Tal remained where he was, frozen. An inner voice that sounded like Rosa shouted at him to refuse and run. To go, now, for his own good. The demon would trick him somehow. That was what they _always_ did. Yet, despite that voice Tal found himself rooted to the spot and the demon's smile broadened. It knew it had him.

"Very well," Not-Felassan said. "You will need four things to summon your father's soul: the talent in your blood, the correct place to conduct the ritual, and two Elvhen artifacts."

And as Tal listened to the demon describe where he must go and everything he must do, he knew he wouldn't be able to turn his back on this task. He had shirked responsibility many shameful times before. He had fled his new clan, shrugging off the title of First. When he'd joined Rosa he'd left his mother to fend for herself under the thumb of clan Ghilath's overbearing Keeper. He had chosen to numb his pain and shame with wine rather than face, confess, or remember his shortcomings.

But with this...avenging his father…_this_ he could do. And he would do it, because he was the _only_ one who could. The only one to possess the power of Falon'Din in millennia. 

* * *

Jogging up the short stairs and over the first gray stone of the outcropping that had hemmed them in below, Rosa was the first to see it. _Her._ A figure stood in white against the next grayish rock wall. Her robes were clean, although wet like everything else here in the dankness of the raw Fade. The tall hat, broadening out as it rose, cut a powerful profile. Rosa tensed, knowing this Chantry woman had to be a demon masquerading, but—she froze as recognition dawned.

"Divine Justinia?" she asked in a near-gasp. The others in her group spilled around her, gawking as they too took in the Chantry's holiest person.

"By the Maker," Stroud said breathily. "Could that be…?"

The would-be Divine addressed them then, "I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion." She gave a little dip of her head that somehow didn't disturb her enormous headgear. "And you, Inquisitor."

Rosa frowned, deciding to quickly dispel the others' reverent shock. "This cannot be the Divine. It's impossible. She's got to be a spirit or a demon that's taken her shape." When she saw Hawke, Stroud, and Blackwall still staring with astonishment, she changed tactics, using logic. "The real Divine couldn't possibly know about my title. She didn't know me at all. I was just a hired guard at the temple."

"You're right, Inquisitor," Stroud said, though he still stared as though he believed it really was the Divine. "I fear we face a spirit…or a demon."

"You can sense demons," Hawke said, shooting her a speculative look. "At least, that's what the tales I've heard say."

Rosa grimaced. "I…" She cursed herself for taking Solas' potion. She'd been comfortable throughout the battle, it was true, but this unforeseen downside kept biting her right in the ass. Sticking with the truth, she said, "I can't sense anything here. The Fade is affecting me."

"Proving my existence either way would require time we do not have," Justinia said. Her voice was soft and even, laced with a thick Orlesian accent, but Rosa imagined the words should have been a chastisement. "I am here to help you. You do not remember what happened to you at the temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor," she said, looking now to Rosa. "I know your title because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus."

_The Formless One?_ Rosa wondered but kept her lips sealed. The Divine went on, offering an explanation without Rosa having to ask.

"It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work."

"I would gladly avenge the insult this nightmare dealt my brethren," Stroud said, scowling now.

"You will have your chance, brave Warden," the Divine said and then confirmed what Rosa had already begun to expect. "This place of darkness is its lair."

"This is the big demon that rat bastard Livius was trying to bring through," Rosa guessed, grumbling. "When I get out of here I am going to personally _gut_ that sniveling weasel with a rusty, dull knife." Dorian snorted behind her and Blackwall let out a small chuckle that he stifled.

"When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it." The Divine turned and motioned past herself toward a greenish barrier that blocked their path ahead and a stagnant pool bordered by rocks. "These are your memories, Inquisitor." At her beckoning wraiths appeared from the water and the Fade ether, green and semi-transparent. They did not attack but merely floated about, aimless.

"Okay," Rosa murmured. "We have to kill the wraiths holding my memories in their essence, I guess."

Charging forward, splattering into the pool, Rosa came upon the first wraith and it flung harmful spirit energy at her. She dodged and then reached out with her left hand to cast a fireball. The wraith immediately exploded in flames, dissolving away. The fire continued to roar, more powerful than Rosa had intended.

Hearing Hawke and Stroud charging forward to take on the next nearest wraith, Rosa lifted her hand in a _stop_ motion. "Hold back," she called to them. "I've got this." The last time she had fought when her magic was this volatile and plentiful she'd unleashed enough power to break red lyrium stalagtites and stone off onto her companions. The Fade might not be as breakable as the real world without a Dreamer's will to actually rewrite it, but she didn't want to take the chance of injuring one of the warriors.

Tossing a barrier over herself—and feeling how surprisingly _heavy_ it was, stronger than her normal—she ran to be in the midst of the remaining three wraiths. "Come on, take me!" she yelled at them.

The wraiths hissed as they sailed closer to her, flinging their rudimentary arms to send spirit magic balls at her. The blows hit her barrier and broke, harmless. Her barrier barely flickered at the impacts. Grinning with the pleasure still bubbling through her at how wonderful casting felt, Rosa closed her eyes and let out a mindblast. The spirit energy bubble flew out from around her, hitting the remaining wraiths and dissolving them on contact. The spell rippled the water as it rolled over it and struck the rock boulders and walls with a loud _boom!_

She opened her eyes in time to see the others staring at her with varying expressions of wariness, amusement, confusion, and irritation. Clearing her throat, she started to apologize for the strength of the spell only to think better of it and then just turn to the nearest green orb floating about nearby. She waved her hand through it a few times, trying to pull it into herself by will alone. It resisted for a moment and then flowed into her. For a moment she felt dizzy and all she saw was green—but then, through it, she heard Corypheus' voice: "Bring forth the sacrifice."

"What happened?" Hawke asked from where he stood with the others on the boulder near the so-called Divine.

With a shake of her head, Rosa said, "I just heard a voice. Corypheus. He was talking about a sacrifice."

"Listen to more," Blackwall suggested.

Rosa moved to the next orb, feet sloshing through the water, and held out her hand. The orb disappeared into her and this time she heard the Divine's voice, shouting: "Run while you can, warn them!" At the next orb she heard herself say, "What's going on here?"

As she stumbled toward the last orb, she felt images begin to snap into place in her brain. She shivered as she felt the extreme cold of the temple, high in the Frostbacks where full summer barely touched. She felt again the different weight of the mercenary armor she'd worn and remembered the voice of her Tal-Vashoth friend Kaaras echoing in her head.

"_I thought you were freezing your tits off out here and couldn't wait to leave."_

"_I saw Grey Wardens,"_ she heard herself say and, suddenly remembered that she had indeed seen that. She'd been walking through the temple, heading to the exit to save Mahanon from winding up a horn decoration on Herah's head. She'd seen them come by, brilliant in their gray and blue armor, emblazoned with griffins.

And she'd felt the orb with them. She'd _felt_ it.

And she'd gone back to follow them after sending Mahanon down to Haven, inadvertently saving his life and condemning Kaaras, who otherwise would have gone to Haven instead.

Now she remembered working her way through the temple. No one gave her a second look even though she wore a stave on her back. The vallaslin and the mercenary uniform made her invisible. She belonged. It had done nothing to lessen the anxiety twining its grubby hands around her stomach and her throat. Every day at the Conclave she'd been afraid some Templar from the Hasmal Circle would see her and find a way to apprehend her, take her freedom away _again._

She found no trace of the Wardens in the courtyard where the Templars and mages stood about braziers, warming their hands in various cliques. With nowhere else to look, Rosa followed her inner senses toward that eerie, heavy shadow at the edge of her consciousness that she recognized as Solas' orb. Those senses took her to the enormous doorway leading to the chambers where Divine Justinia had held her talks with the leaders of both mages and Templars. Rosa had stopped there, deciding she would wait until the Divine finished her audience with the Grey Wardens. Because that _must_ be what was happening in there…

But then she had heard the Divine cry out, pleading that someone intervene. So she had, bursting through the door to see a monster holding Solas' orb, which glowed green. The Divine was in the air, suspended by Warden mages doing blood magic. She looked pained, but still aware and proud as the misshapen beast—that she now knew was Corypheus—positioned the orb over her chest, drawing the power of the Divine's own blood out and into the orb.

The shock of being interrupted had made Corypheus—or maybe it was the Wardens holding the Divine—sloppy. The Divine managed to twist her body and knock the orb out of Corypheus' grasp. It flew away, sparking with green energy, building with a high-pitched whine.

Rosa could feel the Veil twisting, warping. The magic of the orb prickled her skin with a mixture of pain and pleasure. She remembered Solas' warning that the orb could cause immense destruction if misused by blundering mages trying to unlock it. Was this what that blundering would look like?

_Dirthamen guide me. Mythal protect me…_

She felt Rogathe pressing on the Veil, rushing to aid her if she called it. She didn't, knowing that the last thing she needed was to expose herself as a so-called maleficarum.

She sprang for the orb, mind spinning with ideas on how she might dispel and disarm it. Perhaps she could absorb the magic building in it inside of herself? Then it wouldn't explode or—

Pain exploded in her left hand and the muscles seized, contracting in a bone-crushing grip. Rosa screamed, all conscious thought fleeing. She pawed at the orb with her right hand, trying to knock it away as she felt the scorching power flowing into her, up her arm to the elbow.

Then everything went white-green and a roaring explosion echoed in her ears.

Gasping, Rosa came out of the memory, breathing hard and shaking. Her left hand crackled and she shook it, gritting her teeth as the pain faded.

"Inquisitor!"

She heard splashing as the others rushed to help her. Hands clutched at her arms, supporting her. She shrugged them off, shaking her head. "I'm all right. It's fine."

"What did you see?" Dorian asked, pressing close.

"Just…" She drew in several deep breaths. "I saw Grey Wardens entering the temple before the attack. I wanted to talk to them, so I followed them. And…" She turned round, water sloshing at her feet, and stared at the spirit-Divine. "They attacked the Divine. She was going to be the blood sacrifice for Corypheus so he could open the orb he carries—the one that tore open the Veil and caused the breach. I interrupted the ritual and she…" Rosa pointed to the Divine. "She knocked it out of his hand and it rolled to me and so I…" Raising her left hand, she mimed holding it. Her mark continued to crackle, alive for the moment and aching. "I picked it up. And that's when the explosion happened."

"Your mark didn't come from Andraste then," Stroud said, matter-of-factly.

"Yes," the Divine agreed. "When you disrupted Corypheus' plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead."

Blackwall was the first to react now. "Truly?" he asked, sounding disappointed but also skeptical.

Rosa shot him a mild glare. "I've always insisted I wasn't divinely touched." Shrugging, she motioned at her body and then specifically at her left hand. "I didn't ask for any of this. It was always other people who called me their Herald."

"There was, however, that time in Redcliffe when we traveled to the future and you claimed the mark was what gave you such sudden power—much like the kind we just witnessed a moment ago." Dorian tweaked his mustache as he spoke, smirking at her with an expression that was somehow both smugly amused and suspicious. "And there was that moment when you _parted the bloody wall_ in front of us."

Grimacing, Rosa shook her head. "You're going to bring that up now, Dorian? Really?"

"What is he talking about?" Hawke asked, scowling with confusion.

Ignoring Hawke's question, Rosa jabbed a finger at Dorian with irritation. "Look, we can talk about this later, but let's get one thing straight _Tevinter. _I have never come out saying Andraste blessed me. I _have _let people believe it when it helps me, but I've never even pretended I believe in the Chant. I am _Dalish._ That means I believe in a bunch of elves my people say created the world. But you know what? I wouldn't even say I was touched by one of _them._" She lifted her left hand where the Anchor still glowed green. "I'm just an unlucky little knife-ear who was at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I'd actually think it was the right place at the right time," Hawke put in with a tight chuckle.

"The Inquisitor's right," Stroud said. "We don't have time for this infighting."

"You cannot escape the lair of the nightmare until you regain all that it took from you," The spirit-Divine put in then, making everyone turn to regard her again. "You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead."

As if on cue, Rosa saw the green barrier further down the path fluctuate and then disappear with a little burst of color and mist. When she looked back to the Divine, Rosa saw she was gone. With a little huff, Rosa started walking down the path, her feet splashing between puddle and then crunching on the wet sand. "C'mon everyone. Let's get moving."

Hawke and Stroud bickered behind her as they set off, arguing about the involvement of the Grey Wardens. Had Corypheus taken their minds or did they serve willingly? Did it really matter? It was obvious they were a threat simply because they were so vulnerable to Corypheus to begin with. Rosa tuned them out.

A short ways down the path they found a staircase and two shades waiting for them. Rosa was in the lead and, with minimal effort, flung two fireballs at them. The shades groaned and shrieked as they almost immediately dissolved under the intensity of her mage fire. The warriors around her had barely had time to unsheathe their blades. Rosa could feel their stares on her back, scrutinizing her with newfound interest. They had fought with her mere hours before and had seen nothing this powerful then.

Rosa found she couldn't bring herself to care enough to hide it. She had other things to worry about—like when her sense of the Fade would recover and stop being so dull. She tried repeatedly to reach out, feeling the Fade connect with her core, but the sense she usually had of demons and sleepers and other Dreamers was numb. She felt nothing at all. There were no shadows, no weighty sensations at the edges of her mind. Solas should have been out there, a powerful presence she knew well. Tal would be familiar too and there were two strong demons nearby, both probably ancient. Yet, for all her effort, Rosa sensed nothing.

After a few more stairwells, both up and down, Rosa reached a pool surrounded by statues of what she thought might be hawks in gold, as well as some Tevinter statues. A few shades and wraiths lingered about idly. Rosa stopped short of the water and spun her staff, casting chain lightning. The purple-white energy arced between the demons, making them twitch and convulse before all of them collapsed and dissolved into the water.

Dorian clucked his tongue. "You're really going to have to tell me your secret," he said and she didn't miss the seriousness in his tone.

Rosa pretended she hadn't heard him as she stepped off into the water with a splash. The others followed her, fanning out to examine the area briefly while Rosa hurried ahead to the dry land on the far side where another stairwell waited. But as she set foot on the stone she heard a deep, rumbling voice echo around her and halted, spinning as she tried to locate it.

"Ah," the voice said. "We have a visitor. Some silly little girl has come to steal the fear I so kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think the pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is me."

Hawke, Stroud, and Blackwall had all drawn their weapons and stood about, searching the Fade for any sign of the speaker. Dorian had his stave out but was apparently distracted examining one of the Tevinter statues, running a hand over its surface and squinting as though there was something to read on its surface.

"Maker," Blackwall said, spinning in a circle. "Where is that voice coming from?"

"It must be the demon," Hawke guessed. "Ignore it."

"But you are a guest here in my home," the demon went on, sounding annoyed. "So by all means, let me return what you have forgotten."

Then, suddenly, Blackwall let out a yelp as he took a step and fell. The water splashed, closing over his head and hiding every last trace of him. Stroud, who he'd been standing next to, rushed over to try and help him. Hawke did the same thing, both men stooping in the thigh-high water and groping about, splattering water. Stroud pulled up Blackwall's blade, glistening wetly and with a slick layer of slimy mud.

"I might have him!" Hawke shouted and heaved with a grunt, only to stumble back and barely catch himself. He was clasping Blackwall's shield in both hands and blinking dazedly.

"Kaffas," Dorian cursed, sloshing his way over to the two warriors. "He went down _right there_. How hard can it be to—" Mid-sentence Dorian slipped and went under as well with a wild splatter and a misting of greenish ether.

Watching this, Rosa let out a curse of her own. _"Fenedhis!"_ Sprinting to the base of the stairs, she shouted at Hawke and Stroud. "Get out of the water! Get out and—" As her own foot went off the solid stone and into the oily pool she felt herself be sucked down. The muddy bottom was no longer there and she went straight down, slapping the water with both hands. Her stave caught on the bottom and the impact was so strong that it shocked her into releasing her hold on it.

Darkness filled her eyes and pressure built in her ears and lungs.

_No,_ she thought as rage blasted away her initial fear. _I refuse to let this happen._

Reaching out with both her hands and her internal senses, Rosa connected with the Fade. Physically, her hands clawed against stone and muck. Her fingernails broke, sending shooting pains into the quick as pebbles and grit found their way beneath each nail. She gritted her teeth, concentrating, and felt the Fade snap into her grasp.

_Air,_ she commanded it. _Lift the waters and give me air. Take me from this dark hole. Return my friends to me. Now! _

The mana drained from her, flowing out of her like blood from an artery. The shock of it left her at the edge of burnout, gasping as what was pleasant warmth at first became hot and burning. Dizziness swelled in her head, but she knew it was working. Light flooded her senses and the water sloshed and drained away. The solidness of the slimy walls around her vanished. She fell, shaking, onto her knees and coughed.

Lifting her head, Rosa saw that she was on damp gray stone. The area around her had not changed much, but the water was gone now and Blackwall and Dorian were back, spluttering and wet and coughing—but alive and whole. Dorian looked like a disgruntled wet cat, flicking water from his sleeves and sneering with disgust as he plucked what might've been seaweed off himself.

"Kaffas," he cursed again, coughing. "Maker—what was _that?"_

Blackwall was sitting up with Hawke and Stroud's help, breathing raggedly. "Something pulled me," he said, blue eyes wide with horror. "I saw—I mean, I _thought_ I was back in training when I was a soldier. I almost drowned as a new recruit."

"Marvelous," Dorian grumbled. "The nightmare seems to have a drowning fetish."

"Drowning _is_ one of the worst ways to die," Hawke said.

"What drained the water away?" Stroud asked, shaking his head in puzzlement.

Rosa had begun to recover her mana, though she was still shivering. She had not gone into burnout with the reshaping but it _had_ flowed from her so strongly she'd tried to strangle the draw in self-preservation. She had the sense that the…reshaping had not completed entirely. Glancing up at the sky, Rosa saw it had changed from the ugly greenish-orange of the Fade to a washed out blue, as if they were in the real world. The Black City still figured prominently on the horizon, but the Fade had been trying to change into something else. Some_where_ else.

"I believe I might have an answer for that," Dorian said, getting to his feet and fastidiously slapping at his wet robes. "Inquisitor?" he called.

The sound of her title made Rosa lift her head. She arched one brow. "Dorian?"

The Tevinter mage crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her in a way that was both suspicious and…something else. Intrigued? Amused? She wasn't sure. "Tell me something," he said with that dangerous little smile on his handsome lips. "Have you ever heard of a Somniari?"

"No," Rosa said, scowling. She got to her feet, scraping away a lock of wet hair that was plastered to her face. Her stomach cinched tight. "We need to get moving." Turning away, she started for the stairs, eager to press on.

"I've heard of them," Hawke said. "What are you saying, Dorian? You think the Inquisitor is…?"

"Yes, I do," the mage replied curtly. Calling to Rosa, he said, "You _should_ have heard of them, Inquisitor." His soggy steps followed her as he jogged for the stairs. Further back Rosa heard the jangle of Stroud, Hawke, and Blackwall's armor also tailing her. "Because if I'm not mistaken—and I rarely am—_you_ are a Somniari."

Rosa halted at the top of the stairs, breathing hard. Her hands opened and closed at her side for a few heartbeats before she whipped around to glare at Dorian. "What are you talking about?"

But she thought she already knew. She tried not to let her trepidation show as she put her hands on her hips and frowned down at the other mage. "We really don't have time for—"

"A Somniari is a Dreamer mage," Dorian interrupted her, gesturing at the Fade. "They reshape the Fade and enter it at will." His eyes darted over her face and then he let out a little high-pitched chuckle that was almost a titter as he hurried up the stairs to reach her. "It makes perfect sense. I can't believe it took me this long to see it. You _are_ a Somniari." He grinned at her, brown eyes bright as he laid his hands on her shoulders. "Inquisitor—Rosa—you can—"

Shrugging out of his touch, Rosa took a few steps backward. "Stop it, Dorian," she said through clenched teeth.

He shook his head, clearly confused. "Inquisitor, why are you—"

"Maybe you're not familiar with the way things are here in the south," Rosa snapped, keeping her voice low and sneaking a quick look over at Blackwall, Stroud, and Hawke. The other men were close enough they might overhear, but Dorian had already opened this can of worms in front of them. Rosa had no hope of concealing it any longer. "Dreamers aren't exactly welcomed with open arms. We're made Tranquil more often than not and I was in a Circle that would have done that to me if they'd known."

Dorian opened his mouth and his expression opened with understanding. "Ah, I see. My sincerest apologies then. I'd thought perhaps you hadn't realized your talent." Lips quirking up and then down, Dorian cleared his throat before adding, "Regardless, surely you must see we _need_ you to use your talent."

"Changing a dream is much easier than changing the Fade physically," Rosa admitted, pinching her lips together and looking away, down to Stroud, Blackwall, and Hawke.

"You _are_ a Dreamer then," Hawke said, smiling tightly. "And you can control your talents? You're not plagued by demons and nightmares?"

Rosa snorted. "I didn't say that—but I _am_ in control of them and I can handle the nightmares and the demons."

Hawke nodded. "I met an elf-blooded lad named Feynriel in Kirkwall. He was half-Dalish. He was a Dreamer but demons stalked him. I helped him as much as I could but ultimately we had to send him to Tevinter. Not even the Dalish could help him."

"Well, my clan could've helped him," she half-lied with a dismissive shrug, hiding how interesting Hawke's mentioning of this Feynriel actually was.

"I wish I'd known that then," Hawke said with a rueful grin. "Considering I had to save him from slavery once. I was worried he'd wind up a slave no matter what he did. Tranquil or Tevinter slave. I can't say which is worse."

Dorian scoffed. "The Imperium would never knowingly enslave a Somniari."

"With respect, your worship," Stroud said then with an apologetic tone. "We are wasting time. If the rift to the outside world closes we will be trapped here."

"I agree," Blackwall added with a sheepish look. "We should keep moving."

"Precisely," Dorian said, cool and crisp. Indicating Rosa with one hand, he said, "And that's exactly why our Inquisitor's delightful new talent is so marvelous. She can part walls for us or form rock from thin air for us to walk on."

"Or drain away the water when we're drowning because the damned nightmare is trying to kill us," Blackwall added. He smiled at Rosa. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Of course," Rosa said, returning his smile. Looking to Dorian and Hawke, she sighed as she gave in. "I'll do what I can going forward but I'm not limitless and I'd rather save it for when we really need it."

"That's perfectly sensible," Dorian said with a nod. "Though I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see more of it."

Rosa eyed him out of the corner of her eye skeptically as she pivoted round to continue on the path forward. Dorian seemed to be as thrilled to discover what she was as Keeper Deshanna had been. It was…disconcerting coming from a human who believed in the Chant. But, then again, the Imperium was ruled by mages. It made perfect sense they revered Dreamers when the south reviled them.

Still, she wished she could have kept the talent hidden.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"A very nicely done spell, _da'len,"_ Rogathe praised at her side, sounding almost entirely like her father now. "Perhaps better than I myself could have managed."

"You're _not_ him," Rosa snapped. "Stop that."

"I am as much Felassan as I am bravery, _da'len,"_ the spirit told her. "I have died for you and your brother once and I will happily do it again."

* * *

Next chapter we learn how Rosa came to be possessed after the Conclave explosion and we at long last get to see what Tal has been hiding! Also, I'm sure all of you realized the HUGE significance of the portion of this chapter narrated by Tal. Suddenly that little weird Friend of the Dead talent isn't just a fun little trait I idly tossed in there, is it? *evil laughter*


	30. The Abyss (Part 2): Bravery and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas rescues Tal from a dream that's just a little too personal. And Rosa recovers her memory of walking in the Fade the first time.

The sandy soil of the marsh gave way to a more pebbled texture as Tal walked. The water, which had been in still pools with an oily greenish residue floating over them and in them, eventually formed deeper pools that had a trickling current. Tawny grasses became thick and green with life, soft under Tal's feet. The pools grew into a small stream, broken by boulders and rocks and with frequent spots where fish lingered together in schools. Sunshine cut through a canopy of trees high above. Gray rock walls rose on either side, bordering the river and the shoreline.

Tal's heart squeezed in his chest as he spotted the first fish drying rack, though he'd long since recognized the landscape and knew it was coming. Still, though this was a dream and none of it was real, it hurt to see it. He could smell the rich scent of the water, crisp and clear. The leaf litter had a nutty odor that made him heady. His mouth watered with the memory of the meaty taste of the mushrooms this clan had picked during the summer.

Clan Manaria, the clan that had taken him in as First. The clan he had abandoned out of shame…_and_ to follow Rosa.

Ahead of him on the rocky shore, Tal saw a familiar young elf grunting as he struggled to pull netting out of the river. Fish flopped inside it, desperately trying to swim away, but there was no escape for them. The elven youth hauled his catch onto the shore and knelt beside it, tugging the net this way and that to begin sorting through the fish. Tal knew he would toss out females laden with eggs and the smaller fish that had more growing to do and had probably not spawned before. The clan lived sustainably, refusing to overfish the river the way the _shemlen_ might.

Tal had never known much about fishing or net making before living with clan Manaria. It'd been this man—barely more than a boy, really, and only a year or two younger than Tal himself—who'd taught him everything he knew now. Which was, admittedly, not much.

The youth, Sammael, looked up then. His blue eyed stare stayed on Tal a moment and then he smiled. "Welcome," he called, standing upright. _"Aneth ara, lethallin. _It's been a long time!_"_

Sammael would be that friendly, Tal thought. He was a handsome boy, blue-eyed and pale haired. His ears were narrow and elongated, elegant and perfectly formed. Tal remembered how the tip had felt against his tongue—so sharp it was shocking. The memory made him grimace and look out at the river.

This was _not_ Sammael any more than the demon he'd spoken with earlier had been Felassan. Chances were high in fact that this was the same demon or another of its kin wearing Sammael's shape. Perhaps the first one wearing Felassan's shape had been a pride demon and this new one was a desire demon.

But that hardly made sense. If this were a desire demon it would wear Nola's shape.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Tal suddenly heard a clatter of another's tread on the smooth river stones of the shore. He whipped around and, sure enough, saw Nola walking over to him at a leisurely pace. She wore Keeper armor with a white girdle and guards in a deep green. Her staff thumped on her back, fashioned from wood and with a white crystal at the top for focusing. Tal knew it glowed red when she used blood magic, as she often had to in order to enhance her own mana reserves. She may have had limited reserves but from the start Tal had seen the cleverness in her dark blue eyes that made him think of the Waking Sea. Her blond hair was darker than Sammael's and was as straight as corn silk.

"Keeper," Tal murmured, the title emerging strangled out of his lips.

She stopped walking and lifted her eyes to his. Her swarthy skin reminded him of Rosa's, but her smile was guileless and gentle in a way Tal only saw from Rosa when she was feeling especially affectionate. Nola just exuded compassion with her every breath.

At least for Tal she had.

"Tal," Nola said and the smile that spread over her lips was just as soft and loving as Tal had seen on the day in midsummer when she had asked him to bond with her. It still made his guts twist into knots as his heart hammered, blood rushing to his face, his ears, and…

He stamped on that reaction, shaking his head. "You're not Nola."

Her shoulders fell and the joy dropped away from her face. "You can't be Tal, either. I wish you were."

"I…" He shut his eyes tight, feeling the burn of tears behind them. Shaking his head, he let out a long breath. He wished he had Rosa's talent as a Dreamer that he could feel whether this was a demon or just a spirit reading his memories and taking Nola's shape. "I wish you were real, too," he finally said. "I…I'm sorry for what I did."

"There is no crime in what you did, _da'len,"_ she said, her voice matching that soft smile. The one he didn't deserve.

"If you were real," Tal said, his voice croaking. "I would tell you…tell you everything."

Nola's blue eyes shimmered suddenly with tears, but her smile didn't falter. "If you were real I'd tell you that the clan misses you. Sammael has not been as bright since you left. He works hard. We all do, of course." She drew in a breath and then launched into a more businesslike summary, just like the real Nola would have. "Winter was hard but our stocks were more than enough to last. We took in another from the Ansburg alienage: a young woman who is already apprenticed to the hearthkeeper. I will give her vallaslin as soon as she makes her first kill with the hunters, but I suspect that will not be until after the Arlathvhen this summer."

Tal grinned through the sting of tears still in his eyes. "That's great news, Nola!" he exclaimed. "I know Devon will be thrilled to have an apprentice!"

Nola nodded excitedly and her features brightened even more as she added, "We had our first birth," she said, clapping her hands together with joy.

Tal felt his smile waver slightly but he forced it to stay in place. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Yes," Nola answered, still beaming, but Tal could see the darkness behind her blue eyes. "Shaena and Mino had a baby boy."

He already knew who'd been expecting when he'd left in the fall. It'd been that night, in the clan's celebration feast at the news of the pregnancy, that Nola had taken him to her aravel to make love for the first time. And it was there that she'd asked after his contraceptive charm and had tried to remove it. Even intoxicated with alcohol the clan had made from fermented apples, Tal had been horrified as he realized the Keeper wanted to make babies of her own that very night. _With him. _

He could still remember stumbling out of her aravel, clutching the anklet of his contraceptive charm in one fist and swallowing bitter tears. Questions ran frantic through his head. Had Nola ever loved him as he did her? Had she merely seen him as the male to her female? Was Tal just her First, a stud halla to create new fawns the clan so desperately needed? Did she look at him and see duty only?

And, more than that, he had realized that the thought of fatherhood and bonding terrified him. When Nola had first proposed to him Tal had thought of it immaturely as fully sanctioned sex and leapt at the honor of such a partnership with a woman he found _insanely_ attractive. The reality of it, however, was simply disturbing. He didn't know how to be a life partner any more than he knew how to be First. Nola always seemed so pleased with him as her apprentice, but Tal couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Did clan Manaria take him just because he was all that was available, or did they truly see value in him? In Nola's aravel, as she tried to get him under the furs sans the charm, Tal finally felt he was truly a fraud. He did not belong here and how could he be a First, a father, and a life partner when all he'd ever been before was _nothing? _

But, drunk as he was, he couldn't articulate those thoughts and fears. Instead he had spluttered out a lie. _"I'm sorry, I prefer men." _And then, raging erection and all, he'd left and found himself at the celebration once more, guzzling alcohol. Every time he blinked, he saw Nola's stricken expression as he fled her aravel. Every breath made him curse his own stupidity and long to go back.

But he hadn't. Sometime in the night, after the alcohol had rendered him virtually senseless, he had apparently seduced Sammael, the first elf they'd adopted from Ansburg. He'd seen the longing looks the young man had sent his way but hadn't given any of it a second thought until that night. The next morning he woke naked inside his own aravel with Sammael cradled against him, also naked. The whole clan had known of it before the day was out.

Nola had said nothing to him, at least not the way he'd expected and _deserved_. He thought she should have reacted with rage. She should have spit in his face. Instead they'd avoided each other as long as their duties allowed, but soon enough they had to sit with one another, talk together, and work as one for the clan. And when Tal had seen her again he'd been ready to confess it was a mistake, to plead with her for forgiveness and understanding, but Nola had spoken first. As she apologized for being so forward with him and forgave him for the indiscretion with Sammael, Tal had fought to keep his heart from breaking as the certainty grew that Nola _had_ only seen him as a duty. When she finished by saying she still wanted to bond with him, for the sake of making magically-gifted children for the good of the clan, Tal had felt sick with grief and loss.

He should have confessed what was on his heart then, but he'd been a coward. _Yes,_ he'd agreed. _For the good of the clan._ And then he'd gone to Sammael and slaked his lust with the youth, trying to find solace for the unbearable pain tearing at his chest. But no amount of cuddling and sex with Sammael could bring lasting comfort and so, less than a month later, he eagerly joined Rosa in her clan's expedition to spy on the Conclave.

He'd never planned on returning from it.

Yet seeing Nola again in this dream brought back all the pain he'd tried to numb. It also made him remember the way Nola had laughed when he told her stories of pranking his birth clan's Keeper. The sight of her now in this dream twisted the knife still in his heart and he realized he'd missed her soft smile and her simple joy.

The shame of what he'd done tore at him anew as he saw the sadness in those blue eyes, deeper than the Waking Sea. She spoke of new life, the first babe born to the clan since slavers and bandits had decimated them. Yet though she was happy for the other bonded pair and their new baby, Tal could see she was thinking that if they had joined together in her aravel that night last fall she might be heavy with an elfling of her own. Manaria would be about to welcome its second babe, one that was sure to be magically-gifted and could become Nola's Second. That child, if it existed, could have given Manaria the confidence of a line of succession. Instead they had only their Keeper and she had no First to replace her.

"I'm glad," Tal said, swallowing the painful lump in his throat.

Nola's eyes were suddenly glistening with tears again. As she blinked the first jeweled droplets fell onto her cheeks. "Tal," she said, pleadingly. "Come home to us. Please. There is no shame in desiring men over women. But I need you—the clan needs you." She sucked in a quavering breath. "I can share you with Sammael. I've spoken with him and he is willing if you are."

Behind Tal came the slight clatter of the river rocks bumping against each other as Sammael took a step closer to him. "It's true. I'm willing to share you. Just—please come back home."

Tal dropped his eyes, staring down at the stones underfoot and blinking the first of his own tears. "I…"

He stiffened as he suddenly sensed something nearby. Tal lifted his head, scanning the gray rocks and the river around him. His heart pounded as he remembered this was not reality after all, merely the Fade. These two elves were not from his clan. They were spirits taking their shape at best. At worst they were demons come to masquerade and trick him.

Nothing seemed amiss in the world at first, but then a section of the gray rock wall to his left went dark, as if a cave had opened there before his eyes, melting the stone away. Tal stared, breathing hard and tensing for an attack. But a moment later he relaxed as a familiar figure strode through the opening of the newly-formed cave: Solas.

"_Falon!"_ Tal exclaimed, striding forward to embrace the other elf before stopping short as he remembered that Solas could be a trick too. "Wait," he said, scowling. "How do I know you're really him?"

"Who is he?" Nola asked, eyeing Solas up with a mixture of curiosity and unease. Her brow furrowed. "Wait…I remember you."

Solas nodded to her. "Yes, we have met before. I accompanied Tal's sister, Rosa, to your clan over a year ago." Eyes flicking over the scene, Solas cleared his throat. "I apologize for intruding." Glancing to Tal, he said, "We must hurry."

"Wait," Tal said, frowning. "What? What's going on here?"

"We haven't the time for me to explain," Solas insisted as he motioned back toward the cave he'd opened up in the gray rock. "We must return to Rosa and the others and escape this place."

Tal snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not going anywhere with you just because you tell me. This is the Fade and I'm not a fool. You could be a demon masquerading as Solas." Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the Elvhen man. "Quick, tell me something that proves you're Solas. Tell me something only he and I would know."

Solas rolled his eyes in exasperation. "That is a useless method to determine who and what I am. Were I indeed a demon or spirit in disguise I would merely read your mind for the answer."

Tal wrinkled his nose. "Humor me."

Instead of answering, Solas turned and regarded Nola and then Sammael. He arched one brow at the Keeper and then asked, "Did you banish Tal from your clan, Keeper?"

Nola blinked and then frowned, her expression warping in a way that suggested Solas' question had actually offended her. "No! No, of course not!"

"How enlightening," Solas said, speaking more to himself than to Tal or Nola.

"Who is this guy?" Sammael asked, glaring at Solas.

"A friend," Tal replied cagily. "Or a demon. Hard to tell because we're dreaming."

"What?" Sammael asked, squawking with fear. He spun away, scanning the area. "This is the _Fade?_ I'm _dreaming?_ I'm not a mage!"

Tal snorted and murmured in Solas' direction: "Whatever spirit crafted this for me really nailed Sammael."

Oddly, this drew a smug smile from Solas. "Perhaps it would interest you to know, _falon,_ that these two are no spirits or demons in guise. The two you've been speaking with here are their actual sleeping minds."

Tal's jaw dropped open as he pointed to Nola. "You mean this is the _real _Nola?"

"Yes," Solas replied. "And, _abelas falon,_ I have been privy to more of the conversation than is polite."

"What?" Tal blurted, feeling heat flood his face as he blushed. "What—what did you hear?" Averting his gaze, he cursed. "What did I _say?"_

"Tal?" Nola asked, her voice quavering and strained with pain. She moved closer to him, reaching for his shoulder, but Tal scrambled away from her. His skin was burning as though he'd caught himself on fire.

Shaking his head, he lifted both hands to fend her off. "Nola, no, no…I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry!"

She stood back from him, hands falling to her sides. Her blue eyes were round and sad, but also confused. Tal had continued backing away until he bumped into Sammael who yelped and swung around to grab him in a supporting grip. The young man's hands felt solid and firm, warm just as they had the last time Tal had been in Sammael's arms. The thought was both shameful and arousing. Tal started to slap at Sammael's hands, to push him away as well but then something streaked out of the canopy of trees above the gray rock walls of the gully they stood in.

The arrow pierced Nola through the chest, slamming into her mid back and sticking out the opposite side at her waist. Blood splattered the stones and Tal lunged for her, screaming her name with alarm—but she disappeared into a cloud of mist. His arms closed over thin air and he staggered back, reeling as Solas cursed, tossing barriers up over himself and Tal—but not Sammael.

"This is not a dream, Tal," Solas told him and then, brow furrowing with concentration, he made a waving motion of his right arm and in response the river, the gully, the trees of the canopy overhead, and Sammael all disappeared. Tal blinked as he took in a sandy marsh, dotted with spiky red plants and boulders. Craggy stalactites floated in the sky, greenish water cascading down in misty waterfalls wreathed in Fade ether.

Gawking, Tal stared at Solas, uncomprehending. "What? It has to be a dream. We're in the Fade." Then he let out a yelp as a ball of green spirit energy flew at him, hurled by a wraith a few meters distant. "Shit," he cursed, dodging in a roll as more wraiths sent spirit magic hurtling to hurt him.

Casually, Solas made a dismissive gesture with one hand and sent rocks flying at the wraiths. The stones found their marks, clattering as they struck the gray boulders and passed through the wraiths. The demons dissolved into green ether.

"What's going on?" Tal demanded, getting exasperated. He was wet from rolling through a puddle and swatted at his robes to knock off the muck.

Solas' expression warped with something akin to sympathy. "Do you remember falling from the bridge at Adamant?" As Tal nodded, eyes widening with the realization that that was the last thing he actually recalled, Solas explained. "Rosa opened a rift with the Anchor as she fell. We fell through it." Pausing a moment, he lowered his volume. "We are _physically_ in the Fade. And we must escape. There is a fear demon hunting us."

Swallowing hard, Tal ran his hands through his hair and groaned, feeling sick. "What the _fuck_ just happened to me, though? I've been dreaming since I got here."

"I believe another powerful demon, the Formless One—"

Tal immediately stiffened and interrupted. "_That_ asshole was the demon I spoke to earlier?"

Solas' brow furrowed and curiosity spread over his features but he merely nodded. "I suspect that is the case, yes. It must have shaped a dream and a form for itself that would set you at ease for whatever message it carried." He pinched his lips together. "The dreamscape you experienced just a moment ago, however, was my doing."

Tal's brows shot up into his forehead. _"You_ made that dream? With clan Manaria?"

With a nod, Solas said, "I did indeed. I drew Manaria's Keeper and the minds of the rest of the clan into the dream because I needed to bring you out of the Formless One's grasp. Had I walked to you I might have drawn the Formless One's attention, but I could feel that you were freely moving. Thus, I created a dream with those closest to you from the waking world to bring you to me."

"Couldn't you have just willed me to you?" Tal asked, scowling. His face was burning with humiliation at the certainty that Solas had actually been spying on him as much as finding him. "Rosa always does that to me when we're asleep." He let out a little huffing breath. "I would have recognized you were around then."

"I cannot will you to me while we are _physically_ present in the Fade. I could only guide you by creating a dream that would bring you to me," Solas explained.

Tal grunted with irritation, wishing he had Rosa's gift for feeling lies. "Whatever. Let's just get out of here." He felt over his staff and drew in a deep breath of the humid air. "You know how to get back to Rosa?"

"Yes," he replied and set off, striding through the sandy plain ahead. "I can feel her presence. I will take us there."

"Good," Tal said and sighed as he scrubbed at his face. "Nola is okay, right?"

Solas turned at the waist to look back at him and smiled reassuringly. "Yes. She woke from the dream when it became a nightmare."

"Good," Tal repeated, nodding to himself. "Good." But it did nothing to dispel the tumult of emotions still twisting inside him, burning and aching. When he blinked he saw Nola's shock and horror as the arrow struck her over and over again.

_The sooner we get out of here, _he thought, _the better. _

* * *

As Rosa and her party rounded a corner, leaving a narrow gully and cringing as they moved past a tall chunk of red lyrium, she froze in place. Two figures stood ahead of her around the bend, at the edge of another marshy area. A shimmering green barrier ahead blocked the path, but it was the figures Rosa's eyes stayed on. One clearly wore the garb of the Divine, but the other was a figure of bright gold-white light, lean but masculine in build with full armor.

Hawke skidded to a stop beside her and frowned as he took in the same two figures. "Justice?" he asked.

Giving Hawke a speculative sidelong glance for a moment, Rosa decided not to correct him. She already knew who the spirit was: her longtime guardian and friend, Rogathe. Her chest tightened and her muscles tensed as she squared her shoulders and stepped forward.

She hadn't seen Rogathe since Solas had helped remove it from her again a few weeks back. She'd suspected the spirit needed time to recompose itself. It'd been absent for a short time when it left her in the Hasmal Circle as well. Possessing Rosa and existing inside her beyond the Veil always threatened to twist the spirit. Rosa guessed that Rogathe should have shown up in her dreams by now—but she'd been warding them against demons _and_ spirits since Solas had shown her how to do so when she'd first gone to Orlais months ago. This was, then, the first time the spirit had been able to reach her.

Were all of her greatest secrets going to be exposed here? First Dorian had uncovered and exposed her as a Dreamer, and now Rogathe might reveal it had been inside her up until a few weeks ago. Could she trust everyone here to accept that she hadn't been some abomination?

The Divine spoke first as Rosa drew closer. "The nightmare is closer now. It knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger."

Ahead Rosa saw more wraiths floating aimlessly over the marshy swamp. Fade ether drifted in wafts over the water. _More memories, _she thought, bracing herself as her gaze slid to Rogathe. She smiled at the spirit. _"Aneth ara, falon."_

Rogathe nodded to her in respect. _"Aneth ara, da'len._ I am pleased to see you whole and unafraid in the face of such mighty foes. The fear demon, the nightmare that has claimed this place, is ahead. I will help you face it."

"You're not Justice," Hawke said. His expression was one of uncertainty, but his tone seemed certain.

Rogathe swiveled its gaze slightly to take in the Champion of Kirkwall. After a quick scrutiny it dipped its head toward him. "A brave, worthy man." Grabbing at its waist, Rogathe unsheathed a sword made of glimmering silver light and thrust it down at the wet sand and stone underfoot. "I salute you, Champion Hawke. I am Bravery, though you may call me Rogathe, as Rosa does."

"You know this spirit?" Dorian asked from behind her, edging forward to regard Rogathe with interest.

Pinching her lips together, Rosa knew better than to lie. Rogathe would just correct her and dub her a coward if she did. "Yes. It's a longtime friend of my clan and my family."

"Please," the not-Divine interrupted then, gesturing gracefully toward the marsh ahead. "You must not tarry. The nightmare grows more dangerous with each passing breath. You must reclaim your memories, Inquisitor."

Rosa sucked in a deep breath, tasting the humid air with its faint stink of salt and sulfur. "Back to business," she murmured and reached for mana as she stepped off the stone bank and into the marsh with a little splash. "Stay back," she ordered Hawke, Dorian, and Blackwall. "I've got this."

She was only a few steps into the oily water when she realized Rogathe had floated along beside her. It still held its sword out, unsheathed. "You stay back too, _falon,"_ she told the spirit, stopping to motion back to the stone shore. "This is something I need to do by myself."

The spirit nodded to her solemnly. "This is a challenge you must best alone," it said in agreement. "I understand. But—I sense fear within you when you look upon me, _da'len._ You must be brave to defeat the nightmare of this place. The less you fear the less power it will hold over you."

Rosa managed to smile at it. _"Ma serannas,"_ she thanked it. "I hear the wisdom in what you speak."

Rogathe returned her smile and then sheathed its sword, filling the thick air with a metallic ringing, even though its blade was made of light rather than metal. The spirit turned and floated back toward the others, militant in its bearing and with strong, proud shoulders.

Tossing up a barrier over herself, Rosa strode forward through the muck of the marsh. The first green wraith flung caustic spirit magic at her and it hissed as the energy broke over her barrier, useless. Another memory-wraith joined it, gliding sideways as it hurled another green gob of green energy at Rosa. Again there was no effect as Rosa moved into the middle of the marsh and drew their fire unflinchingly. Then, before the wraiths could scatter, Rosa summoned a mindblast and sent it out with a loud boom.

The green magic spread out in a perfect circle from her, making the water splatter out in a wave. Rocks from the nearby stone walls cracked and debris splashed. She heard her companions gasp behind her, bracing against the energy. The wraiths dissolved into Fade ether with little whines. In their place the green balls of energy floated, awaiting Rosa.

With water sloshing around her calves, Rosa moved to the first ball and thrust out her palm, willing it to herself. Her own voice echoed in her ears, shouting: "Keep running! Keep climbing!" As the green wash cleared from her vision, Rosa moved to the next orb and took it in as well. Justinia's voice rang out: "The demons!"

Shaking her head to clear it as her heart started hammering and fear clutched at her throat and chest, Rosa headed for the third and fourth orbs. She heard the wet crunch and squelch of her companions' feet as they moved to join her. She tensed, worried at what she'd see or hear as the memories began to coalesce in her brain. Rogathe had possessed her sometime after the Conclave explosion, when she had wandered physically in the Fade previously.

At the third orb Rosa heard herself scream, short and sharp with surprise and fear and then Rogathe's voice shouted: "Go!" A rush seized her muscles and her blood whooshed rhythmically in her ears.

Blackwall's voice behind her was tinny and distant: "Inquisitor?"

Rosa lurched for the last memory orb where it floated a few inches off the ground over damp rock. She hit the water with a wild splatter, holding her palm out and reaching to absorb the last memory. And as the green washed over her, stealing her breath away as the images and sensations hit her, Rosa pitched forward onto her hands and knees.

* * *

Rosa gasped as she felt the cold, slimy touch of gray stone under her hands. Her left palm pulsated with an angry hot pain that drowned out the strange warm bliss pounding through her. Clutching her palm as she stood upright, Rosa lifted her eyes to see the gray-green sky swirling with ugly, sooty clouds. Looking over her shoulder she saw the Black City, tiny campfire lights flickering in the windows of its dark towers. Her skin crawled, wriggling as if a million insects picked at her skin with prickly legs.

"What…?" she asked, shoulders heaving as she held her stricken left hand. "…is this…?"

A small voice croaked behind her, trying to answer, and Rosa whipped around. Gawping on the thick air, she recognized the Divine lying prone on the oily stone. Lurching for the other woman, Rosa knelt at her side and tried to help her up. Justinia groaned, her wrinkled face drawn with exhaustion and smeared with flecks of dirt, ash, and Creators knew what else. Her robes fared little better but, somehow, her ridiculous hat remained in place.

"Divine Justinia!" Rosa exclaimed. "Are you all right? Can you stand?"

The old woman's breath puffed out a bit uneven and too fast, but she nodded. "I believe so. Help me up, child, if you would."

Grunting, Rosa pulled the old woman up to her feet and held onto her for a few moments to be sure she could stand on her own. Rosa spun around in a circle again, looking around them. Behind her, opposite the Black City, Rosa saw a pyramidal structure made of ugly stone and lined with a long staircase. And atop it stood a glimmering green shape.

"There," she said, pointing so that the Divine could see it. "We should get up there. Have a look around."

The Divine followed her pointing finger and then nodded. "We must hurry," she said. "Before we encounter anything wishing to stop us."

Rosa felt her body prickling with sweat. Her stomach clenched. She swallowed bile, suddenly certain that Divine Justinia's fear, spoken aloud, would manifest immediately. The last time her body had reacted this way had been around Fear and Deceit, Dirthamen's two ravens she'd summoned through the Veil as a child. There must be a demon here, now, physically.

Before she and the Divine had walked more than a few steps a brilliant figure made of gold-white light appeared from out of a craggy rock wall a few meters ahead. Rosa froze, as did the Divine. The spirit was looking at them and Rosa relaxed, partly, as she recognized it.

"Rogathe," she greeted it, grinning. "I'm glad to see you!"

"As I am you, _da'len," _the spirit said pleasantly. "I have come to help you."

Rosa pointed to the glimmering green-white shape atop the rough, sharp shape of the pyramid. "Is that where we have to go?"

Rogathe nodded. "Yes, and you must hurry. There are demons coming."

As if Rogathe's words had summoned them, Rosa heard scuttling and chittering behind her. "Shit," she cursed and grabbed at the Divine's shoulders to hurry her along. She could feel the old woman's tension as they brushed past Rogathe but Rosa kept prodding her farther. "Let's get up those stairs."

Their feet splattered through puddles and crunched on slick grit and pebbles. Rosa saw flaming bits of stone lining the pathway and recognized them as being bricks from the temple of Sacred Ashes. The fire burning them was both orange and green. She shuddered anew, her mind whirling and spinning. What was this place?

As terrified as she was, Rosa also felt something huge inside herself—powerful and churning and wild. The foreign magic inside her left palm was worming its way to touch her core and twining ethereal vines about her spirit. _Possessive. Purposeful. Powerful. _Its magic felt…_ancient._ It felt…_familiar. _

Behind her, Rosa heard Rogathe roar with rage. "Tiny fear demons! You are no match for my will!"

As the Divine reached the steep stair and began to climb, Rosa paused and whipped around to watch her old friend fight. Spiderlike demons swarmed toward the spirit of bravery, chittering and hissing. Saliva and venom oozed from their mandibles and fangs. Rogathe stood in front of them, a huge sword lifted over its head. With a war cry it spun and slashed on graceful feet. The demons squealed as they met with his will and cowered. Their hesitation gave Rogathe strength and it lashed out all the more energetically.

But there were countless fearlings and even as a dozen fell before Rogathe's will—for that was the spirit's real weapon, manifesting as a sword—two dozen swarmed ahead. They were like a stampede of halla, driven by an unseen master. Unseen but not unfelt. Rosa could sense the looming shadow somewhere beyond the nearest craggy mountains. Its presence made her nauseous as her blood went icy.

The first fearlings managed to crawl past Rogathe while others fell to it. The ones that made it through chittered and hissed with glee, scuttling on their spindly legs as they rushed for Rosa and the Divine. Glancing over her shoulder, Rosa saw the old woman had made her way several meters up, grunting with pain and effort, but she was far too slow.

Sucking in a deep breath, Rosa's hands curled into fists. "Keep running!" she shouted at the Divine. "Keep climbing!" Justinia stopped for a second to gawk at her and then quickly set to work again.

Rosa reached for mana in her core and found it eager and bubbling. As the first fearling came within range she hurled out a fireball from both fists. The spider shrieked as the flames engulfed it, turning it to ash in barely a heartbeat. The flames were so hungry and hot that two nearby spiders also caught flame and shrieked, curling up and dying as the fire consumed them.

That was more powerful than Rosa had expected. Her heart hammered with excitement now as she realized her mana core had expanded somehow—doubling, tripling…maybe more.

Emboldened, Rosa stabbed a finger out and willed fire runes and incineration spells onto the stones ahead of her. Fire roared as the next swarm of fearlings met with it. They hissed and then screamed, dissolving into green ether at the heat of her mage fire. "Dread Wolf take you," Rosa shouted, gritting her teeth in savage enjoyment.

Through the wall of flames, Rosa saw Rogathe was inundated with the fearlings and beginning to waver. The spirit still roared and swung frantically, but the fear demons no longer cowered as they came close. They spat venom at the spirit and clawed at it, trying to infect its bravery with fear. And they were winning, slowly whittling the more powerful spirit down. Rogathe would be tainted eventually and become a fear demon, or more likely, it would be consumed with rage and become a demon of that nature instead.

"Rogathe!" she shouted to it. "Come fight by my side!"

The spirit turned and immediately rushed for her, running through the flames though it did not have feet to touch the ground. The fearlings scuttled forward, hesitating at the wall of flames. As Rogathe reached Rosa's side and then turned round, sword lifted and ready to fight again, she shook her head. "We should start climbing while the fire holds them back."

"Retreat?" Rogathe asked, voice laced with disgust. "I am no coward, _da'len."_

"We can't take on this many by ourselves," Rosa protested and started to turn back to the pyramid's stairs, but Rogathe reached out and gripped her shoulder.

"No, _da'len,_" it said with a shake of its head. "You must leave and I will fight these cowards."

Rosa stared at the spirit, stunned. "You'll die!" With a shake of her head, she amended that. "No, it's worse than that. You'll become a demon!"

Rogathe smiled at her. "My purpose is to protect you, _da'len._" The brilliance of the spirit's light had eased slightly and it was coated with slime, grit, and venom. Yet, through the muck, and with the spirit's reduced brightness, Rosa made out its features more clearly. Her heart seized in her chest and a painful lump started in her throat.

"_Ghilin,"_ she said, choking on the title—the most affectionate one she had for this man. Her shoulders heaved. "No—Rogathe, take his face off. Stop this! You're hurting me!"

His hand squeezed more tightly instead of releasing her and Rosa felt tears stinging her eyes as she saw the spirit's color begin to change. The brightness dimmed and she saw his armor was a beautiful, graceful type she'd only seen in dreams the real man had shared with her of Elvhenan. Gold metal plates covered his thighs and his chest and silks swathed him beneath that. It was the regal uniform of a prince—an adopted son of Mythal and a lord of Arlathan's court.

"I must protect you, _ma'ashalan,"_ the spirit said, but his voice was both her father's and Rogathe's, twisted into one. "Whatever the cost." He pushed her toward the pyramid as the flames spluttered, slowly trying to die. The spider fearlings behind it hissed with excitement, surging forward. "Go! Now!"

Rosa stumbled on the first step of the pyramid and then, gnashing her teeth, spun around. "No! I _refuse!_" Waving a hand, Rosa summoned more fire. A huger wall of it roared into existence, incinerating dozens of fearlings on contact. They squealed and the others cowered back from the heat and flames—the raw power of Rosa's will.

But more fearlings were on their way, chittering and hissing and spitting as they scuttled over the gray rocks. Breathing hard, Rosa reached inside herself for more mana and closed her eyes, shaping a firestorm. With a cry she unleashed it on the gray stone beyond the wall of fire, letting the already massive spell drain even more from her than needed to lengthen the barrage of brimstone. Craggy rocks from the sky caught fire and split off, hurtling down on the fear demons. The spiders' bodies popped and dissolved into green goo and Fade ether. The stone reverberated with their squealing cries.

Shaky after the massive spell, Rosa turned and snagged Rogathe's bicep, trying not to feel the hot tears in her eyes at the way the spirit still so closely resembled her father. "Come with me," she ordered it. "Now."

His jaw clenched. "Very well."

They moved to the pyramid steps and hurried up them, scrambling to reach the Divine, who was now nearly three quarters of the way up. The shrieks and cries of the demons echoed from the ongoing firestorm behind them.

"A very nicely done spell, _da'len,"_ Rogathe praised at her side, sounding almost entirely like her father now. "Perhaps better than I myself could have managed."

"You're _not_ him," Rosa snapped. "Stop that."

"I am as much Felassan as I am bravery, _da'len,"_ the spirit told her. "I have died for you and your brother once and I will happily do it again."

Rosa stumbled on the slick stone, gawking at the spirit. "What did you say? _Lenalin_ died for us? How in the—" She broke off, her teeth gritting together. "No. Stop this! _Lenalin_ was never around us enough to have—" She cut herself off when she saw the pain emblazoned over Rogathe's face—her _father's_ face. It twisted the vallaslin, which she knew had been a gift from her mother at Felassan's request so that he would blend in better with Dalish clans. It darkened his violet eyes, which were his gift to Rosa along with his powerful magic and talents as a Dreamer.

"Enough," she growled and scrambled once more on the stairs.

As they reached halfway up the stairs the Divine stood tall and proud at the top. She shouted down to them. "It is a portal!"

"Yes," Rogathe said, still climbing at her side. "It is a portal to the waking world beyond the Veil."

"This is the Fade?" Rosa asked, croaking and puffing as she hauled herself up, step over step. "And this isn't a dream? How?"

"There is no time to explain, _da'len,"_ the spirit told her. "Only that you must leave this place. Only you can stop him."

"Him?" Rosa demanded. "Him who?"

The Divine called out again from above. "The demons!"

Twisting to look down and back, Rosa saw only a handful of fearlings remained now—but that was not what had made the Divine scream with such fear. Instead, over the craggy rocks, Rosa saw an enormous, foul, ugly monster with multiple legs and too many eyes twitching in their sockets emerging into view. It was monstrous, as gargantuan as a high dragon. Its pillar-like legs stomped with each step and Rosa felt the impact travel through the rock. It hissed and let out a roar that hit Rosa's ears like a shard of glass cutting into her skull.

Rosa gnashed her teeth as the pain in her head coalesced to stab at her left palm as well. She slipped a little on the steps, but Rogathe caught her. Hauling her up, he pushed at her to go ahead. "Don't stop now, _ma'ashalan,"_ he called.

At the top of the pyramid the Divine stooped over, extending her hand out. Rosa took it, clasping her sweaty, gritty palm with the old woman's. Justinia was surprisingly strong as she pulled Rosa up. The Divine moved to offer her hand to Rogathe next, even though he was clearly not a person the way she and Rosa were, but the spirit ignored her offer, hopping upright in a way that revealed how little he felt his own weight.

"Go," he ordered them, his voice both Rogathe and Felassan's. "Through the portal and to the world beyond the Veil."

Fearlings chittered below, scuttling rapidly up the pyramid and, drawing frighteningly close with each booming step, the enormous, grotesque demon was now completely over the mountains. Slithering, pinkish projections like tongues emerged from its vertical maw of slathering teeth. The tongues waggled through the thick air, entirely too close to them. Its sickening eyes twitched in their sockets, fixed on them.

With her heart rising up into her throat and her chest tightening with emotional pain, Rosa lunged for Rogathe. "I'm not leaving without you!"

"I cannot cross," the spirit shouted to her, lifting its sword. "You know this, _da'len."_

"We must go!" the Divine pressed.

"I am not a coward!" Rosa shouted as a new idea sprang into her mind. She pulled Rogathe toward her. "Join with me! I need your strength, _falon!"_

The spirit's light brightened, its features obscured. It flushed with heat beneath her hands, as though she touched a raw flame but was somehow unburned. Rosa felt a thrill of excitement pass through the Fade and knew it wasn't hers but Rogathe's.

"Yes, _da'len,_" it said and then embraced her.

The world went white and Rosa gasped, feeling every muscle snap taut and her mana core rippled with pleasure as the spirit touched it. Pain exploded in her left palm as the foreign magic reacted, or as Rogathe attacked it, she wasn't sure which. She stumbled, breathing hard and panicked, and felt the Divine reach out to steady her. Dimly, she realized that this might be a grave mistake. The Divine could order her killed as an abomination, but the fact that the older woman was helping her right now seemed a wondrous sign.

She heard a voice that was both Rogathe and Felassan's echo inside her head: _"We will stop him together, _ma'ashalan."

She didn't know who Rogathe meant, though she _did_ vaguely remember some kind of monster she'd seen—misshapen and tall and with reddish spikes protruding from his face—but hadn't that been a dream? Or a nightmare, anyway, and it was fading fast. Still, she felt her own resolve harden with determination.

_Yes,_ she thought at the spirit that was both her longtime friend and protector and now…somehow…her father. _Yes, we will defeat him together. _

Oddly, she sensed Rogathe cringing slightly from that thought, as if it…_he_ didn't quite want that. And yet a heartbeat later Rogathe repeated: _We will stop him and I will protect you and give you strength against him._

Then the Divine screamed.

Rosa staggered backward, bumping into rock as the Divine's steadying hand was torn away. She opened her eyes, bleary through tears at the brightness burning off her own skin. She saw the Divine clinging to a stone a few feet away. A pink ribbon-like projection from the enormous demon beyond the pyramid had snatched the poor woman from around the middle. Fearlings chittered and hissed their excitement as they rushed up the stairs just behind the Divine.

"No," Rosa said, gasping the word. She lunged for the Divine, trying to grab at the old woman, to save her, but the Divine merely made eye contact with her one last time.

"Go," she said and then her hands slipped from the rock. The monster tore her away through the air, straight for its maw of teeth.

Rage scalded Rosa's blood. With a roar of fury she shot upright and reached out to the Fade, grasping it with an experience borne of centuries of fighting in Arlathan, and felt it snap inside her. She grabbed a floating stalagmite and smashed it into the monstrous fear demon with its hundreds of twitching eyes. It shrieked, green-red goo oozing from wounds that opened up in its side. Its pink tongue-like projections wriggled with pain. The Divine lay clutched in one, limp and unconscious, and the fear demon released her. The old woman fell out of sight into the Fade—but the distance was too much for her to have survived. Rosa felt a hot stab of shame course through her at the failure.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

The grotesque, giant fear demon raised itself up, roaring. The sound made Rosa cringe, pain streaking through her skull. She gnashed her teeth and reached out, clutching at the Fade again. Another floating stalagmite flew through the air, colliding with the demon and making it shriek as it fell over onto its side.

_Finish it,_ Rosa thought and reached again—only to see three fearlings racing for her, fangs wriggling and maws slathering.

Releasing her hold on the Fade, Rosa scrambled backward, calling mana to defend herself…and backed into the portal.

The green white, fractured light swallowed her. Pain ripped through her hand and she gasped, choking as she fell, stumbling down a short drop. Hard stone coated in blackened ash leapt up to meet her. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs. She tasted the ash, smelled smoke and burning flesh and hair. The pain raced from her hand to her head and she felt the darkness closing in no matter how hard she fought it. The foreign magic inside her was too strong, even with Rogathe, as it inundated the spirit and locked it…or portions of it…away.

_No…_ She clung to that voice inside that sounded like her father. Was the world beyond the Veil already corrupting the spirit? Or was it just settling inside her, too deep to feel as distinct from her own self? _Lenalin,_ she pleaded, recalling the power and knowledge that'd so briefly flowed through her when she'd attacked the giant fear demon. _Stay with me!_

But the blackness closed in despite her efforts, and behind it was the all-consuming green that moved to embrace her, cover her like a lover.

* * *

Rosa's eyes snapped open and she jumped upright, splashing as she staggered. Hands gripped her from behind and she cried out, flinching for a second. Voices spoke in both calming and fearful tones. She focused on them, shaking her head to clear the dizziness, and gradually recognized Blackwall and Dorian behind her. Both men held her, protective as fathers.

_Fathers…_

She looked around Dorian and Blackwall to see Stroud and Hawke. Beyond the two warriors she saw the Divine and Rogathe. Shoulders heaving with her rapid breaths, Rosa gently pushed Dorian and Blackwall away as she started to walk out of the marshy puddle and toward the two spirits.

"I remember it now," she said, her voice croaking. She lifted a hand, pointing to the spirit in the Divine's shape. "The real Divine died. The nightmare took her before we could escape." Swiveling her gaze slightly to Rogathe, she swallowed the painful lump in her throat. "And you…"

"So this creature isn't the Divine?" Stroud asked, sounding both stunned and saddened by this news.

"We already knew that," Hawke snapped.

"I am sorry if I disappoint you," the spirit Divine said with a sad but serene expression.

Hawke's snarky look faded into one of regret and grief.

As the Divine at last revealed itself to be a golden, female-shaped spirit, Rosa found herself simply staring at Rogathe. She wasn't the least bit surprised to have learned the being guiding them was only a spirit in the Divine's shape, but remembering what had transpired between herself and Rogathe…

The spirit that had guarded and taught her since childhood smiled and its luminous shape faded until it more closely resembled a translucent physical person. Rosa could see his resplendent armor again, proud and noble. She saw his violet eyes and the vallaslin on his face. As the others continued to stare stunned at the spirit-Divine, Rosa whispered in elven, _"How? When did you become Ghilin?"_

"_I am not the Slow Arrow alone,"_ Rogathe replied._ "I cannot be. But when he knew he would face death he summoned me to him and asked that I imprint him onto myself. To better allow me to protect you and Tal. I agreed."_

"_Please,"_ Rosa begged, gritting her teeth as tears stung her eyes. _"I need to—"_

"The nightmare has found us," the Divine spirit said from her spot hovering over the ugly gray-blue rock.

"Shit," Rosa cursed as she turned and saw the green barrier had dissolved and dozens of fearlings scuttled for them, squealing with excitement. "Terrible timing!"

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"_What will you tell her of me, _falon?" the spirit asked in Felassan's voice, challenging him.

Stiffening his spine and forcing himself to remain open so that the spirit could read him, Solas replied in the same tongue. _"The truth. I did not know you—"_ He cut himself off, grimacing as he rephrased it, aware he was not actually speaking to Felassan._ "I did not know he defied me to protect his children."_

"_You would not have cared, Wolf,"_ the spirit snarled.

* * *

Felassan-Rogathe is just a little bitter about what happened to the real Felassan! I figure sometimes the spirit is 100% Rogathe, and sometimes it switches to being almost 100% Felassan, but most of the time it's split.


	31. The Abyss (Part 3): Din'An Harellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Tal rescued, Rosa leads her party through the Fade, struggling with a crotchety Rogathe and Solas who just want to duke it out. And they find a strange graveyard with some embarrassing tombstones.

Spiders scuttled over the wet, sandy marsh, squealing and chattering. Dorian and Blackwall were closest to the new threat now and reacted at once. Dorian tossed barriers up over himself and Blackwall, then hurled fire at the nearest demon. Blackwall unsheathed his blade and shouted as he lifted his shield. Charging into the ranks of the demons, he slashed and spun and slammed his shield into them, taking three on at a time.

Hands forming fists at her sides, Rosa Fade-stepped to join them before Stroud or Hawke could join the fray. Unleashing a mindblast, Rosa knocked all the spiders back, stunning them. The sharp boom echoed from the rocks, making the Fade itself quiver around them. The puddles vibrated and rippled and as the green magic washed outward it made the sand itself tremble for a beat. The spiders screeched as they curled on themselves and dissolved into green dust.

"Well," Hawke said, reacting first as he resheathed his blade. "That was fast."

"Fascinating," Dorian told her, tweaking his mustache. "How are you managing such powerful spells? Is it simply because you are Somniari?"

Rosa frowned at him and shrugged. "I don't have a clue, Dorian, and I don't care. Let's just get moving." She turned and motioned at Rogathe. "Will you walk with me, _falon?"_

The spirit walked to join her, weightless as it tread over the sand and passed over puddles without rippling them. Rosa turned with the spirit as it walked and started trotting around the corner—only to see shades and fear demons stalking nearby. They groaned and hissed as they spotted her and Rogathe.

Rogathe unsheathed its blade. "Do you wish for my aid, _da'len?"_

She laid a restraining hand over his chest, feeling the hard, chilled metal of it. So lifelike. Had her father worn armor like this once? Would it have felt this way? "I've got them," she said and then put a barrier up over herself, Rogathe, and the men rounding the corner behind her.

Using a Fade step to surge forward in a streak of blue, Rosa passed through the fear demon, freezing it solid. With a backward stab of her staff, Rosa smashed it into pieces.

Shades slithered forward, roaring and groaning in their strange, warped voices. Rosa hurled a fireball at one and then sent lightning arcing on the next one. Both quivered with pain and then fell, dying. The Fade ether drifted thick and green overhead, but otherwise the marsh was empty and silent once more.

"Well done," Rogathe congratulated her in Felassan's voice.

Rosa grimaced at the sound and started forward again.

Ahead, she saw uneven ground marked with what might have once been stone tiles. A green barrier blocked the path forward. The Divine's spirit stood beside the barrier, glowing brilliant yellow-gold. Fearlings scuttled from the walls and fell from above on silken spider threads. The spiderlings showed no interest in the Divine's spirit, but they immediately charged for Rosa and those behind her, then spat their venom and spirit magic at them.

Rosa refreshed the barriers over everyone before Dorian could with a flick of her hand. She let the warriors go ahead of her this time, Rogathe in the lead. Dorian joined her, spinning his staff to cast chain lightning. "Did that last bout tire you out, love?" he asked her teasingly.

"If I said yes, would you believe me?" Rosa asked as she concentrated on reaching out with her inner senses to grab the Fade as she remembered doing the first time with Rogathe within her—and her father's knowledge. It was familiar enough now that it came easily and she was able to casually hurl a rock as big as Varric out of the sky and into one of the fearlings. It popped, squashing with a splatter of green guts on the gray stone.

Dorian let out a short, sharp laugh. "Not in a million years, Somniari."

Rosa frowned as she found another rock and this time just used her eyes and will to direct it, smashing another fearling. "You have got to stop calling me that. Southern Thedas isn't Tevinter and Inquisitor or not, I'd bet you anything that if Cullen or Cassandra or Vivienne get wind of what I am, I will wind up in a cell faster than you can say Andraste's holy flaming nipples."

Dorian laughed at her curse as he continued flinging fire and lightning. "Honestly, Inquisitor, I would never say anything like that—too crude. Don't mistake me for Sera. But I truly think you're underestimating the protection you're afforded as a leader and religious figure."

Rosa rolled her eyes and bit back the desire to groan with irritation at the reminder of her status with the humans. "Just lay off the comments about me being a Dreamer, okay?" She sent a fireball over to burn away a spider that Dorian had already cast incinerate on but the miserable thing had only squealed and partially roasted. Rosa's spell made it shrivel into dust in a heartbeat.

Dorian scoffed. "That was uncalled for. I had that spider."

"Not fast enough for me you didn't," she taunted, smirking.

"Fine," Dorian relented with a dramatic little huff. "I shan't mention your being Somniari again. Not in the south, anyway."

"Not anywhere," Rosa snapped and spun her staff, sending chain lightning bouncing off the remaining fearlings. They shrieked and died all together, leaving the warriors scattered about the stony landscape blinking with surprise at how quickly their foes had been snuffed out.

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Not anywhere, then. You have my word, Inquisitor."

The deep voice they'd heard earlier spoke then, sounding a touch frantic, Rosa thought. "Do you think you can fight me? I am your every fear come to life. I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself. The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me."

"Ah," the Divine's spirit said. "So if we banish you we banish the demon army. Thank you, every fear come to life."

The nightmare growled in rage and fell silent.

The Divine's spirit disappeared then in a puff of white smoke, but the green barrier remained in place, trapping them. Rosa strode up to it, stowing her staff on her back as she went. Rogathe moved with her, staring up at the barrier.

"How do we get past?" Stroud asked from behind her.

"I don't believe this should be a problem for our Inquisitor," Dorian said in a singsong, amused voice.

Rosa glared over her shoulder at the Tevinter mage and found him wearing a gloating smirk. He had kept his promise and not mentioned she was a Dreamer, but he'd referenced it anyway. Rosa's eyes flew to the others, all warriors, and saw them staring at her expectantly. They knew Dorian spoke the truth. She had lifted the waters from a marsh to save them earlier. What was this little barrier?

"Why do you hesitate, _da'len?"_ Rogathe murmured from her side, his voice gentle.

She shot the spirit an unhappy frown as she let herself consider her own inner turmoil. The potion Solas had given her to drink before Adamant was clearly still working, numbing her to the sense of the demons they'd been fighting, but also making her blind to the presence of other Dreamers. Without that sense she couldn't pick out Solas. And she wasn't certain if she'd be able to feel Tal at all because he probably wasn't sleeping.

"You fear the path ahead," Rogathe said, reading her emotions. "You fear facing the nightmare and what it may cost you." It inhaled sharply. "And there is still the Formless One, of course. You worry for Talassan."

"Rogathe," Rosa grumbled, shaking her head at it. The spirit spoke more with its own voice now though it still looked like her father. She used elven as she said, _"Stop reading me like that so the others can hear."_

The spirit smiled knowingly. There was a glimmer of intelligence in its violet eyes that made her shiver and her heart tightened in her chest. He looked too much like Felassan with that in his eye. "I understand, _da'len._ Very well." He switched to elven as he laid a hand over her shoulder, squeezing in just the way her father had done when she struggled with a difficult lesson. _"Your secrets are safe with me, daughter."_

She swallowed the lump in her throat, clutching onto her irritation instead that the spirit would choose now to so resemble her father. Why had he waited when he could have told her before? Felassan had been missing over a year now, fast approaching two.

"_I waited precisely because it would hurt you regardless of when I revealed it, _da'len," Rogathe said in a voice that was both her father's and the spirit's. _"I did not wish to hurt you. But you know why I choose to show this to you now."_

She stared at him, her lips pinched together tightly as she tried to fight off the threat of angry tears. _"Because you plan to sacrifice yourself here, just like after the Conclave."_

Rogathe nodded, solemnly. _"Because I intend to protect you, no matter the cost. And yes, I expect the cost will be my existence. The demon ahead cannot be defeated without sacrifice."_

Snarling, Rosa slapped his hand off her shoulder. "I don't need you here to die for me!" she shouted, heedless that she used common and the others were staring at her, baffled and alarmed. "That won't help me! You can't undo a lifetime of abandonment by sacrificing yourself while wearing _his_ face!"

"I'm sorry, Inquisitor," Hawke said, clearing his throat as he dared to interrupt. Rosa swung her snarl in his direction, her shoulders heaving with emotion. "But perhaps we could continue forward and have this…disagreement later?"

Clenching her jaw, Rosa lifted a hand and connected with the Fade. As it snapped tight inside her, she willed it _clear the barrier. _The Fade fought her, resisting a moment, long enough that Rosa could taste the cold bitterness of the nightmare's influence as it washed over her with a little weave of dizziness. The nightmare had laid down this barrier to block them and it tried in vain to resist—but it could not withstand the will of a Dreamer. The Fade bent to Rosa and the barrier popped with a little splash of green ether.

"Ah," Hawke said, grinning. "Much better."

Rosa motioned the others past her, making sure to glare meaningfully at Dorian as he walked smugly past. When it was only herself and Rogathe standing at the narrow place in the path where the barrier had previously blocked them, Rosa forced herself to look him in the face. She cringed as she saw the pain there, intermixed with something akin to disappointment or irritation.

"This is beneath you," Rogathe told her. Its voice was both spirit and father. "What will be will be, _ma'ashalan._ If I must die to save you and Tal from the nightmare, I will do so. Do not impede my path with your fear. This is my purpose."

"Your purpose is to protect me," Rosa growled, baring her teeth. "Not to fall on a sword for me."

"I will not give my life needlessly," it replied, shoulders square and chin thrust out with pride. "But the demons that pursue you are powerful. The nightmare will kill you. I will not allow that to happen."

Rosa sucked a breath through her teeth. Staring through the narrow gap ahead to the path beyond where the others slowly walked forward, Rosa asked in elven _"Solas says _lenalin_ loved me and Tal. And after the Conclave, in the Fade, you told me you…he died for us."_ She lifted her eyes to meet the spirit's violet eyes and blinked to clear her vision of tears. "How did you—how did _he_ die?"

Rogathe's brows furrowed with grief. It was an expression she'd never seen on the spirit before and it spoke next in Felassan's voice, clean and clear and with no disembodied echo. "I believed I could change the fate of our world, our people."

"That's not an answer," Rosa spat, edging closer to him. "Tell me the truth. Tell me what you—what _he _never had the guts to tell me in life. If he loved us so much, why was he never there for us?" She hissed out a final taunt, hoping to nail the spirit as she never could her father. "Are you afraid, Rogathe?"

He looked away from her—which was very much out of character for the spirit. "I lived my life in service, _ma'ashalan._ I had no choice." His violet eyes darted back to hers, glittering with tears as his face twisted with emotion. "I died when I dared to make a choice for myself, for my children."

Rosa shook her head, taking an involuntary step backward. "In service to Mythal," she growled. "What did she have you doing? Did _she_ kill you? I thought—I thought it would be the Formless One." Her mind spun, reeling with this new possibility. She'd always assumed Felassan had died on a bandit's blade, or when a clan finally killed him for his heresy. Or maybe when some ancient tomb guardian slaughtered him.

And yet, beneath those thoughts, she'd always known how unlikely all those scenarios were. Felassan was too smart, too talented, too well trained to die so easily. No stray arrow would find his heart. No bandit's blade could run through his gut. No ancient tomb guardian would find his presence abominable. No demon would outwit him and no clan would succeed in killing him. Felassan would simply take on invisibility and slip away. He was a slippery eel. He was sand running through one's fingers. He was ephemeral and wily as the Dread Wolf himself.

"Do not walk that path, _ma'ashalan,"_ he told her in a firm but soft voice. "It is a world I kept from you because I wanted you to be free from it. Free as I never could be. You and Tal were too pure in spirit, too beautiful. When I held your brother as a babe, when I heard your laughter—sweeter than any music from Arlathan—I knew I could not allow my choices to sully your hands with blood."

"_Fenedhis,"_ Rosa said, crying. A choked sob wrenched its way from her lips. She wanted to scream that he was lying. She wanted to slap him across the face and call him a liar. She wanted to spit and snarl and deny it. But Rogathe would not lie. Every word had to be the truth as the spirit had internalized it from Felassan himself.

And that meant Felassan had spent his life a slave. He had left at the behest of some cause or some_one_ from the old world. He had been compelled to do things he did not agree with in servitude. To Mythal, of all people, who should have known better than to pull a father from his children. It was something she'd suspected for a long time, but had always denied to herself, even as she became wary of the protective mother goddess—to the point that she had let it shape her initial distrust and caution around Solas, another one-time servant to the goddess.

But worst of all, this meant that Rosa had to accept that her hatred for Felassan, her long bitterness at being abandoned, was petty and undeserved. Her father had been as much a victim as she and Tal, but Felassan had done everything he had to protect them from whatever life he lived, whatever purpose he served. He had let them be free. He _had_ loved them, more than he'd loved himself or his own life. He had sacrificed his own image as a father to keep them safe. Better that his children should never know him, or even despise him, than they should come to harm.

"I'm sorry," she croaked, covering her face with her hands as her body began to shake uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, _ghilin. _I'm so sorry. _Ir abelas…"_

Rogathe shook his head, reaching for her. Rosa let him pull her into an embrace. His armor was cold. His body held no heat. She shuddered, grief wracking her as more tears spilled out of her eyes. This was not her father. Felassan was gone. She could never apologize to the actual man. That opportunity was lost, forever.

"He would not want you to walk the path of vengeance," Rogathe told her, patting her back just as Felassan had done when she first embraced him as a child. She remembered again that first time; when she'd finally learned he was her father and not just a Dreamer who'd chanced upon her and volunteered to teach her, guide her.

Sniffing and flicking away her tears, Rosa gently but firmly pushed Rogathe back from herself. Eyes glued to the wet stone underfoot, she said, "I'll promise not to seek vengeance—but only if you leave. Only if you _live._ You're all I have of him now. You and Tal…"

"I cannot make that promise. I cannot leave while you are in danger," Rogathe insisted, his voice stiff and stubborn. There would be no negotiating this. But maybe…

"Then find Tal," she said, meeting his gaze now. "Find Tal and Solas. They're out there somewhere with the Formless One and the nightmare. They're in danger."

Rogathe shook its head. "Talassan is nearby, with Pride. He is safe. The nightmare pays him little heed." The spirit started to walk forward, turning at the waist and extending a hand out to lead her. "Come along, _da'len._" He smiled. "We will stop him together."

She frowned slightly with the familiar phrase, still somewhat dubious of its meaning. Even so, she placed her hand in his and squeezed, finding it a touch warmer now and stunningly solid. "Together," she agreed.

* * *

Solas walked through the darkness, every breath thick with Fade ether that made his mouth water and his head spin with pleasure. A thousand memories stirred inside of Arlathan's magic and grace, all of its heady pleasures and magic. Tal trudged along behind him, bare feet swishing and pattering on the stone. He'd said little since Solas had led him through the rocks and out of the area where he'd crafted the dream of Manaria clan.

Solas suspected Tal thought he'd been deceived and tricked by that dream but, in reality, Solas had been truthful. He could not will a physical being to come to him currently. It was only sleepers who were his to control and Tal was very much awake.

Still, Solas _would_ be lying if he said he had not intended to pry into Tal's interpersonal relationship with clan Manaria. It was why he'd chosen to draw the clan's sleeping minds here and crafted the dream from his own memories of Manaria's home. It'd worked like a charm, bringing Tal only minutes later. Of course, Solas _should_ have intervened the moment Tal entered the dream to spare the young man humiliation. But curiosity, and the promise he'd made to Rosa that he would investigate Tal for her, won out.

Following his inner sense of the weight in the Fade ahead, Solas altered their path slightly, willing the cave to curl to the right. "We are almost there," he told Tal.

"I hope so," Tal muttered, glumly. _"Fenedhis,"_ he grumbled. "Mythal protect me, but I hope you're not actually a demon leading me to some kind of trap."

"Most demons lack the patience to conduct a ruse this elaborate," Solas said in a calm, scholarly tone. "So you can be reasonably certain I am what I claim to be."

Tal groaned. "You sound like Solas, anyway. He'd say something like that meaning to be reassuring when really, it just makes me…" He broke off, groaning.

A light showed up ahead, illuminating the narrow tunnel. It cut through thick wisps of Fade ether, revealing air currents and eddies. Solas smiled to himself. "Ah, we are here."

Stepping out into the orangey light of the Fade, Solas' feet squelched in the wet sand of a broad plain, dotted here and there with craggy rocks, statues, and various other debris. Water stretched out for miles beyond, littered with moldering boats, skeletons of brontos that lay half-submerged, and stalagmites that dribbled constant streams of greenish water off their craggy ledges. An animal call made Solas turn his head to the left where he saw a small pack of deepstalkers ranging about the sand, digging at it with their hind legs.

"What are _they_ doing here?" Tal asked, pushing up close behind Solas to peer out at the plain. "Aren't they supposed to live in the Deep Roads?"

"A very good question," Solas told the younger man. "But one I'm afraid I cannot answer."

"Should we kill them?" Tal asked and Solas heard the crackle of fire as the other elf called fire into one palm. "Oh, Another question. I've noticed I'm a lot more powerful here. It's…well, fucking awesome. How about you?"

"The same phenomenon is true for me, yes," Solas answered, smiling back at Tal now that the other man had resumed his usual lightheartedness. "I imagine Rosa has also experienced it."

"But not Dorian?" Tal asked, catching the underlying meaning in Solas' words.

"But not Dorian," Solas affirmed with a nod. "The Fade has a more powerful connection with the People than it does with humans—or Qunari, I assume."

"Finally," Tal said, laughing softly. "An _upside_ to being elven."

Solas chuckled, keeping his thoughts on that private as he walked further from the gray rock wall they'd emerged from. When Tal was clear of it as well, Solas turned and lifted a hand, willing the wall to seal itself. The rock groaned slightly as it acquiesced. The mana needed to perform the change was miniscule, but Solas still flexed his shoulders and rolled his neck with visceral enjoyment at the feeling of the mana flowing through his body.

The deepstalkers let out a shriek, alerted to the mages' presence by Solas' action with the rocks. They scattered, chirping and chattering like birds. Some peeled away to circle off to Solas and Tal's right, closer to the large lake or sea. The others moved directly forward, fluffing their bedraggled feathers and hissing. Their bony, toothy beaks flicked with little tongues. Their eyes gleamed in the light as they closed in.

"Would you prefer to do the honors, _falon?"_ Solas asked, smiling back at Tal.

"Fuck yeah," Tal said and stepped forward. Fire still glowed red hot in his left palm while he held his staff in his right. With a grunt he hurled a fireball at the closest deepstalker, then spun his staff to create lightning. It arced and sizzled along the wet sand, leaping between three different deepstalkers. The creatures squealed with pain and two of them fell to the sand, dead. The last squawked and scrambled to escape. Tal sent another fireball sailing toward it and the little beast fell over, shrieking as it died.

The other deepstalkers that'd peeled off to attack from the right appeared around the rock now and Solas used a Veilstrike, flattening all three animals to the sand. Their bones crunched wetly. They didn't rise again.

Tal whistled. "Awesome. Can I do one that strong, you think?"

Smiling at Tal' exuberance, Solas said, "Yes. I am certain you could have killed all six with ease using that spell."

Of course Solas had deliberately used only a fraction of his power in that spell. It was strong enough to be impressive, but weak enough that Tal and Rosa would easily be able to reproduce it. In reality, Solas had enough mana here, within the Fade, to flatten even the likes of the Formless One or the nightmare—though perhaps he would not be strong enough to _kill_ them. Yet. Every month he was getting stronger, gaining strength. He was stronger now than he had been when the Conclave exploded, but not as strong as he'd like. Perhaps, in another few years, he might be strong enough that he could have unlocked the orb on his own.

From behind them Solas heard the shriek of a fear demon and a familiar shout from Blackwall and then Hawke. Tal heard it too, spinning around and taking a few tentative steps in that direction. "Is that…?"

"Yes," Solas said. "I believe we have found the others. I could feel Rosa was nearby."

"Well then," Tal said, grinning over his shoulder. "Let's bust in there and kick some ass before they have all the fun!"

Solas chuckled again. "Agreed."

They jogged over the plain, weaving between the rocks and statues until they found a slope leading down from a narrow canyon through the gray-black rocks where the demons had assaulted the others. There were a few shades, wraiths, and tall, gangly fear demons. Hawke and Blackwall were tackling one fear demon, using their shields to defend against its swiping talons. Stroud stabbed at one of the shades and Dorian was using lightning, sending it crackling over all of the demons.

Solas slowed before reaching the group, tossing barriers over himself and Tal as the younger elf Fade-stepped to join Stroud taking on the shade as more demons moved in to surround the Warden. His Fade-step froze the demon solid and, grinning savagely, Tal stabbed it through with his staff, shattering it.

"Tal!" Dorian yelled, laughing with joy. "What a wonderful surprise!"

"Having all the fun without me?" Tal asked, calling up to the other mage still higher on the slope. He was grinning as the shade dissolved into green ash.

"Well," Dorian shot back at him, laughing. "You _were_ so fashionably late I had to start the festivities without you."

"I'm sure that pained you," Tal retorted, grinning as he flung a fireball at a wraith dodging around one of the craggy rocks.

Tuning out the playful banter between the two men, Solas refreshed everyone's barriers and used a Veilstrike to smash another evasive wraith down into the sand. It didn't rise again when the spell let up, dissolving into ether instead. Next Solas snatched a stone from the sand with raw spirit magic as force, and sent it careening into the last remaining fear demon. The demon shrieked with pain and staggered. Blackwall and Hawke both lunged at the same time when they saw its weakness, stabbing with their swords up into the demon's gut.

From the top of the slope then Solas heard Rosa shout, "Tal! Solas! You're here!" He looked up and saw her emerge around the bend, slipping out of the narrower rock canyon. She took the stairs two at a time before giving up and Fade-stepping down the full length of them in a blue streak. She collided with Tal, hugging him. The siblings fell in a clumsy heap and with a wet splat into the sand.

"Fuck, _asamalin,"_ Tal said, even as he laughed. "You trying to kill me with love? I can't breathe."

She slugged him in the shoulder. "Liar." Still, she pulled back from him and got to her feet, tugging on his hand to get him up as well. When he was on his feet she embraced him. Solas smiled at the sight, pleased that he could be the one to bring this joy—even if he suspected the Formless One had never intended Tal any harm. Though he hadn't lied to Rosa entirely when he told her he feared the Formless One was using Tal as bait to draw them to itself. But if that had been the case the demon should have already made an appearance, following Tal into the dream Solas had created. Instead it had apparently released him entirely, though it had not left the area and Solas was certain it had some nefarious purpose that was not yet fulfilled.

At this point it was like a cat toying with prey: releasing it only to snag it once more.

What had it said to Tal? What temptation had it inserted into his mind?

Then, abruptly, Solas registered movement on the slope Rosa had emerged from and his jaw fell open with shock. For an instant his heart seized in his chest, ceasing to beat before restarting at a furious pace. The figure above him on the slope stared at him with narrowed eyes that he knew would be violet like the last color in a sunset. His pale hair was smooth and tied back tightly in a way Solas had not seen since Elvhenan. The vallaslin on his face stood out in stark contrast to his pallid skin.

He had many names: Eolas, Evunial, Ivun (as Rosa had known him), Fenesvir, Felassan. To Solas he had been _da'len,_ the student to his _hahren. _

But…this was not him. Solas felt the spirit as clearly as he could any demon. It was Bravery, Rogathe. And yet there was something tweaked to this spirit, a marked change that made it unique. Solas had not felt Rogathe's presence in the Fade since before the fall of the Hasmal Circle, when he'd spoken to the spirit in a dream he shared with Rosa. He had been removed and separated from the spirit all the time it had resided inside Rosa since the Conclave and he hadn't found the spirit when he dreamed since coaxing it out of her in Crestwood with Cole's help.

It had told him, after the fall of the Hasmal Circle, when it was within Rosa briefly, that it had encountered Felassan before he died. It had melded with him, adopted his personality and his memories. It had preserved him, to a certain extent.

And that was why it must have chosen to wear his face now. But it had also adopted his shape and armor, and it had manifested itself as less spirit and more a physical being. It did not shine with the light of a spirit, only the brilliance of fine armor. It wore no staff, unlike the real Felassan, but instead carried a great broadsword at its back.

Cold clutched at Solas' neck, constricting his airway. Had Rogathe revealed the truth to Rosa? Was that why it wore Felassan's shape? Was it reminding Solas of his crimes and showing Rosa what she'd personally lost to the Dread Wolf's nefarious plotting? It had threatened as much after the fall of the Hasmal Circle, saying that unless Solas told the truth it would reveal it to Rosa itself. Had it come through on that threat now?

_I intend to reveal everything to her,_ he thought, knowing the spirit would hear his thoughts. _In due time. I wish to ensure she knows _why_ I acted as I did. Why I created the Veil. Why I must rectify what I've done to save the People. _

Rogathe's eyes narrowed on him and Solas felt it like an arrow piercing his chest—like the Slow Arrow of Dalish legend that his oldest friend had named himself after. The spirit trotted down the slope, past where Rosa and Tal were still grinning at their friendly reunion, and straight to where Solas stood apart from the rest of the group on its fringes. It glowered at him, anger and…something else, something wounded, twisted its features.

"_What will you tell her of me, _falon?" the spirit asked in Felassan's voice, challenging him.

Solas stood stiff and frozen with shock and trepidation. His gaze flicked to where Rosa had just noticed the new drama unfolding. His heart hammered on his breastbone as he realized with only marginal relief that Rogathe spoke in the guttural tongue of the Forgotten Ones—the demon language. Rosa and the others would not understand it.

Stiffening his spine and forcing himself to remain open so that the spirit could read him, Solas replied in the same tongue. _"The truth. I did not know you—"_ He cut himself off, grimacing as he rephrased it, aware he was not actually speaking to Felassan._ "I did not know he defied me to protect his children."_

"_You would not have cared, Wolf,"_ the spirit snarled. _"But the Slow Arrow walked the path of bravery at the end. He knew he could not sway you, but he could not go on living if he did not try."_

Solas swallowed hard. _"If I had known," _he insisted. _"I may have spared him."_

"_Because you wished to claim her," _Rogathe spat, stepping closer and bristling with rage that carried through the Fade, setting Solas' own muscles taut with aggression. He tried to push it away, but Rogathe's words were far too close to the mark. _"Because you wished to recruit her—and Tal. One of my children to warm your bed and the other to fight in the battles to come."_

Solas' hands curled into fists at his side and he returned a snarl of his own to the spirit wearing Felassan's face. _"I would have given them a choice! Just as I gave him a choice."_

Rogathe sneered. _"You sound like Imshael. Are you demon or man? Are you of the People at all?" _It stabbed a finger back at Rosa and Tal, who were staring in mute shock, watching the apostate mage and the spirit snarl and spit at each other. _"You do not deserve them!"_

"_I have no desire to see them serve me,"_ Solas shouted; losing his temper and stepping close to the spirit, ready to fight. Mana bubbled in his core and fire sparked in his fists. _"I will reveal the truth in due time, when they are ready. I will not ask them to serve. I will tell them the truth because I owe it to them. Because—"_ He stopped short, trapping the words behind his lips.

His old friend's face softened slightly and he inched back a bit. _"Because you love her; yes. I can feel you speak the truth. But I know what the Slow Arrow did not. You are as water, Wolf. You speak the truth and mean it one moment and then change your shape later as the need suits you. I have felt that you love her before, and yet you have hurt her and hidden the truth for no other reason than you fear losing her or even killing her as you did the Slow Arrow. The only path you know how to walk is the one of cowardice and shame and pain. You will lead them both to ruin."_

"_No," _Solas insisted, shaking his head emphatically. _"You are wrong. I have withheld the truth in the past to honor my friend's wishes for them, because it is what is best for them! But I _will_ tell them the truth. They are too deeply involved now to do otherwise."_

"_Then prove your intention,"_ Rogathe snarled. _"Give them the truth now, even a sliver of it. Give them the choice now."_ When Solas stayed where he was and said nothing Rogathe lashed out, grabbing him by the collar to drag him toward Rosa and Tal.

The suddenness of the physical attack had Solas reacting immediately with a defensive mindblast. The boom roared off the sky, the rocks, the water. The green energy spread out in a circular shape, pushing an enormous shockwave. It knocked Rogathe backward with ease and sent the others stumbling. Hawke, Dorian, Blackwall, and Stroud staggered and grabbed at anything nearby to steady themselves. Rosa and Tal remained untouched by the force of it, though they gawped with surprise. Solas realized with a flush of shame that he had unconsciously attacked anything and anyone who wasn't elven…or maybe in his mind it had been _Elvhen_ and even Sera would have been staggered by his mindblast had she been here.

"All right," Rosa shouted then, sprinting forward to interject herself between the two of them. "Enough is enough. You." She stabbed a finger at Rogathe. "Back off. I know you don't like him, but I do and I am the one who's in charge here." Then she turned to Solas and frowned. "And you—don't let him rile you."

Solas clenched his jaw and dipped his head submissively. "Inquisitor."

Rosa scoffed and stormed past him. "Come on, people. We've wasted enough time. We have a nightmare to slay."

They set off across the plain, finding it mostly abandoned. Stalagmites hovered in the air over the water, casting massive shadows over the land. They passed broken eluvians, still beautiful despite being shattered. A few shades slithered about what appeared to be a graveyard, arranged with neat tombstones in rows. Rosa led the group to attack the shades but hung back to let the warriors take out the simple demons. Solas felt dread squeeze his belly when he realized she intended to use the fight to speak with him in relative privacy. But there was nothing he could do as she took a spot beside him, staring halfway out toward the water and halfway at the short but intense battle with the shades.

"So," she started, crossing her arms over her chest. "What was that back there between you and Rogathe?"

"Rogathe is not fond of me," Solas replied truthfully. When he caught her irritable look he sighed and elaborated as much as he dared. "It expressed its displeasure that I am still…" He grimaced at the water, trying to find another way to say it. "That I remain romantically entangled with you."

Rosa arched a brow. "Is that what we are? Because honestly, I thought we were just toying with each other." She motioned out at the water. "I'm mortal and maybe you haven't noticed, but we don't exactly have forever the way you did in Elvhenan."

Solas shot her a glare. "Excuse me?" Did she really believe he was toying with her in some kind of immortal game of cat and mouse? Did she really think he didn't feel the crushing weight of mortality at his neck like a collar? He felt his body aging, slowly dying, all around him. Now. At this very moment.

Mortality was what had driven him to pass his orb to Corypheus rather than wait for his own strength to return. It was why he had acted immediately upon waking to set plans in motion for removing the Veil. If he'd been immortal he could have simply waited. The only threat would be death by attack, but every day, every week and month that passed lessened that risk more and more because he would become too powerful for anything short of an army to kill.

But…of course she couldn't know that. Perhaps she did not realize that he felt his mortality so strongly?

"Well," Rosa said, drawing in a deep breath. "What else am I supposed to think, Solas? Is this some strange Elvhenan courtship where we just…tease each other?" Despite the tone of mild irritation she wore a playful expression and he realized she was tormenting him as much as she was being serious.

Turning more directly toward her, Solas leaned closer to return the favor. "Perhaps I have not been—"

"Inquisitor!" Blackwall called from the graveyard, interrupting the moment. "I think you should see this."

Solas pulled back from her, fighting the blush stealing over his cheeks that was as much embarrassment as frustration. He followed Rosa as she walked to the graveyard where the others waited—except for Rogathe and Tal who were a short ways away chatting animatedly in elven Solas couldn't quite overhear. As his attention transferred to the tombstones, Solas scowled. Each one had a name and a brief epitaph that described their greatest fears.

"Maker," Stroud said, shaking his head in consternation. "What is this place?"

"Probably just another taunt by our friend the nightmare," Rosa grumbled as she walked through the tombstones, reading. She stopped and snorted before repeating it. "Apparently Varric's greatest fear is becoming his parents. Were his parents really so bad?"

Blackwall chuckled. "You think that's bad? Mine says my greatest fear is myself. I'd say it was funny, if it wasn't true."

"Temptation," Dorian said from where he stood beside his own tombstone. He sighed. "How trite. I was rather hoping it'd say something clever like, 'Boredom.'"

Solas fidgeted anxiously, wondering what fear his tombstone would say. He strode into the graveyard himself, trying to find which stone was his and to read it before someone else could. He stumbled on Tal's first, halting as his eyes slid over the smooth letters of the young elf's full name: _Talassan. _Below that was a single word: _Unloved._

With a contemplative frown, Solas recalled watching Tal interact with clan Manaria's Keeper and the teen dragging the nets from the river. The emotions thickening the Fade throughout the dream had been powerful and palpable: love, loss, longing, and shame. Everything Solas had seen hinted at a strange lover's quarrel between the three of them, but primarily between Tal and the Keeper.

The body language Solas had seen made that clear enough. Tal had spent an inordinate amount of time gazing on the other woman, edging closer and then away, blushing and stiff. It was obvious something enormous lay between those two. How odd, then, that Tal had abandoned the clan when they so clearly wanted him. How did he not see the way the Keeper and the teen had stared at him with such affection? From Solas' spot, shamefully eavesdropping, it had been blatantly obvious that the Keeper loved him. It was in her eyes, her voice, and her posture. All of it spoke of heartache.

"I found yours, Inquisitor," Hawke announced, smirking as he motioned to a tombstone a few paces away from Solas. The warrior whistled as he read aloud, "Abandonment." He shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Ouch."

Solas grimaced and did his best to pretend he found Tal's headstone more fascinating than it already was. Covertly, however, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Rosa lifted her head and stared at Hawke a moment before she snorted. "Is that really what it says?"

"Yep," Blackwall answered as he stomped over, armor clanking, to join Hawke. "An honest fear if I ever heard one."

"Is that Tal's?" Dorian asked, sidling up to Solas, too close for his comfort. Solas restrained the frown he wanted to send Dorian's way as he stepped back slightly to let the other man see it. Dorian laughed. "Seriously?" Straightening, he cupped one hand over his mouth and shouted to Tal, where the young elf was still chatting with Rogathe in elven. "Tal, would you come over here, please? You simply must see this."

Tal whipped around and jogged toward them, bare feet splattering in the wet sand, leaving Rogathe standing outside the graveyard, patient but stiff with readiness.

"What's all this racket about?" Tal hopped over the fence surrounding the graveyard and Solas sidestepped to clear space for the other elf. Stooping, Tal squinted at the headstone and then scoffed. "Really? Way off the mark." He nudged Rosa with his elbow as she moved to take a look as well. "What it _should_ say is _Rosa Dying._ Because with how often you have near death experiences, _asamalin,_ it'll only be a matter of time."

Rosa shrugged dismissively, as if tacitly agreeing with his assessment. Her lips curled in a smile that was equal parts amusement and empathy as she read his fear. Seeing her look, Tal shook his head and gave her a little shove. "Don't…" he warned in a growl.

She grabbed him without warning, making both Solas and Dorian scramble to get clear as the siblings teetered, wrestling. Rosa dug her knuckles into Tal's dark curls, riffling them. "Awww, little brother. _Ar lath ma, bellanaris!"_

Tal squirmed and thrashed, slapping at her arms and then shoving at her. "Get off! Off! _Off!"_ When she still clung to him he let out a laugh that was both amusement and annoyance as he growled, _"Ar bellanaris din'an him!"_

Rosa finally released him, laughing. "You don't mean that."

"No," Tal said, red faced and glowering at her as he swatted at his hair, trying to smooth it after her assault. "But next time you do that I'm going to light you up with incinerate."

"If it makes you feel any better," Rosa told him, "my fear is abandonment, apparently."

Solas averted his eyes again, moving to search out his own stone—but he didn't act fast enough to miss Tal's brief glance in his direction. The young elf whistled. "Well, that follows, I guess—but I'm not going to noogie you when I tell you I won't abandon you." He tugged at his armor, brushing himself off. "I'm too dignified."

"I've found yours, Solas," Dorian called from the opposite direction Solas had wandered in. He cursed internally. Of course his headstone here would be the last place he looked and the others would find it first. As nonchalantly as he could he looked to the Tevinter expectantly as the other man read it. "Dying alone."

The two words made Solas flinch as the very real, cold horror opened up inside him again. He had woken in his uthenera chamber so weak he could not even stand, and he had been alone. His attendants outside had been slain by tomb raiders at some point over the millennia, leaving him the sole survivor. Had Templars not found him a short time later, after he had barely mustered the strength to drag his bony body out of the tomb, Solas would have died. Alone. Unfulfilled. The dismal despair of those first hours awake had been ingrained on him so deeply it still made him blanch.

"Oh," Dorian said, smirking. "That struck home, I see. Well, rest assured, you'll almost certainly die in the company of friends as we face the nightmare. Isn't that a lovely thought?"

"Yes," Solas answered, frowning. "Indeed."

"Yeah," Rosa said with a sigh. "This has been fun—I don't think the demon intended it that way, but still. We'll have to thank it when we meet it." Her smile was savage as she turned and leapt over the low fence surrounding the graveyard. Stroud and Hawke moved immediately after her, armor clanking and boots squishing on the wet sand.

Solas walked over to where Dorian had found his own tombstone and frowned down at it, arms crossed over his chest as the Tevinter and Blackwall left the graveyard next. Tal remained next to his own headstone as well, a somber expression darkening his features. Cautiously, Solas reached out and touched two fingers onto the stone. The lettering on the tombstone faded and then reshaped itself before his eyes. The text was no longer in common but in the flowing script of elven. A bit of magic flowed with the words, imparting deeper, hidden meaning.

The new text read: _Din'an harellan._ It might have many meanings: death to the traitor, traitor of death, traitor in death, death of treachery, death of a traitor, death by treachery. But the magic here made the meaning clear: _Dying a traitor. _

"Whoa," Tal said and Solas pulled his hand back as he realized Tal had mimicked the motion with his own headstone. "It changed," Tal said, surprise blanking his features. "Did yours do the same?"

"Yes," Solas admitted. He added nothing else and did not ask Tal what else his headstone had told him.

Following his lead, Tal merely grunted and removed his hand from the stone, not bothering to pry into what Solas had seen. Yet, a second later, Tal maneuvered around his tombstone and to Rosa's. Touching it with two fingers, he narrowed his eyes and gave a tiny shudder. Humming in his throat, Tal swallowed thickly and withdrew his hand again.

"Did it change?" Solas asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

"No," Tal said, shaking his head. "Must be keyed to whoever the headstone belongs to." He shrugged and spun about on his heel. "Come on. They're leaving us."

Solas stepped away from his tombstone but deliberately wove around the other markers to brush a hand over Rosa's, to test whether Tal had told him the truth or not. He shivered as he felt a breath of magic ripple up his arm and whisper in his mind: Death of Kin. The word _kin_ warbled in his mind, transforming into a specific name: _Tal. _

Frowning as he hurried to leave the graveyard before Tal could notice he had lagged behind, Solas wondered if Tal had lied to him or if the tombstone had imparted a different message or none at all. Perhaps the message was different for everyone who touched it? He wondered what Tal and Rosa would have read from his own headstone, but dared not delay to satisfy his curiosity.

* * *

Another barrier barred their way and demons guarded it. The Divine's spirit hovered high above, waiting for them to fight their way through. Despair demons shrieked and wailed as they approached, jogging up the gray-black stone from the sandy marsh below. Rosa let the warriors lead, tossing barriers over them with a casual flick of her hand.

Hawke blocked the despair demon's beam of ice with his shield, advancing under the assault. Wraiths flung caustic spirit energy at him from behind but Blackwall covered the other man with his own shield.

"Are you really going to let them have all the fun?" Tal asked as he trotted up beside her, staff drawn and at the ready. Fire flickered in his free fist.

Rosa spotted Rogathe charging past her, entering the fray with his own sword lifted high. With the spirit safely occupied with a snarling shade, she answered, _"Dorian figured out I'm a Dreamer and it makes me incredibly powerful in the Fade. The same thing happened when the Veil was weak in the dark future at Redcliffe."_ She frowned as she saw his hesitant, questioning smirk. "What?"

Tal turned and looked over his shoulder, jerking his chin to indicate Solas and Dorian behind them. "That's not what _hahren_ told me."

Baffled, Rosa shook her head. "I don't…what do you mean?"

Grinning, Tal winked at her. "Watch this." With a flourish, her brother Fade-stepped forward. He flash froze the shade Rogathe had been fighting, shattering it. Then he spun his staff, casting chain lightning over the battlefield that arced over all the assembled demons. They twitched and shuddered. The wraiths faded away into green dust and another shade dissolved. A rage demon gurgled as it barreled down on Tal next, sensing he was the greatest threat present, but Tal spun his stave and cast winter's grasp. The rage demon froze solid and Stroud and Blackwall moved to hack it down.

Rosa stared at her brother's showmanship, her jaw hanging open. How…?

"Interesting," Dorian said from her side, brushing his fingers over his chin. "Is he Somniari as well?"

Rosa didn't answer him as she and the others all heard the thump of large footsteps as two pride demons appeared, walking down the slope from the upper level. "Kaffas," Dorian cursed at her side. "Will this never end?"

"The nightmare is fond of its minions, it would seem," Solas said from just behind her.

Tossing the Elvhen man a sharp look over her shoulder, Rosa made a mental note to run Solas through a thorough interrogation once this was over. She had thought her identity as a Dreamer was what made her so overpowered here and in the dark future, but now…

"All right," Rosa said, facing forward again. "Let's do this."

Reaching inside for her mana core, Rosa Fade-stepped into the fight, passing through a terror demon that was closing in on Hawke from behind. She froze it solid with her pass and then spun her staff, casting chain lightning. The terror demon shattered, the ice chunks clattering over the stone. Three shades nearby twitched and writhed as the lightning grabbed them. Two died and the third lay slumped, easy prey as Stroud cut it down and Dorian's fireballs engulfed it with flame.

Tal Fade-stepped to stand beside her then, laughing almost maniacally as he launched endless fireballs at the first pride demon. The beast was laughing and preparing its lightning whip as the first few volleys struck it and it grunted, doubling over at the strength and heat of Tal's mage fire.

"Eat that," Tal taunted and then cast incinerate on top of the fireballs. "And that."

Rosa hurled a bit of fire at a shrieking despair demon a few paces away, closing in on them. The demon screeched as the flames turned it to ash in the space of two eye blinks.

Tal scoffed at her side, still summoning fire effortlessly. "Showoff."

"Oh yeah?" she repeated. "You haven't seen anything, _da'isamalin."_ Lifting both hands and her staff, Rosa reached out and grabbed the Fade. As it clicked into place inside her, Rosa made a fist with her free hand, grunting as she felt mana pouring from her—sharp but sustainable. Plucking an enormous jagged rock hovering in the sky high above, she willed it to come careening down on the second pride demon.

Tal had killed the first one and laughed with triumph. "Yes!" But his expression warped with shock as he registered the high-pitched squeal of the rock rushing toward them. "Shit!"

The rock smashed into the second pride demon, crushing it and blocking the path to the upper level. The demon dissolved into green Fade ether and disappeared entirely. The battle went silent around them, all the demons dead. In the near-silence, Rosa chuckled, her heart pounding with enjoyment and her blood pulsating with the bliss of…of…whatever it was.

She saw Tal's cheeks were flushed with the same pleasure. His pupils were dilated and his smile stretched from ear to ear, full of white teeth. "That," he said, laughing, "was wicked!"

"Let me guess," Hawke said, smirking. "You're _both_ Dreamers?"

Tal snorted. "Are you kidding? _Me?_ No." He shook his head. "This is an elf thing, I guess." He turned and motioned to Solas. "Tell them, Solas."

The Elvhen man shook his head, pinching his lips together. "We have no time for such distractions. The nightmare is ahead."

"For once I agree with Pride," Rogathe growled.

"Come," the Divine's spirit commanded from above them and Rosa started, having almost forgotten it was present. She saw the barrier dissolve, broken by the Divine's will this time. "You must defeat the nightmare and pass through the rift to the other side—then shut it with all your strength to banish the nightmare and Corypheus' demon army into the farthest reaches of the Fade."

The Divine's spirit floated through the dark opening of a cavern, wet and dripping. Rosa squared her shoulders and walked after the spirit, dread pooling in her belly like mercury or ice. Water sloshed and splashed around their feet. As they neared the exit, Rosa saw the first pillar-like leg of the nightmare and her steps slowed with the fear gripping her.

"Do not be afraid, _da'len,"_ Rogathe reassured her from behind. She felt the spirit's hand on her shoulder and remembered anew the first time she had seen this beast, immediately after the Conclave explosion.

"You remember the promise you made me earlier?" Rosa asked, glaring at the spirit over her shoulder. "You have to live for me and Tal. Otherwise I promise I _will_ do exactly the opposite of what _lenalin_ wanted."

The spirit's jaw clenched with determination. "I made no such agreements, _ma'ashalan._ I will do only what must be done."

Tal pressed forward from behind her and Rogathe. "What are you two on about?"

"Nothing," Rosa snapped and then, stiffening her spine and with every muscle going tight with tension, she moved to exit the cave. Stroud and Hawke were swift to join her and the others followed, weapons at the ready. Mana prickled the air as all four mages drew deep of their reserves, ready to unleash their most powerful spells on the monstrosity that stood ahead of them.

"Shit," Tal cursed, finally getting a good view of the nightmare. "Shit, fuck, shit. _Fuck. _That thing's _huge!"_

The nightmare stepped closer to them, slathering from its enormous vertical maw. Its massive bulk blocked the green glow of the rift behind it, preventing them from going forward. Its eyes twitched in their sockets sickeningly and Rosa felt the weight of its full attention settling on her with hate. As its maw opened and closed, letting out more saliva and venom in a foamy dribble, the ribbon-like tongues protruded, waggling through the air.

"Careful," Rosa shouted. "Those tongue things will grab you and haul you to its mouth."

Then, abruptly, the light from the Divine's spirit flared blindingly bright. "Tell Leliana," she called as she floated past, the light making Rosa and the others cringe back. "I failed you, too."

With an explosion of light the nightmare hissed and fell back. Its massive multi-limbed body slumped to the stone and the giant columns of its legs tilted nearly horizontal as it lay prone. Reddish goo splattered the stones and stained the air with a filthy mist that stank of copper and iron and…decay.

Then, with a high-pitched cry, a much smaller demon emerged, grotesque in its shape with a skull-like head and eight spidery arms tipped with sharp claws protruding from its back. It turned round to fight them, the same hatred Rosa had felt emanating from the nightmare now flowed from it. Fearlings chittered, appearing out of the walls and rocks nearby, swarming for them.

"Well," Dorian said in a flippant, light-hearted tone. "This isn't so bad."

* * *

Elven used:

_Ar lath ma, bellanaris! **I (will) love you forever** _

_Ar bellanaris din'an him! **I (will) make you dead!**  
_

_Ghilin **"Mentor," Rosa's most affectionate term for her father. Tal doesn't use this.  
**_

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"I will stay," he told her, trying to swallow his heart that had suddenly leapt into his throat with anticipation. He tried to strangle that expectation and remind himself he did _not_ want to sleep with her. His body wholeheartedly disagreed, however, and he could feel heat spreading through his groin.

The slackening of her lips and the dilation of her pupils told him that he had only to edge a little closer and she would be kissing him. They'd both be lost to lust then. He held back, refusing to take advantage when he knew he should be anywhere else but here.

So...next chapter? Yeah. It's NSFW. Just, FYI. You're welcome in advance. *cackles*


	32. I Will Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW!
> 
> Rosa and her party escape the Fade and resolve the Warden problem. Afterward, Rosa is left mourning what's been lost.

With a wordless cry, Rosa grasped the Fade and willed one of the jagged rocks nearby to break free. The rock groaned and cracked, the sound booming across the Fade. The nightmare let out a shriek, its lipless mouth leering in a hideous grin as it lunged for her, fast as lightning.

Rogathe leapt between her and the demon, slashing with his blade. He had blazed with brilliant light just as the Divine's spirit had and, as a result, no longer overtly resembled Felassan. The nightmare recoiled, hissing and slashing with its clawed spider limbs. Rogathe parried some of the blows, but it had never been particularly good at dodging or self-preservation. Its defining purpose had always been selfless and arguably stupid levels of bravery. The demon's claws tore into it, severing bits of brightness that splattered like wet stardust, glittering on the rocks before evaporating.

Gnashing her teeth, Rosa slammed the rock down, aiming for the nightmare—but it was too swift. Dozens of fearlings squealed and splatted as their spiderlike bodies exploded. But there were more still coming.

"For the Wardens!" Stroud shouted and charged off to the left. Hawke ran the opposite way, shield bashing the first spiderling he encountered. Dorian sprinted after Hawke, tossing a barrier over them both. Blackwall followed Stroud, roaring a challenge of his own. Tal went with Dorian, Fade-stepping to keep up. Fire already burned in his fists and he unleashed it as soon as he came out of the winter spell.

Solas, however, stayed at her back—a protective shadow that cast a powerful barrier over her. "We must not linger," he warned her. "Do not hold back."

"You could always help," Rosa scolded him. "Flat-ear." Why was _he_ holding back? The mindblast he'd let out earlier to repel Rogathe had easily been as powerful as any of her own offensive ones. Perhaps he feared losing control and harming the others? She'd certainly been concerned about that. Or perhaps he just wanted to hide his identity as a Dreamer too.

The nightmare whipped around to attack again. Its eyeless gaze was locked on Rosa still, though it also hissed its displeasure at Rogathe as the spirit harassed it doggedly. The nightmare lunged at her again and this time Rogathe was not fast enough—but Rosa had a mindblast at the ready and unleashed it with a slick-popping boom. The nightmare reeled back, burned by the spirit magic. Rogathe stabbed at its side aggressively, roaring as it swung and slashed.

_Too close, Rogathe,_ Rosa thought through gritted teeth.

"Fool," Solas snarled behind Rosa, seeing the same thing just as the nightmare pivoted to attack the spirit of bravery.

"No," Rosa shouted and Fade-stepped forward. She passed through the nightmare, the power of her spell slowing it but failing to freeze it completely. Frost crackled over its corpselike skin. Spinning her staff, Rosa cast chain lightning next and heard both the nightmare and half a dozen nearby fearlings fighting with Stroud and Blackwall shriek with pain as they died.

And then the nightmare shook itself free of the lightning's grasp and the frost. It laughed in its deep, rumbling voice. "I know your fears, girl. I know your weaknesses."

It spun about and switched targets, lunging for Tal.

Panicked, Rosa reached for the Fade and willed a wall to jut up—even as she knew she'd be too slow. Her heart leapt into her throat and her stomach cinched shut. But the demon stopped short of where Tal was as a wall sprang up, spiked and ugly. The demon let out a frustrated roar as a greenish barrier repelled it.

Rosa's gaze snapped over to where Solas stood at the edge of the battle, hands lifted and ready to cast—but he was not wielding his usual magic. He had shaped the Fade and he had done it with such speed and mastery that she felt herself flush with admiration and a touch of jealousy, even as she logically knew that _of course_ he would be better at it than she. Experience alone would ensure that.

The nightmare turned its gaze briefly on Solas and then appeared to dismiss him—which seemed incredibly unwise—but then it whipped round to Rogathe, who had come within striking range again. It lunged, lashing out with all eight clawed, spiderlike limbs and snatching the spirit up. Its claws burrowed deep but Rogathe didn't stop struggling and showed no sign of pain. It never had that Rosa had ever known, but her heart seized regardless as she lobbed fire at the nightmare, frantic to free her longtime friend.

"Let him go!" she screamed, daring to draw a little closer.

"Rosa," Solas shouted. "Stop!"

Too late the demon spun and reached for her. She saw the claws spread wide and gasped, casting a barrier and ducking as it swung low to scoop her up into a deadly embrace. Her barrier rebuffed it, but she heard it crackling and buzzing with the impact and felt it waver. The nightmare was powerful indeed. Still, she struck out with her staff and grinned savagely when she heard it shriek, burning at the touch of her weapon.

Spinning away and out of the nightmare's grasp, Rosa hurled ice and then lightning at it. The demon flickered in and out of visibility, lessening some of the impact her spells made. Then, with a rush of thick air, the demon raced for her again, all eight clawed limbs stretching out to stab at her. Rosa Fade-stepped through it, freezing the nightmare aspect with a heavy layer of frost as she passed.

She came to a stop on a small uplift a few paces short from the enormous, currently prone main body of the nightmare. Its body blocked them from reaching the glowing green-white light of the rift on the far side. It was time to change that and end this fight. Grabbing the Fade, Rosa latched onto another floating spikey bit of stone and grunted as she called it down onto the nightmare's main body.

Behind her, Rosa heard the smaller aspect of the nightmare shriek its protest and saw it lunge for her out of the corner of one eye. With a flick of her fingers she refreshed her barrier just as it crashed into her. The barrier crackled and flared blue, weakening with the strength of the blow, but it didn't give away. The rock streaked out of the sky before the aspect could attack her again, smashing into the nightmare's main body with an enormous wet _crack._

The aspect convulsed behind her, quivering and making noises that sounded convincingly like pain. The reaction made her grin hard as she bared her teeth and reached again for the Fade. She would call down the whole of the Black City floating on high if she needed.

And then, with a sickening roar, Rosa saw the main body jerk. It splattered red with vital fluids from Rosa's rock attacks and the Divine's first debilitating blow. One bony, enormous leg swept out as it struggled to right itself—but also to stop its greatest threat. Rosa spotted the leg sweeping toward her and gasped, refreshing her barrier and whipping around to Fade-step clear—but she wasn't quick enough.

The leg struck her, hard as the rocks she'd been hurling down on it. The aspect cried out with shrill triumph as pain exploded through Rosa from the strength of the impact. She fell against the hard stone, gasping as the force robbed her of breath. She sucked in a desperate gasp and felt her barrier shatter. The stone rumbled and shook with the enormous demon's scrabbling footsteps.

Rolling over left her head spinning, but Rosa still saw the spiked, sharp edge of the demon's massive leg lift high over her. Time seemed to slow as she realized it planned to step on her. Its enormous leg was so huge it would smash as well as skewer her. Rosa tried to roll away even as she called mana for a massive barrier—but gray-black Fade rock grew over her before she could do either. With a clatter of stone, the rock rose over her protectively, but Rosa still yelped when she heard and felt the nightmare's leg smash into the little dome. The nightmare roared with frustration.

Squirming and twisting in the small space, Rosa saw it was open to her right. She could roll out—but the nightmare's leg crashed down just outside before she could make a move. The stone shook and bits of the dome cracked and fell away. Rosa cringed against the bits that fell onto her face, threatening to get into her eyes.

Snarling with determination, Rosa cast a barrier over herself to keep the debris off her and then reached out to grasp the Fade. She willed the dome over her to grow in size, thickening and then forming spikes. The demon would think twice before stepping on her now, but she had more in store. Pressing her hands to the rock over her, Rosa willed the entire mass of the dome to lift and separate from the stone ground. Then, with a grunt, she sent it flying for the nightmare.

Light spilled in and she scrambled to her feet as she heard the rock shatter against the demon, making it shriek and fall back. The ground quivered with each massive thump from its stilt legs. Rosa saw the fearlings were gone and now the warriors and the mages had moved to engage the aspect. With the bulk of the nightmare knocked back by her latest rock, Rosa Fade-stepped to join the others.

But then something tugged her right ankle and she fell with a yelp. Her staff clattered onto the stone and a powerful force dragged her over the rough, slick ground. Rosa twisted and thrashed, her barrier crackling. It was designed to protect her from fast-moving attacks and hostile magic, but this was…

She saw the pink, wet tongue wrapped about her ankle. It writhed and glistened in the air, hauling her back toward the nightmare's cavernous, drooling maw. Heart pounding, Rosa swallowed her scream as the tongue whipped her off the ground and into the air. Her stomach seemed to plummet, but still she found the mana for a mindblast, hoping the force would cut through the tongue.

With a boom her mindblast snapped through the tongue and she fell, flailing. This time she did scream as she saw the blackish stone rush up the meet her—but in the blink of an eye she saw it transform into a bundle of hay. She landed with a hard grunt of an exhalation and rolled, hay clinging to her skin, hair, and armor. Someone grabbed her and pulled her upright and, breathing hard, Rosa found herself staring at Tal as he grinned at her. "Nice landing!"

"Yeah," she said, breath puffing. A quick glance around the ongoing fight with the nightmare aspect revealed Solas watching her even as he continued hurling ice at the fight.

Then Blackwall let out a cry and there was a metallic clank as his armor hit the stone. Rosa whipped around and saw the nightmare's main body had snatched him next with its sick tongue. She lobbed a fireball at it, burning through the tongue before it could begin dragging Blackwall away.

"Fuck this sick thing," Tal snarled at her side and began to hurl fireballs at the nightmare's main body. Rosa followed suit with him, spinning her staff to shock it with one hand while, with the other, she gripped the Fade. Finding yet another rock, Rosa sent it hurtling down to the nightmare. The impact made it shrink back, falling partway over. More reddish vital fluids splattered out of it in a disgusting rain.

And then the aspect of the nightmare died with a cry, dissolving into Fade ether and vanishing. "While the beast is down!" Dorian shouted. "Run for the rift!"

Blackwall jogged for it first, armor clanking. Dorian followed and Rosa pushed Tal to go with him as the Tevinter mage snatched his hand. Hawke and Stroud were fast running behind her and Solas Fade-stepped in a streak to get past them and join Rosa at her side. Rogathe was the furthest back—splattered in both red and green from the fight, the spirit had gone dull once more and clearly resembled Felassan.

As everyone else hurried by her, Rosa slowed and shouted to the spirit. "Hurry! You have to come through with us!"

"That is not possible, _ma'ashalan,"_ Rogathe called to her.

The massive nightmare stirred, roaring its hate and sweeping with its enormous legs. Blackwall leapt through the rift first, but Tal and Dorian came up short, yelping with alarm as the demon tried to knock them down and crush them with a leg—but stone rose up in a wall, blocking the attack. Solas, just behind Rosa, was the one acting to save them: hands lifted and face creased with effort. Rosa felt herself breathe again when she saw Dorian and Tal pass through the rift.

"Inquisitor!" Hawke shouted. "There's no time!"

"Go," Rosa yelled back at him and the Warden. "Just go!" If they were outside the rift they wouldn't see Rogathe join with her. Her mind spun, knowing that was the only solution. She would just need Solas to buy enough time to—

"That is not an option this time, _da'len,"_ Rogathe yelled as he reached her, broadsword drawn and face creased with determination. "You must go and I will hold this cowardly beast's attention."

"No," she insisted and shook her head and, seeing Stroud and Hawke had both fled through the rift, she added, "No—join with me. Fight with me!"

"Rosa," Solas cried from behind her, just outside of arm's reach. "We must leave!"

As if to drive this point home, the nightmare righted itself completely and let out a shrill roar of rage. Just a step or two and its bulk would block the rift—which seemed to be fluctuating already, weakening. Could the nightmare close it to trap them here?

Feeling the stinging onrush of tears in her eyes as she saw Rogathe—as close to Felassan as she'd ever get again—Rosa remembered her last words to her father and her throat seemed to close. She'd spoken them in anger, in bitterness at being abandoned, and she'd give anything to take them back to the actual man, but this was as close as she would ever get.

"I lied," she cried, even as she felt the stone shake from the nightmare's first step. "I said Tal and I never needed you." She pushed past the lump in her throat. _"Ar lath ma, ghilin—_Rogathe."

Rogathe's lips turned up in a sad smile. _"_Go, _ashalan."_

Gnashing her teeth against the pain in her chest, Rosa let Solas grab her hand. They turned away as one as Rogathe roared a challenge in Felassan's voice. He ran at the demon, hacking and slashing with furious abandon. The demon paused at the onslaught, letting out a shrill shriek. It stamped one massive limb, trying to catch Rosa and Solas, block them even as Rogathe impeded it, but they Fade-stepped as one, vanishing into the incorporeal.

In the fraction of a second before they hit the green-white shimmer of the rift, Rosa heard Rogathe shout at them in elven: _"Protect my children, Pride—_dirthara-ma._"_

And then they crashed into the rift.

* * *

It was well past midnight when Solas finally saw Commander Cullen, Stroud, Rylen, Hawke, and Cassandra leave the large tent the Inquisition had erected in the sands outside of Adamant to serve as a command center. Solas had lingered a few tents away, far enough that he could not be accused of eavesdropping, and set about mending his clothes, armor, and staff.

He found he wasn't the only one waiting out in the sand. Tal sat across the row from him, also attending to his armor and weapons. The young elf's expression creased periodically with something that could have been grief, only to oscillate to tension. He had made small talk with Solas for a time, lamenting Rogathe's loss and then chattering about how unnerving it was that the spirit had taken on Felassan's likeness. The topic seemed to make Tal fidgety and he'd laughed in an odd way that made Solas suppress a frown of unease. Solas knew that Tal had not been as close with the spirit as Rosa, but it seemed an odd reaction.

When all of Rosa's commanders finally left, both Solas and Tal shot to their feet and walked toward the command tent. Solas let Tal take the lead, determined to be the last one to speak with her. His palms were sweaty as he tucked his staff away on his back. His heart hammered high in his chest, inching its way to his throat as he heard again and again Rogathe—or was it Felassan, albeit indirectly?—charge him with protecting his children. And then the curse: _dirthara-ma. _May you learn.

May you learn from your mistakes. May you learn how wrong you've been. May you learn the suffering you've caused.

As Rosa ducked out of the command tent, stooped with exhaustion and with her shoulders hunched, she almost collided with Tal. Her brother took her by the shoulders, supportive and firm as he grinned awkwardly. "Whoa, easy there, _asamalin._ Are you okay?"

She lifted her head and Solas almost grimaced at the red rim around her eyes. The sclera was bloodshot and there were gray bags beneath her eyes. She hadn't sobbed or broken down in front of the Wardens and the Inquisition troops who were still fighting demons and mindless mages immediately after they'd come through the rift in the courtyard. Instead, as Solas had released her, Rosa had closed the rift decisively and then addressed the remaining Wardens and her own people as the demons died and they cheered for what they saw as yet another miracle. Rosa had declared that the Wardens would be conscripted into the Inquisition and be watched for signs of corruption from Corypheus, much to Solas' displeasure. Stroud would be their new leader and Hawke would be allowed to return to Kirkwall to live in peace.

It was not the outcome Solas would have preferred, but he could not begrudge Rosa her leanings to the Wardens. She was right that he had no better alternative in this Tranquil world—other than to destroy it, basically.

"I feel fine," Rosa replied in a false singsong. "Why do you ask?"

Tal frowned and let go of her. "Sorry. I know losing Rogathe must be…" He shook his head. "I didn't know him…it…very well." He smiled then, wanly. "But he saved our lives. If he hadn't been with us we'd have been trapped! Someone would have had to stay behind."

"Someone _did_ stay behind," Rosa grumbled.

Tal winced. "Yeah, but—"

"But it was just a spirit," Rosa spat and Solas felt his own chest constrict with understanding and pain. He had seen more than his fair share of innocent spirits, good of nature and pure of intent, die. Many of them had sacrificed themselves, heedless of the personal cost, exactly like Rogathe.

"That's not what I'm trying to say," Tal snapped and then drew in a breath, visibly dispelling his irritation. "What I meant was…if Rogathe didn't volunteer like it did, who else would have? You?" He snorted. "Yeah, it would have been you. And then _you'd_ be dead. Where would we be, then? Where would _Thedas_ be?"

Rosa looked away from him, letting out a long breath. Her violet eyes locked with Solas' and suddenly they were too bright with moisture. Solas dredged up a smile for her, reassuring and tender, but that only made her look away. She blinked furiously and sniffed, banishing the pain. "It wouldn't have been me for exactly that reason. No one would let me do it." Holding up her left hand, she flexed her palm. "Because of this." Letting it flop back to her side, she scowled. "It doesn't matter. It was just…it—_he_ was like _lenalin_ at the end. It was like losing them both at the same time, right in front of me."

Solas stared down at the rocks beneath his feet then, trying not to consider Felassan. Still, despite his efforts, he heard the spirit's charge ringing in his ears: _Protect my children._

But when Tal snorted abruptly Solas lifted his head with a perplexed frown as the young elf said, "No, he wasn't. Rogathe was _not_ babae. He just looked like him."

Rosa scowled and shook her head. "_Lenalin_ visited Rogathe before he died and imprinted himself on the spirit. That means for all intents and purposes, Rogathe _was_ _lenalin._ He was all we had left and now he's gone and…" She choked on the words and put a hand over her mouth, jerking her head to look away.

"He was both babae _and_ a spirit of bravery," Tal argued in a firm voice. "He wasn't babae himself." There was an odd note of…excitement in his voice that made Solas' skin prickle.

Rosa's brow furrowed with both confusion and anger. "What are you getting at, Tal? If you're trying to make me feel better you're doing a really shitty job. Because they're both dead."

Tal's half-smile was sheepish. "Sorry. I _am_ trying to make you feel better, but it'll sound crazy." He glanced over his shoulder at Solas and flashed a tight smile. "Maybe I should explain it later, but…" Whipping his head back to face Rosa, he went on. "But right now, let me just say I have a favor to ask. Do you think, on our way back to Skyhold we can swing through the countryside around Halamshiral?"

"Why?" Rosa asked, frowning.

"The Arlathvhen is taking place there," Tal explained quickly. "The Keepers from almost every clan will show up and it's on the way so it shouldn't be too much trouble."

Rosa's confused expression only tightened as she searched her brother's face, but Solas felt himself relax slightly. This must be Tal's attempt to reconnect with clan Manaria's Keeper, who would likely be attending the gathering. It _was_ nearing high summer, when the clans would meet at their previously chosen location. Clan Manaria's Keeper was probably already traveling to make the deadline.

"Are you going to represent Manaria as their First?" Rosa asked.

Tal stiffened, flashing another tight smile. "I can talk to Nola there, yeah." He reached for Rosa again, squeezing her shoulders. "But you'll get to see your mamae again! And we can spit in my old Keeper's face! Wouldn't that be fun?"

Rosa shrugged weakly. "Sure, Tal. Why not?"

"Good," Tal said, grinning now. "Great. Excellent." Releasing her, he clapped his hands. "Well…" Turning, he saw Solas again and shuffled backward. "I, uh, really should be going now. I'll be in my tent if you need me."

With that Tal pivoted round and strode past Solas, still smiling, though the nervous set of his shoulders and back clearly revealed he wasn't completely at ease. Solas considered the other elf only for a moment before his full attention returned to Rosa. She was half-collapsed on her feet and he could see grief wrapped about her like heavy chains. The impulse to rush over to her and embrace her made him fidget slightly as he became aware of the camp moving about them, despite the late hour.

"_Ir abelas,"_ he told her softly. "For your loss."

Her smile was wan. "Thank you." She swallowed hard. "Words don't make it hurt any less, but…thank you for saying them anyway." Motioning to the row of tents ahead that formed a quasi-thoroughfare, she said, "Walk me to my tent?"

Solas dipped his chin in a nod. "It would be my pleasure…" He bit his tongue to keep the loving endearment _vhenan_ from his lips. This was not the triumphant return from battle he had hoped for when he had promised to rekindle their relationship. Still, the last time they had finally given in to temptation had been in a moment of grief as well—after Solas had killed Felassan in a dream and woken to find Rosa in his room. Little had he known that he had killed his oldest friend and woken to make love to his daughter.

His face felt hot with both shame and desire as he turned to walk at Rosa's side down the thoroughfare of tents. The first few steps were in contemplative, mournful silence. Their tread was slow, their eyes downcast. The camp around them crackled with the sound of hearth fires and the air buzzed faintly with soldiers' snoring. Armor clanked and footsteps crunched on sand and gravel as scouts and soldiers who were still awake or were stuck on night patrol moved about the camp. Distantly a horse whinnied.

"I thought it was because of what I am that I was so powerful," Rosa said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Because I'm a _Somniari_ as Dorian keeps saying it." She rolled her eyes at that and Solas smiled knowingly. "But it's not, is it?"

"It _is_ because of what you are, Rosa," Solas told her in a quiet voice. Staring ahead, he added. "Because you are _Elvhen."_

"Because I am _Elvhen_ like _lenalin _and you?" she probed. Her voice held only the slightest tremor when she mentioned Felassan. "Or because I am elven, one of the People?"

Solas's smile leapt to his lips again, though with a melancholy lilt at the reminder of Felassan. "Because you are one of the People." Drawing in a quick breath, he decided to tell her more. "Before magic waned we were _all_ mages."

She inhaled sharply with shock and Solas snuck a quick glance at her, spotting her wide, round eyes. "All of us?"

"Yes," he confirmed with a nod. "Some still preferred swords or daggers or bows, but all used magic. There were none born without the talent, though some were far weaker than others. The mages you see now are merely those strong enough to have their talent manifest despite the—" He caught himself about to admit it was the Veil itself causing the waning of magic just in time. Clearing his throat, he altered the phrase. "Despite the weakening of magic since the fall of Elvhenan."

Rosa made a small humming noise of understanding and interest in her throat. Then she let out a little laugh. Solas stopped walking and turned to regard her, frowning with confusion at her reaction even as the sight of her smiling through the exhaustion and grief she wore like a second skin made his stomach flutter. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking," she said, sniggering. "About Sera. If what you're saying is true, she's a mage after all."

Now Solas smirked as well, relishing the thought of Sera's shock and horror if she'd learned this. "Yes. And Mahanon. And every elven man, woman, and child."

"But not the humans?" Rosa asked.

"No," Solas confirmed. "Our people did not know what to make of them when we first encountered them. We called the _shemlen_, not merely for their short lives, but also their lack of magic. Only the very youngest children did not have magic."

"I wonder if they have mages only because of interbreeding with us," Rosa muttered, sobering as she resumed their slow walk through the tents.

Solas wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I cannot say." It was as likely an explanation as anything. He had heard that elves were capable of interbreeding with any of the races but had never met an elf-blooded dwarf or Qunari to prove it. Still, before his long sleep and the Veil, magic had been limited mostly to the People.

"So…" Rosa said, sighing. "It's the Fade that makes me so powerful. The Veil was thin in the dark future at Redcliffe. And after the Conclave exploded, when I first walked in the Fade and Rogathe met me—I felt it then, too. The nightmare just took the memory. And then again when we were there tonight, physically."

"Yes," Solas agreed, nodding soberly. "It is the Fade. The People have always possessed a powerful connection to it. That is why Corypehus and his fellow Darkspawn Magisters used the blood of _elven_ slaves in their rituals to enter the Fade and invade the Golden City, specifically." He had witnessed that particular atrocity in his dreams. The thought of it still made his blood boil.

Rosa snorted, snarling. "Another way the humans could blame us for the Blight, right?"

"Indeed," Solas said with a sour grimace.

They rounded a corner in the path of tents, reaching larger ones marked with the Inquisition's heraldry. From one tent Solas heard the loud rumble of distinctive snores and knew that must be Iron Bull, sleeping away. At another campfire ahead Solas saw Varric and Hawke sitting together, passing a flask back and forth, despite the lateness of the hour. Varric held a notebook in his lap and was taking notes as Hawke talked in a low but animated tone. Both men looked a bit bleary-eyed with drink and fatigue, but otherwise were very much awake.

Rosa's tent was at the far end of this row, marked with golden embroidered edging over the tent flaps and corners. It barely stood out in the orangey light from the campfire outside Varric's tent further down the row. Solas tried not to consider the possibility that she might invite him inside but already his body was flushing with heat and his heart set off racing. He had barely resisted her the last time she had asked him to stay the night. In fact, it'd only been the knowledge that he had no contraceptive charm that had made him refuse. That night—_last night_, before Adamant—he had quickly created one for himself to be certain that the next time he faced temptation he could allow himself to give in without fear that they would inadvertently create another child. Rosa almost certainly carried a charm of her own…but he would not make the same mistake twice by _assuming_ that. Better to be sure.

As they reached the tent, Rosa sighed and Solas stared at her, tense and resisting the desire to fidget or simply bid her goodnight. But when she finally spoke the words took him aback. "So your greatest fear is dying alone?"

Solas blinked at her a moment and then swallowed, nodding once. "Yes."

Rosa's smile was soft, tender in a way that made her eyes glimmer and set his blood pumping. "That seems a rather ironic fear for an old general and soldier who's lived his life alone for ages."

A small smile spread over his lips now, as if hers had been contagious. "I suppose it is—but that is a new fear, borne when I awoke alone from uthenera, too weak even to stand." He inched a smidgen closer, his smile widening. "Had a certain Dalish woman and her brother not lured Templars into the area I would have certainly perished."

"Hmm…" Rosa hummed, light and amused, though Solas could see grief darkening her eyes. "Remind me to thank those Dalish siblings for inadvertently saving you." Her shoulders rose and fell then as she dropped her gaze to the ground between them. "Thanks for bringing Tal back to me, by the way. Do you…" Breaking off, she glanced toward where Varric and Hawke still chatted in hushed but animated tones a few tents down. When her eyes snapped back to Solas she switched to elven. _"Did you find him with the Formless One?"_

Solas shook his head. _"No. I sensed he was not held captive, though he may have been under watch. I crafted a dream that would lure him and concealed myself to bring him near rather than go to him."_

Rosa arched a brow. _"What dream?"_ But, before he could go on, she lifted one hand in a motion for silence. "Maybe we should discuss this inside my tent?"

He hesitated, eyeing her and struggling with the tumultuous mixture of emotions swirling within: guilt, shame, desire, longing, temptation, and embarrassment. This conversation may begin platonically, but he suspected it would devolve into something vastly different soon enough. As much as he wanted that…Rogathe and Felassan's charge stuck his mind like a pin: _Protect my children. _He had sworn to himself once to remain a distant protector for these two and resuming his relationship with Rosa would be decidedly personal and…

_What will you tell them of me?_ Felassan's voice challenged him. _When will you tell her the truth?_

He owed her the truth, but…

"Come on, flat-ear," Rosa said when he remained stiff and silent a moment too long, trying her patience. She turned, feet scraping on the dust below, and swept the tent flap out of the way as she stepped inside. Solas moved after her, ducking through the entrance after briefly shooting a quick look toward Varric and Hawke at their campfire to find them paying seemingly no attention.

Rosa lit a small candle on a little writing desk at the back of the tent as Solas settled himself on the canvas floor. Rosa sat across from him on her bedroll with a long sigh. In the orange light she appeared both haggard and beautiful. The candle lit her features in strange shadows and dulled the contrast between her skin and the pale ink of her vallaslin. She blew out a breath and tugged the band from her hair, releasing it from its messy bun so she could finger-comb it. "You were saying?" she prompted him.

Solas cleared his throat, eyes skimming over her wavy brown hair. His fingers on his thigh curled tight against his palm as he fought off the desire to touch her hair. Yet he couldn't stop himself from imagining how it might feel: soft, cool at the ends and warm close to her head. He was pleased with the cool tone he managed despite the heat that flashed through his body. _"I created a dream for your brother using clan Manaria as a lure. It worked remarkably well. I was able to observe him uninterrupted for several minutes before the nightmare's minions disrupted the scene."_

"_Did you learn anything?"_ Rosa asked, leaning closer with interest, hair still long and unrestrained—momentarily forgotten.

"_There is some great emotion lying between your brother and the clan's Keeper. The Fade was thick with it. The Keeper tried to convince Tal to return to them."_ He made a face, lips twisting up and then down again at the awkwardness of what he must say next. _"She indicated that she would be willing to 'share' him with another lover; that he preferred male company to female."_

Rosa stared at him, violet eyes wide and round. "What?" she blurted in common. "Nugshit. He doesn't care one way or another!"

Solas grimaced at the topic, unable to add anything to it. Tal had always seemed a free spirit, untethered and lighthearted. Yet there had been moments Solas thought the youth duplicitous, as if he wore a mask of simplicity to disguise the vulnerability that lay beneath. Had he been masking a preference for men?

Elvhenan had cared little for such personal preferences, though Solas knew some cultures in Thedas did make judgments. Did the Dalish vary so much that most clans would resent a preference for men? It was possible, but ultimately such judgments would stem from a practical place that elves were too few not to engage in reproductive sex—especially a virile young mage like Tal. Only Keepers could lead a clan and Keepers were always magically gifted. Tal could not afford to bed strictly men. He would be expected to bond and produce offspring, particularly in an understrength clan like Manaria.

Shaking her head, Rosa stared at the candle with narrowed eyes, as if it had both offended her and posed some difficult riddle she needed to solve. After a long moment she frowned and said, _"Maybe he's running because he's afraid of loving her? Afraid of responsibility?"_

"_I cannot say,"_ Solas admitted and then, trying to steer the conversation to a topic he found less awkward, he said, _"But, strangely, the Formless One did not pursue Tal. It was still within the nightmare's area of the Fade as we escaped, but it did not engage us."_

"_That doesn't make any sense,"_ Rosa muttered.

Solas nodded somberly. _"I agree."_ He leaned closer. _"In speaking with Tal he did reveal he had spoken with a demon prior to entering the dream I crafted for him. He was surprised to learn I suspected it had been the Formless One."_

"_He didn't tell you what the demon said?"_ Rosa asked. Her tone was tight and her expression grim.

Solas shook his head. "No. There was little time."

"Well," Rosa said with a sigh. "Shit. I'll have to talk with him about it; figure out our old friend Raselan wanted."

Solas smiled. "I wish you luck." Glancing to the closed tent flap, Solas cleared his throat and said, "I should be leaving, Inquisitor."

As he started to get to his feet Rosa's hand shot out and gripped his wrist in a firm hold. "Wait," she said plaintively and then, when he looked to her, added quietly, "don't leave me alone."

Heart racing, Solas stayed in place, admiring her face in the candlelight. His stomach twisted, guts tying themselves into knots. Hadn't he promised to stay with her after the battle? The memory of her tombstone in the little graveyard in the Fade leapt into his mind again: _Abandonment._ It might as well have been his name emblazoned on the stone. Felassan had abandoned her because of Solas' orders as the Dread Wolf. And then, after escaping the Circle, Solas had abandoned her directly.

_Go on,_ a bitter voice taunted from inside him. _Leave her again. Or tell her the truth and lose her. You will always bring her ruin whatever you do. _

As if she could feel the raging turmoil and indecision inside him, Rosa transferred her grip from his wrist to his hand and squeezed tightly. "Please, just stay with me. I don't want to be alone with the memory of…" Her voice cracked but she pressed on. "…of what happened today."

Chest constricting with shared grief at the loss of Felassan—even though it had been his own hand and poor choices that had led to that loss—Solas smiled. Lifting their joined hands up to his face he brushed his lips lovingly over each bump of knuckle. Staring at her over her hand clutched in his, he saw her nostrils flare even as her eyes went too moist, glittering in the candlelight.

"I will stay," he told her, trying to swallow his heart that had suddenly leapt into his throat with anticipation. He tried to strangle that expectation and remind himself he did _not_ want to sleep with her. His body wholeheartedly disagreed, however, and he could feel heat spreading through his groin.

The slackening of her lips and the dilation of her pupils told him that he had only to edge a little closer and she would be kissing him. They'd both be lost to lust then. He held back, refusing to take advantage, make the first move, when he knew he should be anywhere else but here.

She made the first move, just as he'd known she would—dreading and longing it simultaneously. One moment they were separate and the next she had leaned into him and pulled her to him with her other hand fisted in his tunic. Her lips smashed into his, hot and salty with sweat from the long fight for their lives. The taste of them, the heat, wiped away any thought of caution or shame.

Releasing her hand, Solas gripped her waist, tugging her into his lap even as she began to crawl into it, all without breaking the kiss. She opened her mouth to him and he swept his tongue over her lower lip and then pressed deeper to feel the line of her teeth. She caught his tongue, her own moving over his suggestively. He sighed into her mouth, making a noise of enjoyment in his throat. When he felt her fingers prying up the edge of his tunic at his hips he shuddered.

Returning the favor of touching her in turn was more difficult, however. Her armor was gritty and chilled to his hands and he wished he could will it away, as if they were in a dream. The ties and seams were unfamiliar to him still, but his fingers grazed the belt on her girdle and unlatched it with ease anyway. The hooks securing the girdle closed gave way next to his nimble fingers and it fell away.

Her breathing was fast and ragged, mirroring his own as the sloppy kiss dragged on. Solas felt her wandering hands snake under his tunic, rumpling it up and toward his shoulders. Her nails clawed his skin, raising gooseflesh. He groaned, strangling the sound to keep it quiet and she made an answering noise of amused arousal. She broke the kiss, grinning down at him as she dragged his tunic up even more. Solas lifted his arms, letting her pull it over his head. His heart thundered in his ears as he felt her hands on his bare chest, hot and clammy and greedy as she felt her way up each rib.

"You're stockier than I remember," she said, voice husky and low. Her eyes were dark with lust as she drank him in.

Solas _had_ noticed he was a bit more thickly built than modern elves, but the last time he had lain with Rosa he had still been underweight—considering he had nearly wasted away in uthenera. But he had little brainpower to spare contemplating that, other than feeling a surge of primal satisfaction at her hungry stare. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down to kiss him again even as his hands roved over her back, seeking more ties and hooks and buttons to undo.

As he struggled to unlatch the chainmail at her shoulders Rosa gripped his chin with her thumb and forefinger, breaking the kiss to turn his head. She breathed hot breath into his ear as she said, "Hold on just a second, flat-ear."

Leaning back from him, Rosa smiled broadly at him as she rapidly removed her shoulder and forearm guards, tossing them to the side. Then she opened the breastplate and crawled out of his lap to remove it and then shimmy out of her heavy skirts. Her chainmail tinkled metallically and glimmered in the candlelight.

…_candlelight!_ They would be casting shadows on the canvas walls, giving themselves away if the occasional groan or sigh of pleasure didn't already do it. Solas turned and lifted one hand, casually summoning a bit of cold air to snuff out the candle on the little writing desk. Smoke curled up from the wick, tickling his nose. When he looked back to Rosa she was naked, her olive skin pale against the near-darkness as his eyes adjusted. The sight of her was like a giant's grip on his stomach and lungs, robbing him of breath.

How many nights had he tormented himself with dredging up the memory of her? How many hours had he spent sleepless as loneliness made his eyes sting and his heart ache? How many times had he told himself he could not have this? That he did not deserve it?

Nothing had really changed. He could _not_ have her. He did _not_ deserve her.

But raw want, the hunger of his physical body and of his soul, blasted those concerns away. Rosa wanted this. He wanted this. Why shouldn't they, really?

"_Vhenan,"_ he called to her, the endearment breathy and choked. He stretched out a hand to her and Rosa took it, moving to him even as he tugged her forward.

They fell together on the narrow bedroll. Solas rolled to cover her, pressing his lips to hers as his hips ground into hers as well. The friction of her body even through his breeches made him twitch with want. Rosa's hands clawed down the length of his torso, nails scratching until she found his breeches and hooked her fingers under the waistline. Solas arched his back up as she tugged down, dragging the material past his hips to free his manhood.

As he kicked at the breeches, trying to get free of them completely, Rosa chuckled huskily beneath him and he felt her hands grip his length. He gasped and then hissed through clenched teeth at the sudden powerful surge of pleasure. Seeing the smug, self-satisfied look on her grinning face, Solas shook his head and flashed her a grin of his own. It was time to up his game.

Conjuring a bit of spirit magic in his fist, glowing green-white, Solas caressed down her side, tracing the swell of breast and the dip of waist. He trailed fingers along the crease where her thigh joined her hips, following it to the mound of her sex. Laying his palm flat there, he let the magic sink into her and drank in the sight and sound of her as her eyes drifted shut and let out a quiet, restrained moan. Her chest rose and fell faster, pointed nipples aimed up to the canvas ceiling.

"Solas," she breathed his name as her fingers scratched at his hips and thighs. Pleading and wanting, panting and arching her back as the magic built in her flesh.

Positioning himself between her legs, he let her arching hips take in his tip and then pressed in, sheathing himself to the hilt. She gasped and groaned, legs moving to twine around him. Solas continued the surge of magic through one hand even as he felt the heat of her over him like a burst of fire, already threatening to undo him.

"_Fenedhis,"_ he cursed as he dared to make the first thrust, only to feel pleasure zinging wildly through him. Whether it was his own magic heightening his pleasure or it was just the thrill of joining with her like this again, he couldn't tell. He swallowed the moans that tried to escape his throat, tried to focus on delaying his foolish body's headlong rush toward climax.

With a grunt that was as much moan as anything, Rosa sat up with a snap of her taut belly muscles. Her arms snaked around him and Solas did likewise, helping to support her in his lap. Her lips met with his, sloppy and fiery, as her hips rocked over his length. He could feel the slick grip of her body on his length, hungry and rippling as they moved together. With her primarily in control he feared he would never last as the pleasure spiraled through him with every thrust of her over him, but the words he needed to warn her wouldn't rise to his lips and couldn't be spoken anyway as her mouth swallowed his sounds.

And then she broke the kiss, ragged and panting. Her teeth found his ear in the dark, biting so hard it hurt. Solas was dizzy with pleasure, his body straining and his hands tightly gripping her rocking hips. "Say you'll never leave," she said, hot breath puffing in his ear and making him shudder.

"Never," he rasped out and felt her nails claw deeper into his shoulders.

"Say you're mine, Solas. _Vhenan."_ She sounded as though she was swallowing her own moans now too.

"Yes," he agreed, the word emerging as more a growl deep in his throat as he tried to keep himself from crying out. "Yes, yes. _Vhenan."_

And then Rosa cried out, her hips jerking hard and fast over him, muscles clenching inside. Solas shuddered as his own climax hit, clutching Rosa close and gasping as he tried to stay mostly silent through the waves of pleasure crashing over him.

They fell back to the bedroll, still interlocked and limbs askew, panting and doused in sweat. Solas stroked her back and then ran his hand through her hair as she nuzzled close to him. He shivered as her lips brushed over his collarbone.

She let out a long, low moan of satisfaction. "I am never letting you out of this tent," she promised, sounding sleepy and husky.

In that moment Solas could very much agree to that idea. It solved so many problems if she could just keep him prisoner. He pushed the threat of darker thoughts—of the hard truth still lying between them—and smiled with a chuckle. "Your wish is my command, _vhenan."_

"Mmmm," she half-hummed, half-moaned. "I like that." She tilted her head up away from his chest and pressed her lips to his chin. Solas shifted position slightly to kiss her on the lips. The salty taste of her sweat had him salivating all over again and spiked his heartbeat once more even as exhaustion made his body heavy.

The thought of emerging from her tent the following morning for all to see, however, made him sigh. "I should return to—"

"You said you wouldn't leave," Rosa reminded him, a note of pain in her voice.

He forced heavy lids open to look at her and almost winced at the hurt and anger warping her beautiful features. He'd spoken without thought and immediately regretted it. _"Abelas,"_ he apologized. "I merely did not wish the others to—"

Rosa threw her thigh over him and used her body weight to roll him onto his back as she moved to straddle him. "Listen to me," she said, eyes darting over his face. "The others already think we're back together. And I'm pretty sure Varric and Hawke could hear us." She shook her head, her long hair brushing over his chest, tickling him. "There's zero reason we need to hide."

She was right, he knew. The others often made teasing jokes, insinuating or being outright obvious that they thought Rosa and Solas had rekindled their relationship and resumed carnal relations. It wasn't a new phenomenon either. Probably most of their companions assumed Rosa and Mahanon had ended their relationship because of Solas and things had rekindled then.

And…technically, they'd be right. This moment had been especially building since Mahanon had left Rosa. Or, longer really. Since the first time Solas had seen Rosa again in Haven. It felt…beyond his control.

"You are correct," he told her as he lifted his head up to kiss her. Rosa responded pressing down and sighing into his mouth with what he took to be relief. Solas stroked up and down her spine, admiring the smoothness of her skin and the bumps of her vertebrae. He broke the kiss to smile tenderly up at her and add, "I will stay."

Rosa grinned down at him in triumph. "Damn right you will, flat-ear." As she spoke one hand dragged down the length of his body, but Solas caught her hand before it could travel too low.

"Do you not wish to get some rest?" he asked, as much teasing as serious. He _was_ exhausted and the climax had not helped that, leaving him sluggish and heavy.

Rosa smirked and leaned down to nip at his jawline. "You have _months_ of makeup sex you owe me. We can both sleep when we're dead." Her hand tugged out of his and teased its way lower, dragging her nails over very sensitive skin and leaving a trail of gooseflesh.

Solas shivered as the first thrill of anticipation rose inside him again. Heat spread through his groin again too. "Hmmm," he purred. "I had not thought of that."

Rosa laughed.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Not-Felassan grinned and spread his arms wide. "I am looking out for myself and my ilk. A simple answer and none truer." He pointed at Tal. "The same as you do. Tell me, child of Falon'Din—"

"Don't call me that," Tal snapped, slashing one hand through the air in warning.

"Oh?" the demon said, arching one brow. "And what should I call you then? Bastard of Ghilath? Two-Hundred Arrows? Brother to the Herald of Andraste? _Talassan,_ son to a murdered, un-avenged father?"

* * *


	33. Child of Falon'Din

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa struggles with her losses. Tal questions the Formless One, still posing as Felassan. The Formless One gives him a test to prove that he cannot trust Solas.

"So, Chuckles," Varric said, drawing out the first word as he smirked over at Solas. "You look like you didn't get a lick of sleep last night."

Solas clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead as if he hadn't heard the dwarf. He couldn't stop the blush spreading over his cheeks, however. The swaying of the horse beneath him had been soothing enough that he was beginning to nod off—head slumped forward and shoulders sagging. But now, just like that, he was wide awake and every muscle stiff with humiliation.

He'd emerged from Rosa's tent that morning a little after she had. His exit had been mostly unnoticed, mercifully. Yet, clearly, others had known anyway. Solas had seen knowing looks from Iron Bull, Varric, Hawke, Blackwall, Dorian, Tal, and Sera during breakfast. Of course partly Solas wondered if he imagined some of it self-consciously. Sera's tent had been far enough away she should have no idea, for example. It wasn't, however, as though they'd been silent in their coupling. They _did_ try to be discreet and Solas had resorted to using the sound-dampening spell. A somewhat small but not insignificant part of him secretly enjoyed the thought that the others might overhear a little—but being confronted about it was an entirely different affair.

"The Inquisitor looks like she had a rough night too," Varric lamented, but he was still wearing his knowing smirk. He shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Poor Violet."

Solas watched the red-brown hills on the horizon and pretended Varric wasn't riding next to him, or talking for that matter. They'd broken down camp and begun riding east immediately after breakfast. The Inquisition troops were with them, marching in a huge column across the vast desert wastes. Some had stayed behind to set up an outpost at Adamant and to man Griffon Wing keep, of course. The vast majority, however, needed to return to Skyhold or to various duties in Ferelden and Orlais. Most of their companions would travel straight back to Skyhold with the bulk of the troops and with Commander Cullen, who headed them.

The Inquisitor would not be joining them right away. Rosa would make a detour when they reached the Dales and head to the wilds outside Halamshiral where the Arlathvhen was scheduled to take place at high summer. She'd discussed the bare bones of a plan with Solas the night before during the wee hours before the sun had come up, when their desire had finally been slaked—right before they'd finally fallen asleep for a brief time. She would gather as many elven companions as she could to accompany her and then, at Tal's behest, attend the Arlathvhen. Taking non-elves to the meet would be highly ill-advised, so the party would be made of strictly elves. That would leave their group somewhat vulnerable without a warrior, unless they scrounged up an elven recruit from the soldiers. But that was a problem for a later time.

Leather groaned and clothing rustled then, drawing Solas out of his reverie as he realized Varric was leaning closer to him as if to whisper conspiratorially. "You should pull up your hood, Chuckles."

Now Solas turned, brow furrowed with confusion. "Pardon?"

The amused smirk Varric wore made Solas' face flush immediately with heat. He had erred in responding to the dwarf, it would seem—though how exactly remained unclear. But as Varric motioned to his own ear and then ran a meaty finger over his scruffy jawline, Solas began to suspect the truth with a slow sinking feeling in his stomach of dull horror.

"You have a little something…" Varric indicated the same areas again: ear and jawline. "Looks like you got into a fight with a really aggressive nug…or something."

Solas lifted one hand to his ear and felt over it, only to wince with mild pain. Rosa had bitten him last night, hard enough that it had hurt. Apparently it had bruised. Her kisses on his jawline must have left marks as well.

Red-faced, Solas hiked his scarf up higher to cover his neck and much of his jaw. The sun overhead was an annoyance anyway and the wind brought a constant scrape of sand. He usually used magic to protect himself from both irritations, but the scarf would cover what magic could not. He'd have to ask the requisition officer for a cape later, or perhaps a battlemage cowl to cover his ears.

He shot Varric a resentful look even as he thanked the dwarf. "My thanks, Master Tethras."

"Don't mention it," Varric said with a chuckle and a dismissive wave of one meaty hand. He fell silent a moment and Solas almost breathed a sigh of relief, hoping the dwarf had decided to switch topics or, even better, stop talking altogether. But, much to Solas' distaste, the dwarf soon chuckled. "You know, I actually should be thanking _you._ I was betting this would happen before we left the Western Approach."

Solas twisted round to glare daggers at Varric, opening his mouth to say something angry at the unspeakable rudeness of _betting_ on another's private affairs, but he stopped short when he saw the amused smirk over the other man's face. Facing forward again, Solas tried to breathe through the intense heat of the blush over his cheeks. He had hoped to avoid this kind of exposure, not just because it humiliated him to have others examining his private life, but because it would only smear Rosa's reputation.

The humans expected her to be a religious figure, a representative of their holy Andraste, and while chasteness was not explicitly expected, it would be more seemly. He had thought that Cullen and Cassandra and some of the others within the chain of command associated with the Chantry had been more at ease once Rosa and Mahanon parted ways romantically. Whether that was because they believed the Herald should be chaste or because they wanted to humanize her as much as possible—and being betrothed to a Dalish elf only reminded others that she herself was decidedly _not_ human—Solas could not be certain. It may also have been as simple as that few had liked Mahanon's overbearing possessiveness and his resulting unfriendliness. Would they be more receptive to the idea that the Herald had taken up with a _flat-eared_ Fade expert?

And what of the real problem lying between them that Rosa couldn't comprehend?

_Fool,_ he cursed himself. _Stupid, selfish fool. _Why had he allowed himself to join with her physically? Once she knew the truth of what he was and what he had done…_all_ of it, including that her father's blood was on his hands…how would their night of passion look to her then?

_Trickster. Harellan. Traitor. _ She would doubt he had ever loved her at all. She would spit in his face, scorn him. What would it matter if he showed her _why_ he had done everything? All she would see was that he had deceived her, used her, and killed her father. Love would become hate and she would become his enemy, made all the more deadly by his own careful tutelage.

He had told her he would never leave her last night. But what if she no longer wanted him at her side, but hoped to run him through with a staff blade? It would be a twisted, sad justice if she—the granddaughter and great-granddaughter of some of his most hated enemies—were the one to slay him. If _she_ was the Slow Arrow of legend, but instead of killing a mindless, slathering beast terrorizing a village, she would instead slay the monster that had doomed all of the People?

"All right," Varric said in a soothing tone, once more drawing Solas back to the present. "All right. I get it. You're a very private person. I'll stop talking." The dwarf sighed and stretched in the saddle with a groan. He was short enough that his specialized stirrups were still a touch too long and easy for him to shrug out of. He kicked his short, stocky legs out, shaking with the full-body stretch. "Ah," he said, smiling. "That's better."

Swallowing down the lingering despair that'd threatened with his recent train of thought, Solas cleared his throat and spoke. "We have a long journey ahead of us, Child of the Stone, and these dunes are infested with darkspawn. I recommend you remain alert and prepared to control your mount at a moment's notice."

Varric snorted. "Do I really need to remind you that you were literally falling asleep before I rode up here and woke you up, Chuckles?"

_Fenedhis._ The dwarf had him there. Solas considered denying it but then forced himself to smile smoothly. "It is something I must be cognizant of as well."

Varric laughed. "Fair enough, Chuckles. Fair enough."

* * *

Rosa was so tired that the scroll she'd spread out over her knee and thigh kept blurring out of focus. When she blinked she saw two scrolls, two knees, two sets of texts for an instant before the images resolved into one.

She pinched her nose and groaned, shaking her head. Her back and thighs ached from hours of riding and it would be more of the same tomorrow. And the next day after that. And the next after that. And after that…

She was inside her tent, alone and dressed for sleep in her tunic and breeches. Yet she'd been here at least an hour and hadn't slept. She couldn't afford not to sleep now. She needed the rest, but whenever she felt herself drifting off she heard and sensed the demons waiting for her on the other side, watching for her and waiting. She felt the pain of loss in her chest and the aching lump begin in her throat again. The images were there from her memory, just out of reach and sight, but easily recreated by the demons. She knew she would be reliving the fight with the nightmare and losing Rogathe as soon as she slipped into the Fade. She could will it away, but for a few moments she would be raw and vulnerable. She would have to face the reality of it.

If Solas were here she could find solace in sharing pleasure with him instead and enter the Fade in a hazy, post-sex euphoria that'd keep the demons at bay just long enough for her to shape a safe haven and ward it. But she'd seen how dog-tired Solas looked all day and had been content to let him slink off to his tent the moment camp was set up. She'd hoped she'd similarly be so exhausted she wouldn't be able to think about anything else…but the recentness of everything she'd lost and the trauma of it destroyed any chance she had at peace of mind when she wasn't occupied.

_I have died for you and your brother once, _she heard his voice repeat in her memory. What had he meant? How had he died? Why? He spoke as though he had done it knowingly, making a choice. But what?

_We will stop him together, _ma'ashalan.

Growling, Rosa flung the scroll off her knee and pounded a fist into her bedroll. "How the _fuck_ am I supposed to stop _him_ if you're…if you're…" She broke off, choking on the words as sobs rose in her throat. She sucked at the air, still tasting of sand and ash and cold desert night winds.

Rogathe had been as much a father to her as Ivun—or Felassan, or whatever name her enigmatic father went by. Losing the spirit of bravery was bad enough, but seeing how much it had grown to resemble her father by imprinting on him before his death…

"I lied," she blurted to the empty tent, the words raspy and wet with her tears. "I lied, _ghilin._ I'm sorry…" She covered her eyes with both hands, pressing the heels into her sockets and feeling the moisture of tears. Rocking in place, she remembered the pain on her father's face when she'd last seen him alive in the Fade, amidst some dark ruins. She remembered the bitter triumph she'd felt as she spat her bitter words at him, trying to hurt him because he had hurt her with his constant absence.

But now she knew he had not chosen that life. He had kept her and Tal away to protect them from something, not because he did not care for them.

"_Do not walk that path,_ ma'ashalan," he told her again in her mind. _"It is a world I kept from you because I wanted you to be free from it. Free as I never could be. You and Tal were too pure in spirit, too beautiful. When I held your brother as a babe, when I heard your laughter—sweeter than any music from Arlathan—I knew I could not allow my choices to sully your hands with blood."_

Still sobbing, Rosa let herself probe that place deep inside where Rogathe had rested within her, warm and fierce and fearless. It was cold and empty now. She was alone and would be forever now. The memory of feeling Felassan's presence with the spirit made her choke all over again, gasping and shaking as she wrapped her arms around herself and let the tears flow.

"You're still you," a soft voice said, gentle and reassuring. "The spirit didn't make you brave. It didn't make you face the bear to protect the fox."

Rosa remembered that moment as a young child, picking berries with the other children from clan Naseral. She had a pet fox, adopted as a kit when a hunter had found it wandering alone and too-thin. The bear had come lumbering out of the forest, roaring and rearing on its hind legs, slathering from massive jaws. The other children had run and the fennec fox had let out its yipping bark to warn them, but it hadn't run and neither had Rosa. Even with her magic weak and wild with minimal training she had flung fire at the bear until it lost its nerve and fled.

"Your mother made you First because of your bravery that day. Rogathe didn't make you brave then. It was watching you, whispering in dreams, but it couldn't make you brave. It didn't make you dive into the river to save the girl."

She remembered again the day when, as a tween, she had leapt into the roaring current of the Fehorn river in springtime to rescue a drowning child. The water had been icy cold, taking her breath away. The current had been as unyielding as stone and it had dragged her under, into the cold depths. But Rosa hadn't panicked, just fought on until her head broke the surface and her fingers found a rock. Then, despite the franticness of her own struggle, she had found her wits in time to stretch out and snatch the flailing child from the river as she swept past. The pride and relief and admiration that shone in the eyes of everyone in the clan as she had dragged the girl to shore had made Rosa's heart swell. But, more so, the joy that rose in her whenever she saw the little girl she had saved running and playing and _alive_ made it truly meaningful.

"You're still you," the soft voice continued. "And he wouldn't want you to hurt like this. He knew you cared _because_ you hurt."

She knew, somehow, that the voice spoke of Felassan now rather than Rogathe. Wincing, she felt memories sweep over her. The first time she had conjured Fade stone on her staff tip and Ivun had clapped with triumph. He beamed with pride. A father's pride—even though she hadn't known he was her father then. She saw his smile as he offered her an apple he'd sliced for her and then, amazingly, produced a little tin of caramel for dipping. The melodic timbre of his voice rang through her mind as he told her tales of the ancient past and the Creators like she'd never heard before. She felt again the gnarled staff he had that would grow whenever he willed it into a full sized mage stave and wondered at this holdover of her people's ancient magic.

"He would want you to remember how it was when it was good. When _he _was good. When he could be there."

The joy she'd felt when she saw him striding through the clearing outside camp returned to her with the memory from her childhood. She saw his traveling robes, oddly clean despite being worn and threadbare in parts. She saw his broad smile as she ran to him, grinning as she leapt at him for a hug. She only saw him in person every two years, but reunions were always joyous, full of laughter and treats as he gave her candy from Orlais or once an impeccably balanced throwing knife from Antiva. She remembered one night laying with him in a field among the sleeping halla and staring up at the stars as her father whispered to her of crystalline towers spiraling into trees and floating cities made of gold.

She saw again her father sitting among the broken stones of some decrepit ruin, long buried and forgotten. He lifted his hooded face and smiled wanly at her, violet eyes crinkling as the muscles in his face made his vallaslin twist. She swallowed the pain and shame that cut at her, stinging her eyes.

"You didn't know that would be the last time you saw him," the voice said. "You had every right to be angry. You didn't know why he didn't meet you. If you'd known that would be the last time you saw him you wouldn't have said it. He knew you loved him."

She shuddered, gripping herself tighter and whimpering against the burn of unshed tears behind her closed eyes. The image of both Ivun and Rogathe as one still hovered in her mind's eye, still paining her and filling her with heavy dread and pain at the thought of drifting off and facing the despair demons watching her from the Fade. She knew this voice wanted to guide her to peace so she could sleep, but…

"They wouldn't want you to be afraid of the Fade," the voice said and she knew the speaker meant both her father and Rogathe. "Walk the path of bravery, Rosa."

Her head dipped forward and she let out a long breath, shoulders stooping. Yes. She could be brave. She would not let this break her. Ivun had been dead over a year, but she had never let herself mourn him for more than an instant because her life had given her no time to do so as she first moved on from grieving the loss of her unborn child to the Conclave, to Haven, to _this…_

"_Forget,"_ the voice commanded and Rosa felt warmth flow through her. She shivered at it and then fell back onto her bedroll. "Sleep," the voice above said, gently.

Rosa obeyed.

* * *

"You've returned, _da'len."_

Tal spun around and stiffened as he saw the familiar figure of Felassan standing a few paces away from him through the dappled light and dark of the forest. This was a glen in the Dales, beautiful and tranquil—and surrounded by the white arched stones of ancient Elvhen ruins. Tal had been staring up at the Black City a moment ago, gathering his bearings and reminding himself this was a dream, when the voice intruded on his thoughts.

At first he snarled at the demon that wore his father's shape, but then he recalled he _had_ fallen asleep hoping to meet this demon again. Clearing his throat, Tal dared to step closer as he squared his shoulders in a show of bravado. "I did come back, yeah."

Felassan's smile spread wide beneath the darkness of his hood. "I expected as much. You were always a curious lad." The man spread his hands. "How can I be of service, _ma'ishalan?"_

Tal scowled and stabbed a finger at the demon in reprimand. "First of all you can _not_ call me that. You're a demon, not my father. Second of all, speaking of you being a demon, Solas says you're the Formless One—the same rat-bastard who got me and Rosa tortured at Hasmal because she wouldn't give you her blood."

Not-Felassan nodded and shrugged. "Guilty as charged, _da'len._"

It started to walk closer to Tal, moving in a circle. Ferns dissolved into green Fade ether as its legs brushed them. The grass wriggled as if possessed as Felassan's foot crushed it, as if recoiling. Tal steeled himself, refusing to back away.

"In truth, I sought your father's blood more than you or your sister's. You are heirs of Dirthamen's blood, 'tis true. But the Slow Arrow was much closer to the mark. Your sister's blood may not have been enough to free my kin."

"Fear and Deceit," Tal said. "You want to unbind them."

"Why yes," Not-Felassan said, tucking his hands behind his back as he circled round Tal in a way the real man often had while lecturing his son. "Wouldn't you wish to free tortured, pitiful creatures bound to slavery for thousands of years by a master who can no longer give them purpose? It is a merciful thing I wish, not a trick."

"Funny," Tal snarled, glaring as his eyes followed the demon. "Rosa remembers meeting Fear and Deceit and they were clearly going to kill her the second they were free. That doesn't sound like a reason why either of us should want to help you."

Felassan looked over at Tal and halted his step. "I am not trying to help Fear and Deceit any longer. Circumstances have changed. The hole in the sky proved that much."

"Then what are you trying to do?" Tal asked, sneering.

"Isn't it obvious?" the demon asked, smirking. When Tal didn't answer he sighed and tossed his head back, knocking the cape off. Tal took in the perfect reproduction of his father's face, down to the tiny scar in the man's neck where an arrow had caught him between barrier refreshings. Tal knew that scar in particular came from the fight Felassan had won for clan Ghilath against human nobles hunting them for sport. It had been that act of heroism that won Tal's mother's heart. She had nursed him back to health and the two had fallen fast for each other.

"No," Tal snarled. "It's not."

Not-Felassan grinned and spread his arms wide. "I am looking out for myself and my ilk. A simple answer and none truer." He pointed at Tal. "The same as you do. Tell me, child of Falon'Din—"

"Don't call me that," Tal snapped, slashing one hand through the air in warning.

"Oh?" the demon said, arching one brow. "And what should I call you then? Bastard of Ghilath? Two-Hundred Arrows? Brother to the Herald of Andraste? _Talassan,_ son to a murdered, un-avenged father?"

Tal scowled and stared down at the rocks and grass underfoot. Little white flowers were blooming about his feet, straining toward him like fingers. Whose dream was this? His or the demon's?

"Whatever you wish to be called, boy," the demon continued, resuming its slow circular walk around Tal through the grassy glen beneath the canopy. "I am curious as to why you've sought me out. I felt your interest as you entered the Fade. It drew me to you, like moth to the flame. Like a wolf to the halla." He smiled, twisting the vallaslin about his eyes. "Ask your questions."

Tal eyed the demon wearing his father's shape as indecision and caution warred within. Finally he drew in a deep breath, tasting the Fade ether, and said, "If I were to bring my sister here she would tell me this is all an elaborate trick. I'll gather the artifacts you've described and go to the temple of Dirthamen to perform the ritual only to find out you've lied somehow. The mirror will summon you wearing my father's shape, not his soul. It's impossible."

Not-Felassan chuckled, shaking his head. "I know you have not mentioned your quest to that lovely sister of yours. Why is that?"

Tal grimaced, then shook his head. "That's not answering my question, demon."

"Ah," Felassan said, almost more of a sigh. "But it is true to the mark, no? You felt that like an arrow to the chest. You want to share this with her, but you know she will doubt your strength to stand against me. She will leap to defend you as if you are a newborn halla fawn and not the stag you are. She is afraid of what you will do when faced by the likes of me. She thinks you'll fall to trickery like a fool!"

"Shut up," Tal snarled, glowering. But the demon's words cut him to the bone. Rosa _would_ question him; doubt him. She'd seen him possessed by this very demon in the dark future and would never listen to anything the Formless One had to say—even if Tal felt the demon's message resounding powerfully through him. It spoke _truth_. He wondered if this was Dirthamen's talent lying latent inside him, unconscious or smothered by Falon'Din's darker power.

"Lucky for you I have no desire to possess you," the demon went on, ignoring Tal's interjection. "You are just a step, a tool to bring about my end goal. No harm shall come to you—should you do as I ask, that is." A dark gleam shone in Not-Felassan's violet eyes.

Tal gritted his teeth. "Is that a threat?"

"It is a promise, child of Falon'Din," the demon said, grinning. "I _am_ a demon, after all. My typical source of amusement is watching the lives of mortals—when I'm not plotting for the disasters yet to come. As long as you do as I've bidden, I can promise I shan't find any amusement in tormenting a certain young Keeper's dreams."

Tal stopped breathing for a moment as horror gripped his heart in big, meaty knuckles. _Nola._

Not-Felassan gazed at his nails critically with a little frown. "She does have such unfortunate dreams already. Seeing her Keeper stabbed to death by the slavers as he tried to keep her safe. Watching helplessly as the children of her clan were rounded up and pushed into cages to be sold in Tevinter." The demon's eyes flicked up to meet Tal's. "Crying until she could hardly breathe after her betrothed rejected her and ran out into the night into another's arms."

Tal flinched, his mouth suddenly going dry and his heart leaping into his throat. "What?" he blurted. "Is that true?"

Not-Felassan smirked and let the hand he'd been scrutinizing fall to his side to flop against his thigh. "What does it matter?"

Glaring, Tal huffed and turned away. "Answer my question or I'm done with you, demon."

The demon chuckled behind him, the sound rolling and melodious in his father's voice. "You wish to know for certain that the power you inherited will summon an actual soul from beyond the Fade and not just a spirit _pretending_ to be whoever you summon? I can hardly answer that for you, boy, except to tell you that your ancestors believed they were souls of the departed and not spirits. There is no way I can prove this to you except to ask if you believe Falon'Din could have been fool enough to make such claims without being _certain._ He was revered as a god, if you'll remember."

"That's a shitty answer," Tal grumbled.

"It is, yes," the demon agreed with a guffaw. "But I know you have felt the dead speak to you before, unbidden. I know you did not want to believe what your gut told you—that they were not spirits but something else. Your good friend Pride," the demon sounded as though it tasted something foul when it mentioned Solas, "has told you that Falon'Din's followers believed these were actual souls. He does not believe it, but it is fortunate for us that he placed so little faith in the Friend of the Dead."

That comment piqued Tal's interest. He cocked his head and pivoted round to glare at the demon. "How so?" What did Solas' knowledge or lack of it regarding Falon'Din matter?

The feral grin that spread over Felassan's face was nothing like Tal had ever seen on the real man. He shuddered and involuntarily retreated a step backward. "Because you cannot trust him."

Tal snorted, even as gooseflesh spread over his skin. "But I _can_ trust you, right?"

"Now," Felassan said, still grinning that creepy grin. "Why would I say a thing like that?" He shook his head. "I will not tell you to trust me, boy. Trust your blood. The Crown will speak to you like no other, because you are the heir of Falon'Din's blood. Trust your ancestors. Your kin. But Pride would try to stop you and he would turn your sister against you."

Tal scoffed derisively. "You're full of nugshit."

"Am I?" the demon said as it spread its hands and shrugged. "They are a pair again. There are things the Slow Arrow could tell you that Pride would do anything to hide: secrets from the old world."

"Yeah," Tal snapped. "Like how he helped kick your ass with _babae_ and Mythal?"

Felassan chuckled and the sound made Tal's blood flash over with ice. "Among other things."

Tal clenched his jaw, falling silent. He had always known that Solas hid things. He was cagey and seemed tightlipped about things that didn't need to be hidden—like knowing their father. In hindsight it was obvious the two must have known each other. They were quite alike. Felassan had been cagey too. He hadn't even mentioned he was Falon'Din's grandson for one thing.

"You're unconvinced," the demon said, smiling. "Of course you are. Pride has aided you on countless occasions. How could he be a wolf in halla's skin?" Not-Felassan chuckled, eyes bright with amusement, as if he'd just made a clever joke. "Well, in this I can prove it to you." The demon took a step closer, gaze fixed on Tal until the young elf fidgeted anxiously. Not-Felassan stopped a few paces short of Tal and smirked at him. "Ask Pride why magic faded from the world. Ask him why your sister and he cannot alter the world as if it were a dream. That is their birthright as Dreamers and yet they cannot do it. Strange isn't it?"

Intrigued, Tal asked, "What is the answer? Why did magic fade?"

"I leave that to Pride to answer, boy. But," the demon lifted one finger. "I can assure you that should he reply that it simply has faded over time, or that the Veil has grown stronger over time…" It grinned wide and creepy again. "He is lying. He _will_ lie to you when you ask. And your sister will be blind to it out of love for him."

"You're wrong," Tal blurted but cringed at the fear he heard in his own voice.

"We shall see, won't we?" Then, so quickly that it left Tal gasping, the demon vanished into thin air.

Tal stumbled back, gawping on the air like a fish out of water. He stared at the place where the demon had stood, seeing the faint brownish hue in the grass where Not-Felassan's feet had seemingly burned the vegetation. It was toxic; evil. It doubtless had a nefarious purpose and Tal had never been so desperate to have a lie-detecting talent like Rosa as he was now. If only he had some idea what was truth and what was misdirection and what was just plain lies. It was clearly trying to place a wedge between him and Rosa and Solas.

"You won't win," he spat at the air. "Shithead."

And yet…he already knew he'd be asking Solas the question the demon had told him to ask. And if Solas answered in the ways the demon indicated were lies…

_Trust your blood. Trust your kin._

Tal remembered the way the door at the Solasan temple had reacted to him. The magic had caressed him like a longtime friend, reuniting with joy after years and years apart. It had _recognized_ him and part of Tal had leapt at it, intertwined with it.

"_Lethanavir,_" it had whispered. _"Kin of the inevitable way, welcome honored one."_

The demon had been right when it said Tal had felt the power underlying his newly-awakened talent. He had learned much from Dorian in the ways of necromancy, but those spells did not draw so much on his talent. There was something bigger lurking within, untapped. He had improvised a few of his own necromancy spells using it—like evicting the demon spirits from the undead bodies they'd possessed in Crestwood* and hurling them back to the Fade. What more could he do if someone trained him? Unfortunately Solas seemed to know little, or claimed to know little anyway—exactly like the demon had said.

But he knew he could never trust the demon. It had already made its threat clear. Tal had to do as it asked or Nola would suffer for his refusal. And, currently, what harm was there in going to the Arlathvhen to reclaim the Crown?

The glen around Tal had become warm with sunshine, green and rich with sweet-smelling air. Halla bleated somewhere just out of sight and, if he ignored the Black City hovering overhead, Tal could _almost_ believe he was back in the hunting grounds of his birth clan. Sighing, he let himself plop down on the grass and stretched out to absorb the heat of the sun.

* * *

By the third day out of camp the Inquisition forces had reached scrubland that marked the transition from the more habitable reaches of western Orlais and the wastes of its far borders. Solas had spent much of it dazed, wracked by guilt and alternatively tormented by desire and fatigue. Rosa seemed mercifully occupied with her duties as Inquisitor, giving him just enough time to escape to his tent each night rather than risk her intercepting him. Soon enough he knew there'd be zero chance of escaping her amorous intentions—and he knew he had no real wish to do so as much as he knew it was a mistake and wholly selfish on his part.

Soon Rosa would part ways with the main host of Inquisition forces and strike out into the Dales with a much more limited group. At that point he knew many of her duties would ease off and Rosa would find herself able to seek him out again. There was some small hope of longer reprieve, however. He'd overheard her arguing with Cassandra and Cullen, trying to reassure them that she'd be fine with no one else with her—but, ultimately, she must have relented.

On the fifth day out from Adamant Rosa let her horse ride next to his further down the line of their companions and said, "I've decided to take Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Blackwall with us as extra guards when we split off for the Arlathvhen." Her tone was grudging and she wore a small frown over her lips.

Solas arched a brow. "I doubt the Keepers will welcome them."

"They won't be coming to the gathering," Rosa said, lips twisting with displeasure. "They're only to accompany us to the gathering grounds. You know, so no more of those Freemen of the Dales assholes can ambush us. They'll camp a few hours out, well clear of the Keepers."

Solas dipped his head to acknowledge the wisdom of that decision before adding, "Perhaps it would be best if Cassandra donned Warden regalia. The Dalish are more likely to respect two Warden warriors crossing Thedas with their…" He smirked slightly. "…unusual new Qunari recruit."

Rosa's expression brightened with amusement and Solas didn't miss the gleam of admiration in her violet eyes that set his stomach twisting with want. She laughed. "That sounds like an _excellent_ cover story for them."

"Yes," Solas said. "Because it is likely the lands around the gathering will be well-patrolled by Dalish hunters."

"And it wouldn't do for them to see someone wearing something that smacked of the Chantry even a _little,"_ Rosa said. "An excellent point, flat-ear."

"I have my uses," Solas told her, smiling with feigned humbleness and more than a touch of mischievousness. His heart beat faster and a thrill of triumph passed through him as he saw the flush of color enter her cheeks. She visibly suppressed a laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand an instant before she cleared her throat and smiled. The sight of it had Solas' stomach flip-flopping.

"So you do," she said in a playful tone. Her eyes scanned down the length of him, deliberate and flirtatious. She licked her lips. "So you do."

Now it was Solas who was blushing. He swallowed hard and blinked, looking away as he felt heat surge to exactly the place he didn't want or need it right now. At least he was riding rather than walking. Still, there were others riding nearby who were quite possibly within earshot. In fact, when Solas scanned around them quickly he saw Tal trailing a few paces back watching them with a strange expression.

Squaring his shoulders and nodding to Rosa as he tried to banish the blush that had spread down his neck and up his ear tips, Solas said, "Inquisitor. Thank you for informing me of the change of plans." Hesitating a second, he found a change of topic and asked, "Have you had any luck convincing Sera to accompany us?"

Rosa's playful expression fell. "I'm…still working on that."

"I wish you luck," Solas told her, smiling knowingly.

"Thanks," she said, chuckling. "I'll need it." Blowing out a breath, Rosa gripped the reins. "Time to tell my brother and let Cassandra know she needs to leave her Inquisition armor behind." She frowned. "I'm pretty sure she's going to do that huffy sigh she does when you've _really_ pissed her off but she knows you're right."

"Indubitably," Solas agreed.

After Rosa had left him the day wore on as the horses trudged forward through the greening grassland that transitioned into broad stands of trees. They passed standing water and villages where the locals were working hard toiling in the fields. High summer was coming fast and the people of these hamlets knew winter was fast on its heels. Apple trees lined the road as the sun slid slowly to the western horizon and Solas saw some trees already bore small green fruit, unripe but still noticeable amidst the foliage. In another few weeks these trees would be heavy with ripened red fruit and the villagers would be scrambling to harvest them.

It had been a wild growing apple tree that had sustained Solas just long enough for Templars to find him after he woke from uthenera. He nodded to these cultivated trees now, smiling softly in thanks. Without those ripened fruits on the ground just outside his tomb Solas would be bones now, his dreams dissolved to dust. Rosa and Tal would be split into two different Circles, and either one could have died in the rebellion.

But if he _had_ died that day…

The Conclave would not have happened. Rosa would not be suffering with his Anchor on her palm. She and Tal would have probably survived the mage rebellion and reunited, joining a Dalish clan to begin their lives anew.

And Felassan would still be alive to guide them, love them. Perhaps, without Solas to restrain him, Felassan would have divulged the truth and taken the helm of Fen'Harel's quest. What would his old friend have done in his stead? Would he have completely abandoned resurrecting the past in favor of this pale, pathetic present?

Consumed by these unpleasant musings, Solas was quick to avoid the others when they stopped to make camp. He pitched his tent and then retired to it, choosing to eat rations from his pack rather than risk sitting out where anyone—especially Rosa—could corner him with conversation. He was partway through his bit of druffalo jerky when a shadow fell on his tent flap.

Solas tensed with both dread and excitement, expecting Rosa was here to seduce him, but instead he saw Tal duck through the opening, smiling. "_Falon!_" he greeted. "There you are."

"Yes," Solas said, managing to find a smile of his own for the young elf. "Here I am. How can I help you?"

Tal plopped down on the canvas just outside of Solas' bedroll with a grunt. He slapped at his thighs and let out a long breath. "Riding sure takes it out of you, doesn't it?"

Solas nodded. "Yes. It is surprisingly tiring." Something in Tal's too-fast eyes, darting to and fro within the tent and then to and from Solas' face made him tense anew. The small-talk seemed genuine but…odd. Out of place. In the flickering light from the candle Solas had lit at the back of his tent Tal's face looked _too_ Elvhen. That thought had struck Solas before several times previously, usually when Tal would remind him of one of Falon'Din's courtiers—the kind that carried out assassinations to prove themselves to their "god.

"So…" Tal said and his smile took on a tight edge. "I've had all day to sit and stare at the sky, the trees, the grass, the bushes, and the back of my horse's head. And while I was thinking something occurred to me."

"That does tend to happen when one is thinking," Solas quipped, keeping his smile in place.

Tal snorted with amusement. "You don't say?" he said, smirking. "Anyway, so I was thinking about how much the world must have changed since you were last awake, and…" He paused, frowning a second and fumbling for words in a way that struck Solas as wholly out of character for the usually smart-mouthed, talkative youth. "Well…you said the reason you and Rosa can't reshape things is because the magic today is weak. It…faded." He shrugged, as if that hadn't been the right word.

"Yes," Solas said, finding he had suddenly broken out into a clammy sweat. "Magic has faded over time."

Tal's brow furrowed. "But _why?"_ His voice sounded angry rather than confused.

That was an _awful_ question, but Solas didn't hesitate. "The Veil was more permeable in Elvhenan. It has changed and grown stronger over the ages I slept."

"Why did the Veil get stronger?" Tal persisted, shaking his head. He snorted and shot Solas a look that seemed doubtful…or oddly wounded. "I mean, if the Veil is stronger _now_ it must have been virtually nonexistent in Elvhenan."

Solas swallowed, forcing his tight smile to stay in place as his mind raced. This was typically the level of cleverness and tenacity that he expected from Rosa. Tal was content usually with simple answers. Had Rosa sent him to probe Solas?

"How many rifts did Rosa close today?" Tal asked, gesturing with what Solas took to be exasperation. "Seems to me the Veil acts more like a threadbare shift that we have to keep patching because it tears all the time. And _that_ is stronger?"

Solas clenched his jaw. "I can't say," he lied. "I am unsure what has caused the change, only that it has occurred."

Tal jerked his head away, staring at the canvas walls of Solas' tent for a long moment. A muscle flared in his temple. Finally his shoulders fell slightly and when he looked back at Solas he was smiling. "Sorry," he said with a half-shrug. "It just doesn't make sense to me, you know?"

Solas forced himself to nod, trying to appear as though he was troubled by the supposed paradox as well. "Agreed."

The young elf shot him a look for an instant that was remarkably sour. Then he brightened and leaned closer. "Hey, so—we never talked about the dream you made for me in the Fade…the one with…" His voice drifted off and his hands wrung themselves together anxiously.

"Yes," Solas said, trying to shake off his own embarrassment at the topic. "I apologize. I did not intend to overhear what I did."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Rosa…" Tal said, wincing. "I mean, if you haven't _already_ told her…?"

"Of course," Solas said, trying to smoothly evade answering Tal's question. "And my apologies again. I did not mean to intrude."

Tal shrugged and waved a hand at Solas dismissively. "Don't worry about it." He clapped his hands together and then rubbed them with a whisper of flesh on flesh. "So, want to go out with me and grab a bottle of wine from the supply cart?"

"No," Solas told him, smiling genuinely now. "But thank you for the offer."

"Great," Tal said and turned, shuffling on his knees as he got up and prepared to duck through the tent flap. "More for me then. Good thing, too. I'm going to drink myself into a stupor tonight."

"Remember that you will have to ride tomorrow," Solas reminded in a chiding tone.

"Yeah, yeah," Tal retorted with another dismissive wave as he ducked through the tent flap.

Alone, Solas shuddered with a little shiver of anxiety. Something felt…_off_ about that exchange. Filing aside his concern for later, Solas reached for a tome from ancient Tevinter he had been translating for some time and resumed his work.

* * *

*Tal's thought here about evicting demons from the bodies they'd possessed in Crestwood wasn't explicitly laid out but it's from Chapter Eighteen. Rosa assumes in the chapter that Tal is learning from Dorian or from Solas but because I'm not narrating in that chapter from Tal's perspective it may not even be clear there that anything unusual is happening. Basically Tal's improvised spell there is a one-hit kill. You see it when Rosa notices some undead enemies are just collapsing too quickly and Tal is casting but the effects aren't clear.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Cole smiled with childlike innocence and approval. "Can you teach me more like that?"

Tal grinned fiendishly. "Absolutely. In fact, I have another one you can use to greet Solas and my sister tomorrow morning." He cleared his throat. "Repeat after me: _Did you do it like bunnies?"_

"Bunnies!" Cole exclaimed, eyes brightening. "I like rabbits."

"Yeah," Tal agreed with a laugh. "Me too. Especially with garlic." He smacked his lips. "Delicious."

* * *

Oh no, Solas. Now you done it!


	34. Green Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some mild NSFW content. 
> 
> Rosa heads for the Dales to touch base with the Arlathvhen and the scattered Dalish people. Tal and Cole bond and have an enigmatic chat.

"Yuck," Sera said, groaning and rolling her eyes in disgust. "Can't believe I said I'd do this." She glared sidelong at Rosa. "You owe me, Inky."

"You could have said no," Rosa reminded her without looking to the other elven woman. Sera had done nothing but complain since they'd parted ways with the rest of the Inquisition host that morning. Apparently what she'd agreed to do—accompany Rosa to a gathering of elfy-elves—had finally sunk in on her.

"And who's gonna watch your arse when droopy ears and treeface get knocked out by those freemen nobs?" Sera asked, nose wrinkling. "Cause y'know it'll happen if I'm not here." Sera jerked her thumb at her own chest. "Then guess who gets to live with that? Me, yeah. Then Coryphy-piss kills us all cuz you're not here. All my fault. Get it?"

"Sera," Rosa said with a sigh. "Tal and I walked across Thedas. Alone. We _are_ capable of taking care of ourselves. Besides, bandits don't hang out this far from the highway because not enough people come through to make it worth their while, so it's mostly just wild animals we have to watch for."

"And demon-shite," Sera insisted. "And giants. And Coryphy-bits. And red Templar arseholes. And magic weirdies doing blood magic and all that piss."

Now it was Rosa's turn to roll her eyes. "Honestly, mostly it's just boring travel. Day in. Day out." Speaking of which, they were crossing the marshy Heartlands now, weaving their way through hamlets where Orlesians living in small villages were tending their crops and animals. The main Inquisition forces would stick to the Imperial Highway, which cut south to circle round Lake Celestine. Rosa had opted to take to the wilds and avoid the highway. She'd have preferred to go without horses, in fact, as the beasts weren't exactly stealthy and marked their group as having coin, but Cullen and Cassandra had insisted on it.

Now they were a party of seven: Iron Bull, Cassandra, Blackwall, Sera, Tal, Solas, and Rosa. The warriors traveled in a ring around Rosa, sandwiching her—and Sera right now—between them. Tal was in the lead presently, head held high and staff thumping against his back with the rhythmic sway of the horse under him. Solas was flanking, surveying the entire group and all the countryside. And, more than once, Rosa was sure she'd seen him checking out her ass. Yet he also seemed distracted, twisting to look behind them many times, as though he suspected pursuit. The thought made Rosa tense in anticipation of a fight. So far, however, nothing had happened.

"Boring's right," Sera complained, groaning again.

"You're right," Iron Bull put in from a few feet beyond Sera, off to Rosa's far right. "It _is_ boring. But the way you pass the time is with travel games and stories."

"Like Varric would do," Rosa said, nodding her approval. "Have any good Qunari games, Bull?"

"We used to do one where we gave each other nicknames," he said, grinning. "Insulting nicknames, usually. You have to guess who it is. Whoever guesses right wins."

"I like the sound of that," Blackwall said with a laugh from Rosa's left. He tugged on his beard, stroking it in a way Rosa had come to realize was part of his grooming and hygiene. He was very fastidious with his facial hair.

"We should pay attention to the road," Cassandra chided. "Not waste our time with frivolous games."

"A little fun never hurt no one," Sera said, adding her vote to the mix. She grinned as she looked to Rosa. "Whaddaya say, Inky?"

"I'm up for it," Rosa said with a nod. "Who wants to start?"

"Wait!" Tal called from ahead of them. He had twisted in his saddle to stare back at them, grinning. "Does it have to be for people who are here right now or can it be anyone?"

"Anyone," Iron Bull said with a shrug of his massive shoulders. "That usually makes it easier when it comes to the insulting part. But it obviously has to be someone we all know."

Sera giggled. "Yeah. Right. I'll be first." She cleared her throat and did a sort of twitchy hop on her horse that had the animal whickering and tossing its head in protest. Sera cleared her throat for a dramatic delivery and then ruined it by snickering as she said, "Battle Tits."

Iron Bull guffawed. "Ha! Love it."

"It's Rosa," Tal shouted back at them, laughing.

Rosa shot him a glare that she quickly transitioned to Sera. "It had better _not_ be me!"

"I'm sure it must be me," Cassandra said, her voice promising violent retribution if it was.

"No," Sera said, giggling and red-faced. "Wrong and wrong. All wrong."

"You can't change the answer midway through," Tal yelled, clearly disbelieving.

"Didn't treeface," Sera said. "You're just wrong. You too, Cass."

Cassandra glared over her shoulder at the elf, brows drawn dangerously low over her brown eyes. Whether it was Sera's sloppy use of her name or the game they were playing itself that drew her ire was unclear. Probably both.

"It's Vivienne," Rosa guessed. "It has to be her, then."

Sera tossed her head back, laughing with wicked glee for several seconds before she caught her breath and nodded, pointing at Rosa. "Inky got it. Vivienne Battle Tits."

Blackwall laughed, clapping with amusement. Tal up ahead and Iron Bull to Rosa's far right both mirrored him as they too laughed. Cassandra just gave one of her disgusted throaty groans.

"So now it's my turn?" Rosa asked, looking between both Sera and Iron Bull.

"Yup," the Qunari said with a nod. "Make it a good one, Boss."

Rosa pinched her lips together as she considered it. The image of Blackwall tugging on his beard hair came to her again, stroking through it as if combing it or trying to groom it clear of debris. She grinned and kept herself from looking over to him for but an instant as she said, "Hair puller."

"Iron Bull!" Tal shouted.

"No," Rosa shot him down.

"Dorian!" Tal added immediately on the heels of his first guess.

Rosa snorted. "No!" Was there some sort of hair pulling fetish between Dorian and Iron Bull and Tal?

"Are you going to let anyone else guess or are you just going to go through everyone?" Blackwall asked Tal with a chuckle.

"Two guesses is the limit," Iron Bull put in.

"What?" Sera protested, even though she hadn't had a guess at all yet. "Really? You can't just make up new rules, horny."

"Sure I can," Bull said with a smirk. "When the situation calls for it." He shifted his head slightly and called out to Tal. "You're done, Tal."

"Well," Tal said, huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. "Fuck. That's no fun."

"It's droopy ears," Sera said with a naughty giggle. Turning slightly in her saddle, she waggled her eyebrows in Solas' direction.

Rosa felt her cheeks flush with heat but she refused to lose her composure even as Blackwall, Iron Bull, and Tal all snickered or stifled laughter at her expense. Solas for his part seemed not to hear. Rosa envied him his ability to remain so aloof. He must be distracted by his inner thoughts. She said, "No."

"Is it Blackwall?" Cassandra asked then, sounding almost timid.

"Yes!" Rosa exclaimed, snapping her fingers and pointing at Cassandra's back in front of her. "You got it, Cassandra."

Cassandra turned her head slightly, letting Rosa see her smile of enjoyment. Blackwall off to Rosa's left laughed and shook his head. "I should have seen that one coming." He gestured to his beard and began to mime the same pulling motion Rosa had seen only moments ago. "I think it should be _beard_ puller, your worship."

"But then it'd be too obvious," Rosa said, winking at him.

Blackwall chuckled. "I suppose that's true."

"Chest hair," Cassandra announced her nickname.

"Varric!" Tal proclaimed, stabbing a finger at Cassandra in an almost accusatory gesture. "It's _got_ to be Varric."

Cassandra scoffed. "Fine. Yes. It was Varric."

"That one was too easy," Iron Bull said with a shake of his horned head.

"I never said I would be _good_ at this stupid game," Cassandra rejoined with a glare.

"Lay off her," Rosa told the Qunari. "Or I will use my power as Inquisitor to invalidate one of your guesses."

Iron Bull shook his head. "You win, Boss. You win—but I hope Tal can do better. It's always best when the nickname is so weird no one can guess it. Makes the reveal way better."

Up ahead Tal hummed astride his horse, tilting his head back in a show of exaggerated contemplation. Rosa watched the trees and grasses stretching away over the flat landscape as far as her eye could see. This road was small and far less traveled than the Imperial Highway, but it still saw enough traffic that it was well-worn with two-tracks from carts. Yet, despite the clear evidence that others frequently traveled this way, Rosa could see no one else around at all.

The ground was muddy from a recent rainstorm. The air was thick with pollen and moisture. It made Rosa's memories drift back to her journey with Tal across these same lands. She smiled at the thought. Those had been simpler times, though in the moment she wouldn't have thought so. Now she and Tal had drifted apart compared to those days. She stared at her brother's back as her smile fell. What was he hiding? Didn't he know he could trust her with anything?

"Freckle face," Tal suddenly said, drawing Rosa to the present again.

"Freckle face?" Blackwall repeated with a snort. "Who…" He shook his head, brow furrowed with confusion.

Sera sniggered. "I know this one."

"Then guess," Cassandra prodded her.

"Nah," the archer said with a shake of her head that riffled her choppy blond hair. "I wanna see if anyone else guesses first."

"Scout Harding," Iron Bull said with a grunt. "Easy."

Sera cackled. "Easy! Easy! 'S right!"

"Lucky guess," Tal retorted, twisting round to scowl back at the Qunari. "Since you're so tall you could barely see her face anyway—and with only one eye to boot."

Iron Bull chuckled. "Don't be a sore loser, Tal."

"I'd like to see you do better," Tal challenged.

Iron Bull made a deep rumbling noise in the back of his throat. "You got it, then." He grinned fiendishly and then announced, "Green shadow."

"Bah," Sera complained, groaning. "An elf thing. Treeface? He wears a lot of green."

"Nope," the Qunari said.

"Solas," Cassandra guessed.

From behind them, for the first time, Solas spoke up. "Pardon?"

"Sorry," Blackwall apologized as Sera snickered at Solas' expense. "We…ah, didn't mean you."

Rosa delighted in the dry look Solas shot the Warden, one brow raised. He didn't need to speak at all and his meaning was clear. It prompted Blackwall to clear his throat and explain, "We're... playing a game."

"The nickname game," Rosa jumped in, smirking. "Care to join?"

Solas hesitated a moment, blue eyes gazing at her with an expression that she couldn't quite fathom. Finally he said, "No, thank you."

"Are you sure?" Rosa persisted. "Care to take a guess who Iron Bull just nicknamed Green Shadow? It's not Tal and it's not you."

Before Solas could reply Rosa heard a small voice speak up from beside her horse. "It's me."

Stiffening with alarm, Rosa whipped her head around and stared down at her horse's left side where she suddenly realized Cole was walking. "Cole!" she exclaimed. The spirit boy gazed up at her from under the brim of his hat, blue eyes bright but with a slight glaze. "What are you doing here? You were to stay with the rest of the Inquisition."

"I came because I wanted to help," Cole said, as though that explained everything. For the spirit it probably did.

"I'm sorry, Inquisitor," Solas said, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "I have been aware for some time that he was with us. I should have revealed as much."

"Why'd you hesitate?" Rosa asked, frowning. "Did you think I'd want to send him away?"

"No," he said, but the way his eyes flicked toward the others was explanation enough. Solas had guessed Sera and possibly Iron Bull might have protested the spirit boy's presence and convinced Rosa to send him away.

Sera groaned as though with pain. "Inky," she whined. "Send your pet demon back home! It creeps me out."

"Hello little girl," Cole said in the breathy whisper Rosa recognized as meaning he was reading someone. "How shiny you are in the dreaming."

"Shut it, thing," Sera snarled with heat, baring her teeth.

"Okay," Rosa scolded. "Enough of that. Cole—stop antagonizing Sera. Sera, leave him alone. He's here and he wants to help and we're hours away from the rest of the Inquisition now so sending him away isn't an option."

"I wasn't being mean," Cole said. "I just wanted to tell her I'm not like that."

"Piss off," Sera growled.

"We don't have a horse for him," Cassandra pointed out. "He will fall behind when he tires."

"Unlikely," Solas chimed in from behind them. "Cole has no need for sleep. I suspect he does not tire as we do. He will manage to keep up with us easily as long as the horses are walking as they currently are." He smiled. "Regardless, I will be happy to ride with him."

"Then that's that," Rosa said with an approving nod. "Solas rides with Cole, so he stays with us."

Sera groaned again, rolling her head backwards as if to let the clear blue skies above see her displeasure. After she was done she righted herself and shot Rosa a glare. "On you then, innit?"

"What is?" Rosa asked, a note of caution in her voice. She already knew she wouldn't like whatever Sera was about to say.

"When _thing_ freaks out, yeah?"

"Cole does not _freak out_ that I've noticed," Rosa retorted.

"I can feel the fire inside," Cole said in his whispery voice again, blue eyes glazed. "In my heart, in that warm place. I can almost touch it…"

"Shut it!" Sera yelled, baring her teeth venomously. "Shut your stupid gob or I'll put an arrow in it! Got it?"

"Knock it off!" Rosa yelled, glaring at the two of them. "Cole, go back and ride with Solas. Sera, whatever he says, it's _not_ justification for you to kill him." Adopting a mocking tone, she imitated Sera's own phraseology. _"Got it?"_

"Yeah," Sera grumbled, lip curling as she watched Cole obediently fall behind to join Solas. "Like glass, your holy lady bits." She yanked on her horse's reins, making the animal snort and toss its head. It steered sideways, disrupting Blackwall's horse which whinnied and stopped as Sera's crossed paths to get on the far outside of their group. Blackwall lifted an eyebrow as he watched the other elven woman go past him, then looked to Rosa with a little shrug.

"Well then," Rosa said with a frown. "Now that that's settled, can we get moving again?" She gave her horse a small nudge with her heels and the animal snorted, ears swiveling and head bobbing as it picked up the pace. Hooves squelched in the mud of the road. Rosa swallowed the deep-seated fear in the pit of her stomach that had risen to her throat when she urged the horse on. This wasn't a halla, she reminded herself and tried not to consider what the horsemaster had said to her in passing once—that halla were _less_ likely to spook and buck than a horse.

Cold sweat erupted over her and she shuddered. Eyes glued to her horse's ears for any sign it would buck. She stayed silent even once Blackwall, Cassandra, and Iron Bull resumed chatting. She tried not to remember that spring, tried not to wonder if falling back into bed with Solas was a betrayal to the suffering and loss she'd experienced.

Though as she tightened her grip around the horse's middle with her thighs, she couldn't help but think she didn't much care. That attitude was what had gotten her into trouble to begin with, but Rosa knew she was nothing if not reckless. She needed the outlet for stress relief anyway.

Smiling to herself, she considered ways of catching him alone tonight and tried to find one that she felt certain he'd never be able to resist…

* * *

Solas had spent the day fretting about this evening and whether Rosa would approach him, alternating between excitement and dread, but always knowing he would not have the willpower to resist. Then, after he'd sensed Cole following them, he'd been preoccupied with how to tell the others. And when to tell them. Too soon and they'd surely send Cole away. Once that secret was out Solas had shared his mount with Compassion and as a result had been treated to the enigmatic whispers from the boy as he read their companions.

"You're not him anymore," Cole had said, soft and reassuring. "You wouldn't do anything like that again. You've changed."

Guessing the boy meant someone else, Solas had said nothing. Then, a few minutes later, Cole said, "You won't lose control. You think for yourself. You knew when it was too much so you left. You won't go back."

More of the same and Solas couldn't begin to guess which of their companions Compassion was reading. Yet, it seemed to be a day for insecurities as the boy's whisperings had continued.

"You love her. She loves you. The demon wasn't lying. Just talk to her. There was no reason to run."

Solas had almost opened his mouth to ask what demon Cole was talking about and just _who_ he was reading now, but he decided to let it be. And, eventually, the ramblings blended into one that Solas mostly tuned out. Once they stopped to make camp for the night Cole had moved to help Tal and started chattering with him instead in a way that was more boy and less spirit. That gave Solas the chance to slip away to ward the camp. It was a task he shared with Dorian and Vivienne when the group was whole, but in present company he was the most suited to it. Tal had bowed out early in their first travels with the Inquisition, revealing that Felassan had never taught him more than a very basic ward. Rosa was capable and skilled, much better trained than her brother apparently, but typically she was occupied with her duties as leader.

So it was that as Cassandra, Blackwall, Tal, and even Iron Bull prepared the hearth to make food for the night and boil water for tea, Solas started walking into the gloomy glen of trees surrounding camp. Mana already coiled inside him, eager for release.

Crickets shrilled and a gentle breeze, warm and wet with the summertime, rustled the trees. This seemed to be a peaceful place, lush and fertile and relatively remote. It seemed unlikely that humanoid bandits would trouble them, but Rosa had a knack for drawing bad luck. Not to mention his own bad luck. If it wasn't bandits then it'd be bears or crazed wolves.

Solas waved a hand at lush fern fronds, tree roots, and little stones half-buried in the leaf litter and willed a ward in blue into existence. It stretched three meters wide in a broad circle, bordered by a large dark tree trunk on one end and a small boulder on the other. Satisfied, Solas walked on until he found another open patch a few paces away and laid out the next. He'd watched Dorian be sloppy and space the wards out much farther, and he'd seen Vivienne employ lightning traps that were imprecise enough that they might throw sparks that'd start a fire. Solas always used cold to prevent that and he _always_ layered his so close together that there was no way an interloper or bandit or wild animal could slip through without triggering it.

He worked in a steady circle around camp, far enough out that should the wards be triggered he and the rest of camp would have time to exit their tents and grab their gear before the ice released whatever menace it'd trapped. He was about three-quarters of the way through the enormous circle around camp when he became aware of another presence in the trees with him. It was subtle—a shadow that moved against the backdrop of his peripheral vision—but unmistakable.

Without stopping his current warding, Solas used his other fist to summon an orb of veilfire. With a flick of his fingers he sent it floating off into the darkest gathering of shadows behind him. The green light painted everything green: the tree trunks, dipping ferns, little stones, and saplings of the forest floor…and then the outline of a slender figure pressed tightly to a tree trunk.

Recognition made Solas' muscles relax right as the figure—Rosa—peeled herself from the tree. He felt a jolt of surprise as he saw she had shed most of her armor and now approached him in only her tunic and breeches with a slim coat in white halla skin. Still, even as he wrestled with the desire to reprimand her like a teacher to his forgetful pupil, he also noted the staff on her back and the small dagger sheathed at her waist. She might be unarmored, but she wasn't unarmed.

She was barefoot and slipped almost soundless through the underbrush. "I almost had you, flat-ear," she purred.

Solas let his eyes follow her curves admiringly. "Hardly. From that distance I could have easily killed you had you truly meant me harm." He kept his voice light. Let her believe he boasted just now—though she already knew better. She had seen him turn a Venatori rogue to stone after all.

"The stone spell?" she asked, smirking as she drew closer. "You promised you'd teach me that," she reminded with a pout.

Solas dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I did, yes. But I suspect you did not follow me to learn that spell. Mana burnout would be a most unpleasant cap to an otherwise lovely evening." Part of him inwardly railed against the rest of him as he registered the flirtatious tone of his words. _Fenedhis!_ He should have offered to try to teach her just to sway her from what was clearly an amorous mood. Instead he had dissuaded her from that toward what was already on her mind.

Because it was obviously on _his_ mind as well. His body already felt warm and tense with anticipation.

Her eyes looked feral in the greenish light from the veilfire he'd cast, which still hung about the underbrush. "What other things would you think were more suitable to cap this lovely evening?" Rosa asked, the teasing glimmer in her gaze making his heart pound. She was near enough now that she could touch him and did so, extending one slender arm out to grasp his bicep low near the elbow. "Anything…in particular?"

Solas hummed in the back of his throat, edging closer. "I am yours to command, Inquisitor."

Smiling slyly—though her lips quirked at his use of her title rather than her name—she eased up on her grip over his bicep and sidestepped around him without removing her hand. Her fingers trailed up his arm and to his shoulder, then circled round his shoulders. The palm went flat, pressing hard as if she wished to feel his every muscle and tendon. Solas tensed against it, shamelessly snapping muscles taut for her benefit.

"I've an idea," she said in a sultry whisper as her hand bumped against his staff tucked against his back and stopped. He felt the faint vibration as she gripped it. Then her breath puffed against the back of his neck as she said, "Fight me."

The order surprised him and Solas blinked and turned round. Rosa grinned at him, savage and amused. His look must have conveyed his hesitation and confusion as she scoffed and reached to her own staff, drawing it as she asked, "Are you afraid, flat-ear?"

She had tested herself against him in the Hasmal Circle more than once, Solas recalled. It had been play and flirtation, a dance of lovers who could easily slip into enmity. They _had_ done exactly that when Solas left her in the Free Marches. The thought of letting her test her mettle against him again, even in jest, only reminded Solas that eventually she would learn the truth about him. Eventually she would despise him as _harellan._

Solas was about to turn her down, feeling his mood plummet with despondence and self-loathing at the reminder of the secret lying between them, when Rosa thrust out her palm and launched a fireball at him. Her lithe, flexible body spun away from a retaliatory action Solas hadn't taken. Solas dove sideways to avoid the fireball, but it passed so close to his head he felt the heat of it flash hot on his skin.

Rosa spun her staff with a cry and lighting crackled. Solas tossed up a barrier in the fraction of a second before it hit. His barrier was easily strong enough to absorb the blow, but when it flickered slightly Rosa let out a laugh. With a burst of greenish spirit magic she unleashed a dispelling to knock away his barrier. Solas countered the complex spell with a wave of his hand, doing so instinctually and employing a secondary spell that turned Rosa's mana use back on her.

Rosa grunted as she tossed her own barrier up, but it crackled as Solas' secondary spell washed over it. She reinforced it and leapt away on feet light as a rogue's. Solas stilled his own instinct to use winter's grasp to freeze away her barrier entirely to finish her the way he would a real enemy.

"_Lenalin_ used to use that spell you did just now," Rosa told him with a shake of her head. "I _hated_ it."

"Oh?" Solas asked coyly and, drawing mana for a spell he knew hadn't survived the fall of Elvhenan, he prepared a more powerful magic countering. The one he'd just used with Rosa was already esoteric, but this one was downright archaic and rare even in Solas' youth.

The spell smashed into Rosa's barrier and broke it. She gasped, grimacing, and for an instant she hesitated. Solas darted in with a short Fade-step, wrapping his free arm about her waist and tugging her to him. Rosa dropped her staff, tensing for a second before she laughed. Tilting her head up, she grinned. "This is the part where, if we were really fighting, I'd run you through with my trusty dagger." She clucked her tongue playfully. "You don't get this close to your enemy, flat-ear."

A small voice in the back of his head cringed at those words, terrified that they would one day carry the weight of prophecy if she did not side with him and his cause…if she could not forgive him his many mistakes. But he quashed those thoughts as he chuckled. "A thousand pardons for my ignorance, Inquisitor." He smiled. "But, I believe I have won this match."

"Are you sure about that?" Rosa asked, her voice dropping to a sultry tone. Her lips brushed teasingly at his chin, soft and warm and tantalizingly close.

"Yes," Solas told her, letting his eyelids flutter as a shiver of excitement zinged up and down his spine.

Rosa shifted slightly, letting his arm around her waist hold more of her weight as she lifted one leg and hooked it about his hip. The press of her hips to his in this more intimate way made Solas' body flush with heat and his heart race—as did the seductive way her violet eyes smoldered in the low light beneath the canopy. Her lips quirked as she nipped at his chin. "Maybe I just lured you into my trap instead."

"Perhaps," he conceded, struggling to keep himself from shuddering with the force of the want growing within. This was why lying with her once had been so disastrous. Now that he had tasted of the very thing he had tried to restrain himself from he knew how delicious it would be to indulge again. And again. And again. Concerns about privacy might have held him back had they been with the larger group, but here…

"Do you remember," she whispered, lips moving over his skin as she trailed them along his jawline toward his ear. "Walking across the Free Marches?"

Solas turned his head to give her better access, swallowing a moan. "Yes," he breathed and did shudder now. They had traveled the distance at a leisurely pace, stopping early in the evenings to make camp and make love. They had been no strangers to using the grass as their pillows and wearing one another as blankets. Solas may not have been Dalish but his roots wandering in Elvhenan's wilds had never truly left him. It was a sensual few days that had haunted and tormented him for months whenever he had an idle or weak moment of remembrance.

"Mmm," she purred, curling her body into his with a long exhale. "How about an encore, flat-ear?"

_Fenedhis,_ he thought and then lost whatever shred of control he'd tried to cling to as her tongue swept over his earlobe. Solas turned his head and captured her lips in a fierce kiss, already breathing too fast. The sound of her breath matching his only heightened the coiling ball of desire inside. Wrapping his other arm around her waist, Solas walked with her in an awkward shuffle backward, struggling to keep from breaking the kiss. They bumped into a nearby tree trunk and Rosa chuckled with pleasure. She broke the kiss to ask, "Taking control, flat-ear?"

Summoning magic into his right fist, Solas laid his palm against her sex through her breeches and could not restrain his grin of satisfaction as her violet eyes sprang open wide. Her mouth fell open and her head thumped backward against the tree. A low moan was already building in her throat. Solas could almost see it in the way the bob in her throat shifted.

"Yes," he answered her huskily, enjoying the way her features twisted with rising pleasure. Yet, he could not stop himself from hearing the cynical, dark voice of his conscience reminding him that he was actually very much _not_ taking control. As much as she wanted this now, later she might scorn him…_would_ scorn him. This would be a mistake, just as their reckless lovemaking as they crossed the Free Marches had been a mistake, leading to ruin in the accidental conception of a doomed child.

And yet as he saw her pupils blown wide and the plump red pout of her lips, felt her body straining against his, he knew he would never regret it—only lament that it could not endure.

But he did not have the willpower to stop or to care as his hands found naked skin beneath her tunic. His fingers tugged down her breeches and Rosa made short work of the laces securing his own over his hips. And as he entered her Solas could think of nothing but the give and take of pleasure. The Dread Wolf and Elvhenan and Thedas be damned.

* * *

The moon was high and brilliant overhead as Tal blearily took his watch. The horses were silent except for their deep breathing in sleep. The wind rustled softly through the trees that grew here and there about the boulder-strewn glen. The scent on the wind was entirely too familiar, reminding Tal of his childhood with clan Ghilath. He could smell rashvine flowers somewhere, and embrium.

After a week of travel they were in the Dales proper now. He didn't need Cassandra's map to tell him, he simply knew it in his blood. This land was where he had been conceived, where he had fought and loved and hunted and learned for the first eighteen years of his life. He knew them the way he knew the shape of his own teeth against his tongue or the trail of scars over his wrists from where his Keeper had rapped him repeatedly for imagined slights. In a way, the Dales would always be his home. Something in it called to him even though he'd willingly left it behind. Rosa probably felt the same way about the Brecilian forest, where she'd been born, too. That was the way of the Dalish. They had no official home, but they molded themselves to the land. Every land.

The forests had begun to give way to open grasslands and the rocks had gone tawny and jagged, flecked here and there by lichen. Some of Tal's earliest memories were of helping his mother find the orange lichen and scraping it from the rock to collect and grind for pigment. He wondered where his mother was right now. Did she warm Ghilath's bastard Keeper's furs at night now? If she did Tal suspected it wouldn't truly make her happy. The thought made him sigh unhappily and reach for the bottle of wine sitting next to him.

As he popped out the cork and pressed the mouth to his lips, Tal sensed a familiar presence behind him. Lowering the wine, he twisted and peered over his shoulder to see Cole standing in his odd patchwork armor behind him, fidgeting. _"Aneth ara,"_ Tal said and lifted the wine in salute. "Welcome to my party of one, Cole."

"Thank you?" Cole asked, as if unsure that was the right response.

"Have a seat," Tal said and patted the boulder off to his right. "No sense lurking over me while you try and do that thing you do. The helping thing."

Cole was silent a moment and then nodded. "I do like helping." He strode forward, booted feet barely scratching at the rock and grit beneath. He sat without a grunt of effort or any pop of his joints and rested his elbows on his knees.

Together they stared out at the campsite below them in the shelter of the boulders. The milky moonlight illuminated petroglyphs that'd been painted by elves at some point in the distant past. The image was of a white halla, rearing and majestic, outlined in green.

"She reminds you of her," Cole murmured quietly. "Soft and full of light. She only has kind words, even when she should be harder."

Tal grunted and took another long swig from his wine. When he'd swallowed he let out a satisfied sigh and smacked his lips. Then, finally, he simply agreed with Cole. "Yep."

The spirit boy dipped his head, hands and fingers flicking in a way that was both idle and distressed simultaneously. Tal knew the boy was about to speak again and waited for him politely. Cole's readings were often interesting even if they made next to no sense. Though the last one, just now, had been obvious enough to Tal.

Then Cole said, "He wouldn't want you to walk the demon's path."

Tal grimaced. "Yeah," he agreed. "But then he went and got himself killed. Murdered, or so I hear. He should have thought about telling me more about my _path_ while he was still alive." He slurped off the wine again, enjoying the sloshing liquid sound in the glass. He'd purchased several bottles from the last sizable town Rosa had allowed them to pass through. Soon they'd be deliberately away from all major civilization, trying to meet up with other Dalish heading for the Arlathvhen.

"He doesn't make the path," Cole murmured with a quiet insistence. "He doesn't tell you to walk it. _You_ do."

Tal rolled his eyes. "Yep. And I chose to walk the one that doesn't get people I love killed simply for knowing me." The Formless One would kill or drive Nola insane if he didn't at least go through with some of what the demon suggested.

Cole turned his head, staring at Tal blankly. "You want to walk it." There was no accusation in the spirit's voice, more like confusion.

Tal sighed. Sometimes Cole was annoying with how…_clever_ he was. "Yeah," he said, grunting. "I do."

Cole faced forward again, staring down at the tents below them. "You should tell her."

Tal frowned, trying to decide whether Cole meant Nola or Rosa or some other _her._ He dismissed the thought and just shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. I will when I'm ready."

They lapsed into silence for several minutes and then, below, a quiet rustle of tent canvas reached both young men's ears. Tal narrowed his eyes and squirmed in his spot on the boulder as he saw Rosa emerge from her tent and move on feather-light feet through the long grasses and around the still faintly smoking hearth of their campfire. Against the faint orange light from the coals Tal's sister was wraithlike and ethereal. Had the two of them not been born mages they would have certainly been rogues.

Tal already knew where Rosa was headed and wiped the frown from his face in case she happened to glance up at his sentry position. She did find him, but only paused a moment to nod in acknowledgement and then slunk swiftly for Solas' tent. Tal lifted his wine bottle at her in his own version of acknowledgement but she had already slipped inside and out of sight. Once she was gone, Tal blew out a breath and snorted.

"I don't understand," Cole said from beside him. "Rosa didn't go hunting with Solas for pork. Cassandra wouldn't let her. She's afraid she'll lose her Herald. She thinks she failed to protect the Divine, but she's wrong. Nothing she could have done would have changed what happened."

Tal smirked to himself. He'd been occasionally trying to explain less than innocent topics to Cole but more often than not it was better just to let them be. Or…

"Hey," he said, grinning with a new idea. "Tomorrow morning when you see her or Solas you should give them a new greeting." He nudged Cole with his elbow. "You know, like one of the phrases Varric's taught you."

"Words that don't mean what the words say," Cole said, staring at Tal with innocent, unblinking blue eyes. "Break a leg means wishing for good luck?"

"Yeah," Tal said, nodding emphatically. "Like that." Edging a bit closer to Cole, he dropped his voice as he said, "So when you want to ask someone if they had a good night's sleep—"

"I don't sleep," Cole interjected, sounding worried.

"That's fine," Tal reassured him, smiling as he tried to swallow back the laughter bubbling in his throat. "They do so they'll like that you're asking. It'll be helping them." Gesturing at the tent Rosa had disappeared into—Solas', where she visited just about _every_ night now—he went on. "So anyway, when you see them in the morning you greet them by asking them how they liked porking last night."

Cole stared at him, silent and uncomprehending.

Tal tried to keep himself from snickering as he launched into an impromptu _warped_ social lesson. "Okay, so, pretend I'm Solas and I just got up and out of my tent. Say the greeting to me." He gestured with his free hand. "Go on."

A little flicker of trepidation crossed Cole's face but he tried anyway. "Good morning, Solas. Did you like pork last night?"

Tal clapped a hand over his mouth for an instant to keep from guffawing. At Cole's concerned expression he recomposed himself and hurriedly went on. "That's pretty good, Cole. You're good at this! You _almost_ got it the first try. But you got to be more exact than that. You should say: _did you like porking last night?_ Or: _how did you like porking last night?"_

"How did you like porking last night?" Cole tried again, parroting.

"Yes," Tal said, nodding and setting his wine bottle down to give a little clap of his hands. "That's perfect! You got it right!"

Cole smiled with childlike innocence and approval. "Can you teach me more like that?"

Tal grinned fiendishly. "Absolutely. In fact, I have another one you can use to greet Solas and my sister tomorrow morning." He cleared his throat. "Repeat after me: _Did you do it like bunnies?"_

"Bunnies!" Cole exclaimed, eyes brightening. "I like rabbits."

"Yeah," Tal agreed with a laugh. "Me too. Especially with garlic." He smacked his lips. "Delicious."

Cole's expression fell. "No. Not like that."

"I'm Dalish, Cole," Tal said and winked at him. "And we gotta eat. Even bunnies."

Cole's eyes glazed slightly. "It hurts less if you're laughing," he murmured. "It weighs less if it's funny. It flows off like water and doesn't stain. Except it _does._ You just don't see it as much."

Tal paused, the wine almost touching his lips. He frowned over the bottle and shivered. "Okay," he grumbled. "That one was a little too close to home." He sniffed. "Sorry about being a smartass with the bunny comment. Are we good?"

Cole blinked and seemed to shake off the mild trance. "Yes."

"Good," Tal said with a nod and sipped noisily from his bottle again. "Glad we understand each other." He patted Cole's knee. "Glad we had this chat."

"Me too…?" Cole said, phrasing it as a question as though he wasn't sure.

Tal chuckled. "Ah, you crack me up. You're way funner than Rogathe ever was." He shook his head, frowning at his own comment. He'd never known the spirit of bravery very well and so did not mourn its death the way Rosa did.

"Thank you…?" Colas said, again using it as a question. He probably was reacting to the mixed emotions inside Tal.

"You're welcome," Tal said, chuckling again. "You are welcome." He drank once more, wrinkling his nose at the burn as it rolled down his throat and spread outward in his stomach. "But," he said, clearing his throat and motioning out at the tents below. "Can you do me a favor and not let slip to Solas or Rosa about the demon's path stuff? I don't want to alarm them."

Cole's lips twitched slightly, as though he wanted to smile but couldn't. "Yes." He paused a second and then lowered his head, hiding his face beneath the brim of his hat. "You should tell them. They care about you. The demon doesn't."

Tal snorted, shaking the wine bottle to listen to the sweet sound of the liquid sloshing. After a second to consider his words, he said, "If Solas _cares _about me, Cole, why did he lie? Why did he break Rosa's heart? What is he hiding?"

"Pain," Cole replied immediately, and the spirit boy's voice was warped with his own anguish. "An old pain from before, when everything sang the same."

That was an interesting answer. For a moment Tal felt a heavy weight settling in his chest as he wondered how hard it must be for Cole, a spirit of compassion, to sympathize with _everyone._ Did he feel their enemies' last fears and regrets as he plunged knives into their throats? Did he feel the weight of their souls on his…well, his spirit?

"Yes," Cole whispered.

Tal shuddered and looked away. "Fuck. This conversation has gotten entirely too serious for my liking." Tal took a long swig of the wine and then shoved the bottle at Cole. "Here. You need this more than me. Seriously."

Cole stared at the proffered wine bottle with a dubious, hesitant expression. Slowly he lifted one palm to try and refuse it. "Varric says—"

"Do you see Varric here right now?" Tal interrupted. "Nope. This is between you and me, buddy. You deserve this drink more than me. For being so honest and good all the time. I mean you sit there and listen to me and keep everyone's secrets and care about all of them. People like you don't exist." He broke off, laughing. "I guess that's because you're not completely a person, eh? But still—you should drink."

Cole tentatively accepted the wine bottle. He tipped it this way and that, feeling over it with his clever, deadly assassin's hands. Then, eventually, he lifted the bottle's mouth to his lips. He drank quickly and then lowered it again, swallowing noisily. With a childlike smack of his lips, he smiled. "It's sweet."

"Yep," Tal agreed, smiling. "Have another taste."

Cole did as he was bidden, sipping a bit longer this time as he clearly enjoyed the taste. When he lowered it again he stared at the bottle and whispered, "They didn't know what they would become when they plucked them from the vine. You can't taste the villager's feet."

Tal snorted. "Don't try to talk to the wine, Cole. Just drink it."

"They miss the seeds," Cole said. "But they fulfilled their purpose."

"Then it was a happy ending," Tal said with a sage nod. "Right?"

"Yes," Cole agreed and drank again.

_Pain,_ Cole had said of Solas. He was hiding pain. Humming in the back of his throat, Tal asked, "Cole, what was my father hiding?"

The spirit shuddered. "I…didn't know him. I'm…sorry."

Tal nodded, grunting with interest. "You have to know someone to read them."

"Yes. I never met the Slow Arrow." He eyed the wine bottle still clutched in one hand, as if sorely tempted to drink from it again.

"Well," Tal muttered, glaring down at the scratchy, lichen-encrusted boulder they were sitting on. "That's partly why I'm going to get the Crown and the mirror. Because I want to know."

"Yes," Cole agreed. "You should know. He should tell you. He should tell you both."

"Damn right," Tal said with a stiff nod. "And he will, when I summon him."

"No," Cole said, his voice sad. "Not that way."

"Then what way?" Tal shot back, glaring. "He's dead. There _is_ no other way."

Cole didn't reply, merely stared down at the wine bottle in his pale hands. The milky moonlight glinted from it and made Tal remember the gleam of water from the river clan Manaria camped around. His stomach tightened with regret and shame.

"She would take you back," Cole whispered.

Tal shook his head. "I can't go back. Not now. I'm too much like _babae."_

"The Slow Arrow flies where it is aimed," Cole told him in a tone of voice that suggested he was disagreeing with Tal somehow.

Not interested in puzzling out Cole's meaning, Tal just nodded. "Yep." His thoughts had already turned to Nola and clan Manaria again, hoping they were safe. Assuming Solas had been telling the truth about crafting the dream in the Fade using their actual sleeping minds, Tal could be reasonably certain they were alive as of about a week and a half ago. But a lot could happen in that timeframe, especially if Nola was traveling.

"You'll see her soon," Cole promised.

Now Tal arched a brow. "Really?" he chuckled and then broke off to groan. "I think I need that bottle back." He extended his hand out, wiggling his fingers. Cole handed it over and Tal immediately brought it to his lips to finish it. When he finished he carelessly let it fall to the boulder and it rolled with a loud clatter and fell into the depression below them. The sharp shattering sound of glass made Cole cringe as Tal smirked. Someone groaned from a tent—Iron Bull, it sounded like. Perhaps the shattering glass had been too much like one of the Fog Warriors' smoke bombs from Seheron.

"Oops," Tal muttered.

"You're not sorry," Cole observed, again with no accusation in his tone.

"Nope," Tal said and reclined backward on the boulder, though it was uncomfortable and put his spine in a funny contortion. "It'll be Bull's turn next anyway." Besides, if the whole camp came awake then maybe there'd be some hilarity and awkwardness as Cassandra or Blackwall or Sera approached Rosa's tent and found it empty. Tal knew the couple would be shrouded in the sound-dampening spell inside Solas' tent. They never would have heard the bottle shatter, just as the rest of camp wouldn't hear their moans, screams, and sighs.

"They remember when they were part of the ground," Cole murmured in his breathy way, eyes glazed. "They remember when they were green, growing things."

With no idea what Cole was babbling about now, Tal simply nodded. "Yep."

Then Cole added another cryptic comment: "The sword was never the godkiller. _She_ was."

Tal snorted. "Sure, whatever you say."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Keeper Sahren," Rosa addressed the older man. "I'm not sure if you recall meeting me, but—"

"I remember you," he spat, sneering. "You have that Dread Wolf loving son of a bitch's same eyes." Solas couldn't stop himself from flinching at the curse and the use of his Evanuris name. "You're his daughter and you took this little sniveling bastard away." He stabbed a finger at Tal. "Well, just because you're sick of him doesn't mean you can return his useless backsides to me. Clan Ghilath has no use for the likes of him."

* * *


	35. The Arlathvhen (Part One): Ghilath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa leads her little band of elven misfits into the Arlathvhen, where they meet Tal's clan--including his mother and his childhood Keeper. They find some bad blood all around. Additionally, Solas begins to fear Rosa has grander plans for this visit than he'd like.

"Are you certain of this, Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked for the thousandth time as she stood back and watched Rosa unload the contents of her saddlebags into her travel pack.

The Seeker was wringing her hands. Her armor was brilliant in the morning sunshine, glimmering and clean—but ill fitted. They had had to scrounge up the griffon breastplate and the other elements of Warden armor last minute from a handful of Wardens who'd not gone on to Weisshaupt but instead planned to go to Skyhold and then to Ferelden to recruit. It was safer for Cassandra, Blackwall, and Iron Bull if they appeared to be anything but Orlesian or Chantry-affiliated. There were hundreds of elves scattered through the hills, plains, and forests just now and they'd be intolerant of _shemlen_ interlopers as it was, but Orlesians and Chantry folk would be foremost among their enemies. Wardens might be ignored or even respected. The Dalish Rosa had known revered them as fellow outcasts with a purpose almost as important as their own.

"As certain as I can be," Rosa replied, trying to smile reassuringly.

"But surely it would be safest for us to accompany you. You _are_ the Herald. They may attack you because—"

"Cassandra," Rosa interrupted, looking up from her travel pack and saddlebags again with a frown. "When you look at me, what do you see exactly?"

"Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked, brow furrowing. The campsite around her was a bustle with the other elven members of their group packing for departure. Sera sat beside the fire poking at her arrows to check their sharpness before loading each into her quiver. Tal was strapping on his Keeper armor, an ensemble Rosa hadn't seen him wear since last fall just before they'd joined the Tal-Vashoth mercenaries at the Conclave. Solas hadn't yet emerged from his tent—probably dressing as well.

"What do you see when you look at me?" Rosa repeated, slower and more patient this time.

"I…" Cassandra fidgeted and then her hands slapped back to her sides and she squared her shoulders. "I see the Herald of Andraste. Our Inquisitor. Our leader sent by the Maker Himself to—"

Rosa lifted a hand to stop the Seeker's impassioned—yet also slightly defensive—response. "That's fine, but people are only going to see that if I come riding in on horseback with the Right Hand of the Divine at my side and an Inquisition banner flapping in the breeze." Rolling up her pack, Rosa grunted as she hefted it up and slung it over her shoulders. Facing Cassandra as she wriggled to get comfortable, she said, "If I march up to the Arlathvhen as a representative of the Inquisition, which will just be another side of the Chantry as far as my people are concerned, they _will_ be hostile. But if I walk in to the gathering like what I _am…"_

Cassandra's lips pinched down tight and her jaw clenched. "You believe they will not recognize you."

"They'll recognize me," Rosa said with a laugh as she gestured to her face. "They'll know I'm Dalish. They'll know me as _me:_ Rosa, First to clan Lavellan and formerly of clan Naseral." She smiled and swallowed the sudden onrush of emotion in her throat. "My own mother will probably be in this gathering."

"I see," Cassandra said, though her tone was stiff. She had repeatedly protested the idea of Rosa marching into the Arlathvhen virtually unprotected. _Unprotected_ in Cassandra's vocabulary meant without Inquisition backup.

"Look, Cassandra," Rosa told her with a deep breath. "I am in less danger here than you, Blackwall, and Iron Bull are. We should only be gone a day or two—just long enough to touch base with our clans and enjoy the festivities. If we have any trouble or if we're delayed I'll send Sera or Solas back to you."

Cassandra let out one of her little huffs, both frustration and defeat. "Very well, Inquisitor. We will await your return here."

Rosa nodded to the Seeker in understanding and then sidled around her to reach the campfire to hurry Sera along. "How's it coming?"

"Bugger off, codger," Sera growled, snarling down at the arrows.

"Alright then," Rosa said with a laugh.

With a rustle of tent canvas, Solas emerged into the brisk morning air, drawing Rosa's attention at once. He wore his usual armor, which was quiet and understated. She knew from touching it often—especially over the last week—that it was reinforced with thick fabric and metal, though it appeared to be little more than travel wear on the outside. He wore a cowl now in the same tannish color as his underlying tunic—a recent habit borne from the fact that Rosa had a tendency to bite his neck and jawline at the height of passion. The sight of that cowl now made her flush with heat and smirk knowingly.

"Ready to head out, flat-ear?" she called to him playfully.

Solas turned and looked at her, smiling. "Yes, Inquisitor." He did appear ready with his travel pack already on his back and his foot wraps secured up to his knee where they then meshed with his breeches. His staff, humble and carved from wood, lay strapped across his back within easy access.

From where he stood beside Tal, Cole suddenly stepped closer to Solas, wearing a cheerful smile as he said, "Hello, Solas. Did you do it like bunnies?"

Solas' mouth fell open with shock and Tal suddenly burst into laughter, doubling over and stumbling away. Sera lifted her head and laughed next. "What? What did it say? Did it say what I think it said?"

Rosa felt her cheeks burning and Solas seemed too shocked for words. Cole, meanwhile, appeared confused and then distressed as the others continued to react. Cassandra was glowering her disapproval and Iron Bull, sitting near Sera at the hearth, had also begun to laugh uproariously. Blackwall was carrying firewood in from the nearby copse of trees and so hadn't overheard it but he looked confused as he marched his latest load toward the fire.

"What? What is it?" Cole asked, lost as he gazed from one person to another. Then he blinked and shook his head. "Oh. I said it wrong, didn't I?" He brightened and faced Solas anew for another try. "Did you do it like pork?"

Tal fell onto his knees, holding his belly and laughing. Blackwall guffawed as well, though it was also half a grunt as he dropped his load of firewood. "Maker," the Warden said. "What is he on about?"

"Excuse me?" Solas finally managed, trying to talk to Cole. His features were twisted with revulsion.

"Wait," Cole said, fingers twining together in a nervous gesture. "That was wrong too. Let me try again. Did you like the pork last night?"

"Oi," Sera said with a snort and then covered her mouth with one hand, giggling behind it. "Someone sure likes pork, yeah?" she asked in an aside to Iron Bull.

"Hmmm," he agreed, licking his lips. "Who doesn't?"

"We did _not_ eat pork last night," Cassandra cut in with a short-tempered tone. "And this…_discussion_ is wasting valuable time." She shot Rosa a look, clearly hoping she would intervene—but it was just so delicious to see the way Solas stood there, staring at Cole red-faced and horrified.

Still…

One look at Tal's reaction—on his hands and knees, gripping his stomach and laughing uncontrollably to the point of tears—told Rosa all she needed to puzzle out this situation. Sighing, she got to her feet and charged past the befuddled Cole and humiliated Solas to confront her brother.

"Tal," she said, swallowing hard to keep herself from giggling too. "You set this up, didn't you?"

Tal twisted his neck to look up at her. Tears had streamed down his cheeks. He blinked to clear them and then shot upright. Clearing his throat and trying to sober up, he grinned goofily and said, "I don't know what you're talking about _asamalin._ Just seems to me Cole has porking on the brain."

"Uh huh," Rosa said, smirking at him. "You think I forgot this is just the sort of thing _lenalin_ would have pulled with you and your Keeper?"

Tal flinched back, laying a hand over his chest as though her words had wounded him. "You think _I_ would prank Cole?"

Blackwall laughed. "I think she's got you there, boy."

"Jig's up, Tal," Iron Bull added, grinning as he observed the scene unfold from a reclining position, as if watching theater.

"I had nothing to do with this," Tal protested, shrugging.

"You told me it was a greeting," Cole said, sounding wounded.

Tal sighed at Cole's comment and grimaced. "Okay, yeah. I'm sorry, Cole. I lied."

"Why?" Cole asked, brow furrowed with bafflement.

"Because it's funny," Tal said gesturing at Blackwall, Sera, and Iron Bull, who were still grinning. "It's helping. No one's sad right now."

"Yes…" Cole agreed hesitantly, brightening somewhat.

"You played a trick on him," Solas reprimanded. "One unbecoming of him and of yourself."

Tal scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Sylaise's milky tits, Solas. It was _funny._"

"Don't do it again," Rosa chastened him with a wag of her pointer finger. "Got it?"

"Got it, your worshipfulness," Tal said, scowling unhappily at her.

"Good," Rosa said, shoulders sinking slightly as she tried to put this mess behind her. Turning round to the others she asked, "Are we ready to head out then?"

* * *

It was midday before they saw the first encampment of Dalish elves at the edge of a large forested section of the countryside. Warriors and hunters who'd accompanied their Keepers and Firsts to the gathering had stationed themselves outside of the more sheltered forest as sentries against _shemlen_ interlopers and greeters for incoming clan leaders.

Hunters riding halla charged out to meet them as they walked down a rolling, grassy hill, yipping and calling in a mixture of Antivan and elven. It was mostly _Antivan_, really, to Solas' ears. The elven words were butchered and so sloppy they made him cringe to hear. He had not realized until several months after waking that aside from Rosa and Tal most elves knew only a handful of words from their mother tongue. Rosa and Tal were as good as _Elvhen_ comparatively. They even had accents that hinted at Arlathan's court. Clearly that had been Felassan's doing, inadvertently of course.

Solas tensed as the hunters encircled them, lifting spears and aiming their bows at them. Sera had grabbed out her own bow the moment the riders came at them and now had an arrow nocked. She curled her lips and snarled like a dog, glaring in every which way. Rosa and Tal didn't react to the show of force and Solas followed their cue, though his mana bubbled with his anxiety. He grabbed enough of it for a mindblast that would be powerful enough to knock all of these riders off their halla but didn't unleash it.

"Who comes?" a large man in Dalish warrior armor demanded. The ironbark in his breastplate gleamed green-blue in the afternoon sunlight. "What clan do you hail from?"

"_Aneth ara, lethallin,"_ Rosa answered in a high, proud voice. She matched his authority with her own, uncowed by the fact that he and his warriors had both weapons drawn and halla on their side. "I am Rosa, daughter of clan Naseral's Keeper and First to clan Lavellan." She motioned to Tal. "This is my brother, Tal."

The leader grunted and lifted his spear into a nonthreatening position. The rest of his warriors followed suit. "You have come for the gathering?" he asked.

"Of course," Rosa said and then, with some irritation, she went on. "Is this how you greet every First who returns for the Arlathvhen? What clan are you? What is your name?"

The man scoffed. "I challenge all who may pose a threat to the Keepers—and all who may not belong. It is easy enough that outsiders may paint their faces to pass as one of us. Whole clans die when we are not vigilant. If you are one of us, you would know this."

"Oi," Sera muttered. "Is arseface here saying he don't trust us cause me and droopy ears aren't marked?"

"Yep," Tal answered her over his shoulder. "That's exactly what he's saying in his roundabout way. He doesn't think we're _actually_ Dalish because we're trying to bring you two here."

"Hush," Rosa scolded them and waved a hand irritably at both Sera and Tal. Turning to the leader of the halla-riders, she plastered a polite but icy smile over her lips. Solas couldn't stop a frisson of admiration from rushing through him at the sight of her standing her ground. He had seen her face far worse, of course, but pompous Dalish who would turn away elves simply for being barefaced were a personal pet peeve of his own.

"I will vouch for both of our non-Dalish companions," she said, jutting out her chin with pride. "There is worth outside the People and I would be fool not to see it. Sera is an accomplished archer. Solas is a powerful mage. They are not Dalish but they have every right to be here as part of the People."

The man snarled with disgust. "_We_ are the People."

Sera made a mock gagging sound beside Solas and he quickly shot her a warning glare, even though he agreed with her sentiment.

"Will you allow us to pass or not?" Rosa asked, glowering.

The man hesitated a second longer. Some of his warriors shot him questioning stares. Finally the man grunted. "You are a First. I know of clan Lavellan and clan Naseral. Let them decide what to do with you." He yanked his halla's reins and the beast pivoted around sprightly, springing away. The other warriors followed him, the halla hooves thundering over the grass, kicking up clods of dirt.

"Now what?" Sera growled.

"We follow them," Rosa said and bounced as she hiked her travel pack higher on her shoulders. "Come on."

They entered the trees, following the halla riders through the undergrowth along a hunting path laden with ferns. Solas spotted fiddleheads and edible mushrooms scattered about through the leaf litter that made his mouth water. The Dalish must have only just arrived here as the area was too well populated with edibles for any prolonged stay of the hunter-gatherers. Sera fidgeted beside him, shying away from the clawing reach of the tree branches they ducked around and under. She wore a perpetual snarl of disgust and once squealed when she passed through a spider web. The next time Solas saw a more substantial web in their path he deliberately went through it first, slashing it away with one arm idly.

One of the halla riders fell back to ride alongside them. Her halla snorted and stamped its hooves as it wove its way through the thick underbrush beside the trail. The woman riding it ducked under branches and avoided other obstacles posed by the trees and bushes, staying glued to her halla even as she watched Sera and Solas with narrowed brown eyes.

"What you staring at?" Sera asked, snarling.

"Flat-ears," the Dalish woman responded. Her accent was just as Antivan as the leader's. Although her expression was cold and mistrustful, her tone was oddly open and blank.

"Knife ear," Sera countered. "Elfy-elf."

Instead of replying in kind with an insult, the Dalish pointed to Sera's bow. "Nice longbow. Can you draw it or is it just for show?"

"Can make you eat an arrow afore you can call me flat ear again," Sera said, giggling meanly. "Wanna see?"

The Dalish woman produced a dagger from her belt in the blink of an eye. "I could put this in your eye before you nocked an arrow."

"D'you use that to pick your teeth?" Sera rejoined, grinning. "Or just to see the scribble tats on your face?"

"Both," the woman answered. "I could redecorate your face if you'd like and then let you see it in the blade."

"Yeah?" Sera asked, the note of challenge unmistakable.

The Dalish woman sat up on her halla and slashed at the nearest offending sapling, slicing a few branches clean off with what was clearly a very sharp dagger.

"That s'post to impress me?" Sera asked, cocking her head. She almost sounded as if the other elf _had_ impressed her.

"Enough," Solas ordered Sera. "We are not here to cause trouble."

The Dalish woman's eyes flicked to him now. Her expression had been strangely amused before looking at Sera, but with him her features hardened.

"A polite flat-ear," the woman said, snarling at Solas. "Now, by Mythal, I have seen everything."

"Hardly, _da'len,_" Solas quipped before he could stop himself.

The woman laughed mockingly and then kicked her halla's flanks, urging him ahead. She and the animal passed seamlessly into the thicker underbrush, becoming virtually invisible though Solas could still hear the halla's stamping hooves and its rustling passage through the foliage.

"Ugh," Sera groaned. "Andraste's tits. Why'd I sign up for this?'

"For once you and I are of like mind," Solas told her with a longsuffering sigh.

They trekked down a depression, threading their way along a ridge. The sound of water trickling in a small stream below tickled Solas' ears. The halla rider had vanished now, likely skirting the hill using another route. As the foliage thinned out, letting Solas see into the riverbed below, he glimpsed the white streaks of halla riders again. Then, scattered along the stream, he saw elven men and women wading through the water, stooping as they collected spindleweed. They lifted their hands in salute as the halla riders sprinted past, splashing and whooping.

Despite the bitterness he felt so keenly toward the Dalish for the way they remembered him, Solas couldn't deny the tightening in his chest and the swelling of his heart. The Dalish were normally reserved and silent, skittish like wild animals. They survived by presenting a moving target. They were elusive and vanished like Fade ether. A clan would not normally whoop or holler while out gathering. It would attract attention they could ill-afford. But here, in the Arlathvhen, the People gathered in such numbers they could be confident. They could raise their voices and let their guard down for a time.

And for that short time they resembled much more strongly their Elvhen ancestors, who had not cowered in the forests or lived in anyone's shadow. Solas' own village gatherers might have cheered halla riders passing by like this. It set something aching inside him with melancholy and nostalgia for his distant youth when he had been naive enough to imagine a simple life for himself tending the land like his mother and managing their section of the great library the way his father did.

"Ugh," Sera complained, bringing Solas back to the present. "Think I stepped in shite."

He almost laughed but swallowed it at the last moment. "How fortunate then that you have the great wisdom to wear shoes."

"What?" she asked, shooting him a disbelieving look. "You jealous? Can't wear shoes when you're an elfy-elf?"

Now he did chuckle. "Among other things." The tendency not to wear shoes came from Elvhenan, when touching the earth could draw mana straight from the ground. Straight from the Fade. When the ground sang with magic and ether made every breath heady and sweet like nectar. It had no value now save culture—and stealth for rogues.

Sera snorted and then laughed. "Knew that was nugshit. Barefoot. Bah!"

"Yes," he admitted. "It has its downsides."

They reached the stream and followed Rosa and Tal, who'd been walking ahead in silence. The four of them splashed through the water upstream of the gatherers. The men and women working to collect spindleweed lifted their heads and smiled, though their eyes darted to Solas and Sera with wariness.

Ahead Solas saw a small rise and a partial clearing. Aravels stood in it, sails raised and unfurled as though to catch the wind, though they only succeeded in reflecting sunlight. They looked green, highlighted by the foliage all around. The scent of wood smoke drifted through the still air beneath the canopy. A flute piped out in a jaunty tune from somewhere unseen. Solas half-expected to recognize the tune but couldn't. He frowned when he realized that disappointed him. Why was he expecting or _wanting_ to see similarities? These were _not_ his people. They would never _be_ his people.

The halla riders ploughed into the small clearing, weaving around hearth fires nimbly. Rosa and Tal followed and Solas and Sera stayed glued to their trail. They passed old women weaving halla fur on looms beside aravels, men tending pots full of boiling water, and crafters working wood and ironbark over small portable kilns they'd clearly brought with them.

The Arlathvhen was a time of commerce as well as a meeting of minds. All clans living within a few hundred miles would likely make the journey to trade. Those that were further out would only send delegations of the Keeper and possibly the clan's First, along with a few hunters. Although the leaders—the Firsts and Keepers—would meet in an exclusive conclave amongst themselves for the final two days, the others who'd come with them would be free to mingle and celebrate.

Just as Solas was beginning to wonder how many clans were present, he heard a sharp cry. Tensing, he turned and spotted a small woman in a tan shift with green breeches—an outfit not dissimilar to his own homespun clothing—rushing toward them. She had black hair and pallid skin that made the dark lines of her vallaslin stand out starkly. She had chosen Sylaise, the pattern that covered only one eye in a coiling, leafy design. She wore a stained apron over her chest and legs.

"Tal!" she shouted, arms thrown open wide.

Tal turned and laughed, ignoring the halla rider nearby glowering at him. _"Mamae!"_

Ah, Solas thought. As Tal and the woman embraced, all smiles and love, Solas could see the resemblance between them now. Tal had inherited his mother's dark curly hair and pale skin—though he came by that from Felassan as well. The woman also seemed to have Tal's dark eye color. It gave her—and Tal—a doe-eyed look.

"You know this rabble?" the halla rider called from astride his mount. The buck pawed at the ground and stamped, uneasy at the smell of cooking meat nearby and the commotion of so many in the glen.

"Of course she knows me," Tal snapped at the man. "She's my mother."

"I am," the woman replied, still beaming. She grabbed Tal by the cheeks, pinching him. "Look at you, little wolf! Look how handsome you are in that armor!" She slapped at his robes, grinning with pride. "It suits you!"

Tal was blushing now and squirming, trying to fend his mother off. "_Mamae," _he whined. "Please, don't—"

"And you!" the woman called, turning her attention to Rosa. "You brought him back to me! Thank you!" She strode over to Rosa, opening her arms for an embrace. Rosa smiled as she accepted it, squeezing the other woman tightly. When they parted the older woman gave a little gasp. "Mythal be praised, look at that. You have Felassan's eyes. How lovely." She sniffed, her smile turning sad. "How I miss him."

Solas restrained a grimace. It was true. Rosa did have Felassan's eyes.

"Me too," Rosa said, smiling still at Tal's mother. "But it's great to see you, Enasa."

"Yes, _da'lan,_ and a delight to see you as well. I have glimpsed your mother somewhere about with a few of her hunters and warriors." She turned and gazed around her, trying to find clan Naseral's Keeper, but to no avail. "She would not speak with me for more than a moment before some pressing matter took her away, but she told me you were well and that Tal was as well the last she'd spoken with you in the Dreaming."

"I'll find her," Rosa said with a nod. "It might take me some time, though."

"You can beat it," Tal said to the halla rider who had continued lingering nearby, as though he thought the entire meeting some kind of farce. Tal made a shooing motion at the other man. "Go catch some food for the Keepers or something, hunter."

The man scowled and shot a last snarl at Solas and Sera, then jerked on his halla's reins and kicked its flanks, spurring the buck to race back through the hearth fires. A few other halla riders followed in streaks of white from further out. They whooped and yipped as they went, proud and fierce and vocal. A few of the others gathered in the clearing thrust their fists in the air and hollered back. Others simply laughed.

Solas spotted the woman who'd taunted Sera on the path here staring through the crowded glen, still astride her halla. She smirked as she met Solas' eye and turned away, also spurring her halla out of the glen. Solas realized Sera had been glaring at the other woman, having some kind of moment. It seemed that, despite the fact that Sera hated "elfy-elves" on principle, there was an instant sexual attraction between them that couldn't be denied.

In that regard some things never changed.

"Come along with me," Enasa said, snagging Tal's hand and pulling him off to the left of the clearing, toward an aravel there that must have belonged to her. Solas suspected the entirety of clan Ghilath would have come to this gathering as it was meeting so close by.

"_Mamae,"_ Tal whined. "We have things we need to do and—"

"And you simply must eat first. I am hearth keeper, Tal. If there's one thing I simply must do while I still draw breath it is feeding my only child."

Tal laughed and, still being dragged by his mother by one hand, turned and called to Rosa, Solas, and Sera. "You guys want some food? She won't take no for an answer."

"Ugh," Sera groaned. "It'll probably taste like shite. Shite elfy-elf food."

Rosa shot Sera a venomous glare, but to Tal she said, "Absolutely. We would _all_ love to eat."

"Oh, yeah," Sera said with mock sincerity. "Right. I'm sure it's great. Not shite or anything."

As it turned out, Tal's mother was an excellent cook—a fact that didn't surprise Solas in the least. As hearth keeper she was responsible for most of the clan's small everyday communal chores. The morning meal and the evening meal prep, mending and washing clothing and armor, crafting cookware that the clan crafter would then fire in his kiln.

When Enasa brought them to clan Ghilath's hearth she still had food boiling in a pot from the morning meal and quickly spooned up a porridge of wild grains flavored with cardamom. Solas covertly inspected his bowl and was pleased to see that Enasa was at least as talented as the crafters in his own village in Elvhenan had been. The bowl was smooth and well-fired, glazed and decorated in earthen colors. When held to the light he could see flecks of gold and crimson.

"Mm," Sera said from his side, eyes widening with surprise. "…'S that…cinnamon?"

"Cardamom," Enasa told her, smiling. Tal, sitting beside his mother, shot Sera a warning look that was unmistakable.

Sera must have missed it however, or simply didn't care. "Bless you," she said, giggling with a touch of mockery.

"Thank you, _da'len,"_ Enasa replied, all innocent smiles and warm, reddened cheeks as she prodded at the porridge on the fire. It apparently went right over her head that Sera had been making fun of her. The joke was actually on Sera, however, as everyone else present understood cardamom was a spice similar to cinnamon. Only Sera seemed ignorant of it to the point she could jokingly refer to the word as a sneeze.

Tal looked smug as he shoveled more porridge into his mouth. Solas ate slower, enjoying the subtle nuance of cardamom mingling in his mouth with the earthy taste of the grains. When he cracked down on a nut his eyes widened with appreciation. Almonds. Nutritious and rare even in Elvhenan…well, once the slave revolts began, anyway. It was labor intensive in its harvest in a way that would never be mitigated by magic because the nuts had to be stripped from the hull they developed inside. Magic was too sloppy for the task. Slaves' nimble fingers were the best solution. But for Enasa and the Dalish it would mean hours of work hulling the nuts to make them edible.

"A wonderful meal, _lethallan,"_ he praised her. "How did you acquire the almonds?"

Enasa blushed at his compliment, covering her lips with one hand in a coquettish way that immediately made Solas recall the ladies of court. Felassan would have responded to that at once, but Solas found it tiresome because it was usually disingenuous. However, in Enasa, he suspected it was entirely unforced. It was probably no wonder that Felassan had been so taken with her.

"The almonds grow wild to the southwest," she explained in a cheery voice. "We were staying there in the weeks before the gathering. Our hunters and I collected the ones that ripened fastest for ourselves and then Sahren and Shila used magic to ripen a few more faster so that we would have enough to trade here."

"Ah," Solas said. "_Uralas'falon."_ It was the Keeper's specific magic, a holdover from Elvhenan that was intensely practical in that it could speed plant growth and alter winds for sailing. It used nature itself and was almost never hostile. It was an all but forgotten school outside of the Dalish—and perhaps some more obscure Circles in Tevinter.

Enasa cocked her head, curious but clearly not understanding him. "I'm sorry," she said. "What did you say?"

"Never mind that, _mamae,"_ Tal interjected quickly. "Solas is a bit of an erudite on everything Elvhen—like _babae._ He's just showing off."

Solas frowned across the hearth at Tal but he swallowed the reprimand that had leapt to his lips out of politeness. Enasa smiled warmly at both her son and then Solas, nonplussed at the change. Rosa, meanwhile, took this as her moment to begin official introductions.

"I am so sorry, Enasa," she said as she set her bowl down on the grass in front of her. "Please forgive my manners. I didn't introduce our guests. Too hungry I guess and too distracted by such a wonderful meal."

Enasa was blushing again, covering her lips in the same way as before as she smiled with delight. "You have the same honeyed tongue as your _babae,_ darling." She clapped then and looked specifically across the fire to Solas and Sera. "So, who did you bring me from the alienages?"

Sera wrinkled her nose at that comment and glared. Solas said nothing, though he could feel his smile thin. This woman meant nothing by such an assumption, of course. Solas wondered if Felassan had ever revealed his true origins to Enasa or if he had somehow managed to keep it hidden and convinced Tal to do the same. Because Felassan had had false vallaslin tattooed to his face the subject might never have arisen.

Gesturing toward Solas first, Rosa said, "This is Solas. He's a Fade expert and…" She glanced away from him and toward Enasa with am expression that was almost awkward. For a moment Solas felt a spurt of dull horror tense his back muscles as he imagined Rosa would tell the hearth keeper that they were lovers or betrothed or…well, something. Instead she cleared her throat and said, "He's an old friend of _babae."_

"What?" Sera asked, trying to puzzle out what had just been revealed while Solas grimaced at Rosa's revelation and couldn't stop himself from shooting her a disapproving stare.

"You knew my Slow Arrow?" Enasa asked, eyes widening. "How…how did you meet him? Did he visit your alienage when you were a boy?"

Solas' hands had gone sweaty where they held his bowl. His stomach twisted. Enasa was about his visible age, perhaps forty. Felassan had looked younger than Solas slightly upon waking, but by the time Solas had last seen him the years awake in modern Thedas had taken a toll. He'd begun to look older with wrinkles and a more fragile appearance to his skin. Enasa would naturally think that Solas had been the younger of the two based on that. Unless, of course, this was her way of trying to find out if Solas had the same origins.

"No," Solas admitted, trying to keep his tone from being slow and stilted. "I met him in the wilds. We were both investigating ancient ruins."

"Ah," Enasa said, nodding with a knowing glint in her eye. "He was so fond of exploring the past. How wonderful to meet someone who shares his interests."

"Hello?" Sera cut in irritably. "Just who is this arsehole you're all talking about?"

Rosa turned her attention to the archer next but ignored her question. "Enasa, may I introduce Sera. She's gifted with a bow and a potty mouth."

Sera giggled at the description. "About sums it up, yeah?" She motioned with her hand holding the bowl. "And you're like everyone's mum? That it? All the cooking and cleaning and scrubbing and snotty brats and that shite?"

Enasa was smirking, amused at Sera's description. "That's about right, yes, _lethallan."_

"Bleck," Sera said, making a face. "None of that elfy rubbish, yeah?"

"Sera," Rosa cautioned. "Play nice."

Sera rolled her eyes and poked at the porridge with her wooden spoon. "Yes mummy dearest."

"Where is Liwen?" Tal asked his mother. "Isn't she your First now?"

"You will always be my _true _First, little wolf." Enasa smiled at him, sweet with affection. She tapped her son's cheek and Tal grimaced, trying to gently knock her hand away in the way of all sons who felt smothered by their mother's love. Solas himself would have reacted that way except that his mother had always been more aloof and distant than Enasa.

"Mom," Tal whined, scowling. "Knock it off. And enough with the little wolf thing."

"Little wolf?" Solas asked before he could stop himself.

"A nickname his _babae_ gave him," Enasa explained, still beaming with pride as she gazed at her son. Then her dark brown eyes sprang back to Solas. "You knew Felassan, so you must know of his fondness for the Dread Wolf."

Solas tried not to let his muscles go rigid and instead nod and smile the way he suspected everyone expected he should. This was a casual conversation about a topic that had _nothing_ to do with him. "Yes," he hedged.

"Well," Enasa went on. _"Ma'vhenan_ encouraged Talassan to be something of a trickster too." She shook her head and for the first time Solas glimpsed something a little more somber enter her stare. "So he called him little wolf."

Tal rolled his eyes. "Okay, _mamae,_ enough. You didn't answer me. Where's—"

"Enasa!" a male voice barked from somewhere behind Solas. He twisted round at the waist and saw a dozen or so elves approaching. Most wore scout mail or warrior armor, but two of them wore Keeper robes. The elder was male and had a tense, haughty bearing. His hair had gone gray at the temples. His skin was brown and lined from the sun, marred by Elgar'nan's vallaslin. Unlike Tal and Enasa he had bright blue eyes, but otherwise possessed the same dark curly hair. The younger woman behind him in female Keeper armor was pale and blonde, providing a sharp contrast with the Keeper.

"_Hahren,"_ Enasa called to him, smiling. "We have guests."

The Keeper didn't slow as he reached the hearth and Solas saw his face was a mask of tension and stormy rage. His cold blue eyes drilled straight into Tal. "What are _you_ doing here, bastard?"

"Visiting with my mother," Tal replied with an insincere smile, his tone sugar sweet. "Is that against your rules now, Sahren?"

"Enasa doesn't have time for your rubbish," the Keeper snapped. His glare transitioned to Enasa. "Has the evening meal been prepared? Have my robes and Shilas' been washed in preparation for the first meet?"

"It is barely midday," Enasa said quietly, seeming to wilt under his hostility. "The hunters have not yet returned with—"

"She does not have time for you and your riffraff," the Keeper spat, interrupting Tal's mother. He slashed one hand violently through the air, collectively dismissing everyone who wasn't part of his clan. "Be gone."

Solas was ready to obey, even as he felt his mana boiling over inside with quiet outrage at this man's rudeness. He'd known the Keeper would be an ass, but the man made no attempt to curtail his behavior even in front of guests. But before he could set his bowl aside and leave the hearth, Rosa stood up and motioned at him and everyone else to remain where they were.

"Keeper Sahren," Rosa addressed the older man. "I'm not sure if you recall meeting me, but—"

"I remember you," he spat, sneering. "You have that Dread Wolf loving son of a bitch's same eyes." Solas couldn't stop himself from flinching at the curse and the use of his Evanuris name. "You're his daughter and you took this little sniveling bastard away." He stabbed a finger at Tal. "Well, just because you're sick of him doesn't mean you can return his useless backsides to me. Clan Ghilath has no use for the likes of him."

Rosa glowered at him, still and silent for several long heartbeats, but Solas could see the faint tremor building to a crescendo under her skin. Finally she said, "I am Rosa, born of clan Naseral in the Brecilian. I was First to their Keeper, Halesta. I am now First to Keeper Deshanna of clan Lavellan of the Free Marches near Wycome." She drew in a deep breath and her voice took on a harder tone as she went on. "I am now recognized throughout Thedas as the Inquisitor. _Shemlen_ bow to me. I hold armies in the palm of my hand." She lifted her marked hand, clenched into a fist. "_This_ hand, marked by the power of the gods."

Solas tensed, but refused to show it even as panic fluttered inside him. He'd thought Rosa had come to the Arlathvhen for simple reunions and for Tal's personal quest, whatever it was—rekindling his relationship with Keeper Nola, perhaps. But now he wondered if a new idea had come to her mind and the cold dread that opened inside him made his stomach acids curdle with nausea. Had she brought him here in the hope that she could get him to confront the Keepers, reveal himself as Elvhen? Did she hope to rally the People around both herself as a new hero and himself as the old?

The porridge seemed to claw its way back up his throat. Sheer willpower alone was all that kept it down.

"I close rifts," Rosa went on, cold and somber. "I sealed the breach and defeated an army of demons led by a Tevinter Magister who seeks godhood." Keeper Sahren stared at her, spluttering a moment, and then snapped his mouth shut again as Rosa continued. "I have walked physically in the Fade. _Twice. _I survived an explosion that killed thousands at the Temple of Sacred Ashes."

She broke off, shaking her head. "Does any of this sound familiar to you, Keeper? Or does the outside world and all of reality trouble you so little that you are content to spit in the faces of those you should be calling kin with little regard to who they are connected to?"

"Are you threatening my clan?" the Keeper snarled.

"No," Rosa said with a dismissive wave of her left hand. "I'm merely suggesting that perhaps you should _think_ before you let personal grudges and old _petty_ vendettas stand in the way of new understanding and alliances. The last time the _shemlen_ elevated one of our people to such heights was during the uprising in Tevinter with Shartan. I'd hate to find myself feeling hostile to one of my own people because I cannot stomach the way he treated my younger brother out of derision for our father."

"Your father was a heretic," Sahren snarled. "He will always be a heretic—though I have not seen him in some time. Enasa thinks he has finally gotten himself killed. Gutted on some pompous Chevalier's spear, no doubt." His smile was cruel and merciless.

"What of it?" Rosa retorted, cold and flippant at the suggestion, though Solas knew she was anything but at the topic. "Death finds us all now, does it not? I would rather he died a heretic in the eyes of heartless assholes like you than sitting idly by while Thedas tore itself asunder and the People were scattered and killed." She squared her shoulders. "Tal and I are fighting for our people, just as our father did."

"Then you are fools and you will soon join him in death," Sahren said, sneering. "Good riddance." His laughter was bitter and angry as he looked to Enasa. "They may stay for the day, but we do not share our aravels with the likes of heretics and bastards. Do you understand, Enasa?"

"Yes," she replied, eyes averted and hands worming together in her lap.

"Do you all understand?" the Keeper asked, spinning round to address the other elves of clan Ghilath assembled with him. They nodded, some making eye contact but most of them looking away. Solas saw shame and humiliation written on their faces. The Keeper's hatred had tipped him toward madness and they could see it easily enough.

Sahren whipped back to Rosa. "If I see you at the meeting of Keepers tonight, _Inquisitor,_ I will oppose you." He bared his teeth like a snarling dog. "You are not one of us. Neither of you." He spat at the hearth, making it sizzle briefly. Then he turned and stomped away from the hearth toward another aravel a few meters away. Over his shoulder he shouted, "Come, Shila!"

The other elves had begun to disperse, mostly avoiding looking at Rosa, Solas, Tal, Sera, or Enasa. Shila, the First, seemed to hesitate. Her eyes were on Rosa and then flicked to Tal and back again. Her jaw clenched and she dipped her head. _"Ir abelas,"_ she said quietly and then jogged after the Keeper.

"She has always liked you, little wolf," Enasa said in a voice that somehow managed to quaver with tears and joy at once.

"Not now, _mamae,"_ Tal muttered, staring angrily into the fire. He was red faced, as was Rosa.

"Fuck that twat," Sera said suddenly and giggled, though with an underlying venom. "Arsehole elfy-elf knife-ear has a stick up his arse so huge it's tall as the Frostbacks. Needs to eat a few arrows. Maybe the whole bunch."

"More sticks up his ass aren't going to help," Rosa said as she sat again by the fire. Reaching over, she laid a hand on Tal's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't let him get to you, _da'isamalin._ I'm sure Sera can sneak some bees into his aravel tonight."

"Fucking yeah," Sera agreed, grinning. "No, no—wait. _Wasps._ Better, yeah!"

"Better," Solas agreed, smiling darkly. Sera looked to him, surprised he had been the one to answer and giggled.

"See? Even droopy ears thinks he's a twat."

Tal suddenly sucked in a deep breath and asked, "Did you bond with him after I left, _mamae?"_

The group was silent and tense now. Only the crackle of the hearth fire interrupted it. Finally Enasa sighed and nodded. "It is better for the clan this way. I may still bear more children and we need a Second."

Tal scoffed with disgust. "You hate him. I know you do. How could you let this happen?" His eyes were too bright, wet with tears. He blinked furiously and slapped at Rosa's hand when she tried to reach for him to offer comfort. "How could you let him win, _mamae?_" he demanded.

Enasa shrank under his reprimand, as though trying to disappear. Seeing it made Solas feel ill. She was like one of Elvhenan's lowest servants, barely above enslavement. Browbeaten for decades, Solas could almost see the long drudgery of her life under the Keeper's fist spread out before him like a memory or a dream from the Fade. Enasa had clearly been a beauty—she still was, in fact. The Keeper and she must have grown up together, but his brutish behavior did not impress her and she had caved to his affections only because she had no other choice. And then, one day, Felassan had swept in like a blizzard and transformed her world. She had been smitten and leapt at the chance to give herself to someone who might be strong enough to stand up to Sahren. And Felassan had, but he had been gone so often and now…

All the people Solas had influenced for the worse hit him like a bag of bricks. He had robbed so many when he had killed Felassan. More than he would probably ever know or see.

"It is not about winning, little wolf," Enasa said sadly. "It is about surviving."

"I call nugshit on that," Sera said, snarling. "How about I go out and find some wasps? Wanna come, droopy ears?" she asked, nudging him with her elbow.

"You two shouldn't go off alone," Rosa interjected, shaking her head. Glancing to Tal with a sad frown, she said, "Tal, take some time with her, okay? I will go out with Solas and Sera and look for my mother and my Keeper. Okay?"

Tal nodded sullenly without making eye contact. Enasa sat beside him staring into her own lap, shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Rosa got up from her place at the fire and moved around it as Solas and Sera rose as well. Before they turned to go, Solas called to Enasa again. _"Ma serannas,_" he thanked her. "You are an accomplished cook and perform a great service for your clan."

She smiled at him, but her eyes were still sad. "Thank you, _hahren."_

And as Solas walked away at Rosa's side, he could not stop himself from looking toward the Keeper's aravel and wondering if perhaps some…_"divine"_ punishment was not in order. There was nothing worse than slavery in the Dread Wolf's eyes, after all. The Dalish had forgotten that, but Solas most certainly had not.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Glowering up at the dappled sunlight peeking through the green canopy overhead, Rosa groaned. "Seriously, _mamae._ Solas and Ivun are not the same man."

"They are cut of the same cloth," Halesta said in a dismissive tone. "Just as a black wolf and a gray wolf are both still wolves. You can't trust them with the halla."

"That is the stupidest metaphor," Rosa grumbled, kicking at a clod of dirt poking up out of the grass. "Solas is not a wolf and I am not a halla. We're _people._" She shot her mother a bitter glare. "And so was Ivun. He wasn't some monster. You don't know."


	36. The Arlathvhen (Part Two): Naseral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tal embarks on his secret, nefarious mission. Rosa encounters unexpected resistance to her grand scheme to unite the People and see them rise again. And, last but not least, Solas is very perturbed when he seems to imbibe *way* too much alcohol.

Unlike clan Ghilath, Rosa's birth clan had only sent a small group to accompany their Keeper to the Arlathvhen. A decade previous Rosa had been part of it, attending the gathering with her mother and actually sat with the full assembly of Keepers. She'd been still a girl then, one of the youngest there, but she still remembered the sigils of the clans her mother's group had stayed with. Clans within an area tended to know one another loosely, sometimes sending runners in dire times or with warnings of bandits and slavers. So Rosa knew that Naseral would camp near Boranehn and Sabrae—although the latter had left Ferelden some time ago.

The forest was crowded with elves in every direction, but after only a few minutes she'd spotted the worn banner for Boranehn, so distinctive against the others. Most of the clans used animals in their sigils, but Boranehn bucked tradition with a black banner and a white bow embroidered onto it. This time Boranehn had settled in a little depression amongst some boulders outside of the clearing. Their banner lay over one of the larger boulders, lopsided and wrinkled from being folded for ten years in the Keeper's aravel. Still, it was as enormous and oversized as Rosa remembered.

As Rosa led Solas and Sera closer to the depression she saw another banner mounted beside a smaller boulder near the depression and grinned with recognition. Naseral's sigil was of a green owl against a yellow banner and the sight of it made Rosa's heart swell in her chest. As she circled round to get a better view down the slope of the depression and into the cave-like hollow created by the meeting of boulders, Rosa saw a familiar little girl sitting at the base of a large rock, head nodding with sleep.

"Lihari!" Rosa shouted and started stomping toward the girl as she sat upright, eyes wide with shock. "Look at you, napping in the shade! Neglecting your studies."

Lihari gaped up at her and then scrambled in a panic to her feet. "Rosa!" she said, gasping. "Is that really you?"

"Of course it's me," Rosa told her with mock-offense, though she quickly switched to delight as she took in how tall Lihari was growing. "Though I barely recognized you. Look how big you've gotten! But still so lazy." She clucked her tongue and smirked at how the girl blushed and fidgeted nervously. "It's great to see you. Where is the Keeper?"

"Out with Boranehn's Keeper," Lihari said, eyes darting timidly between Rosa and the two barefaced elves behind her. She made a face, bemused. "Aren't you two old to be barefaced?" she asked. "Where are your vallaslin?"

"We are not Dalish," Solas said, sounding stiff.

"Piss on that," Sera grumbled. "Demon rubbish."

Lihari cringed as if they'd scolded her and Rosa sighed, shaking her head with regret at her playful greeting of the child that'd set this encounter off on the wrong foot. She'd hoped to cajole Lihari into being a better student as when Rosa had last checked in with her mother in drreams the Keeper had told her Lihari was not as good a learner as she should be. But Lihari seemed more fragile than Rosa knew she had been at this girl's age. Even a playful chastisement seemed too heavy for her.

"All right," she said, nodding to herself. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I'll make sure I tell the Keeper you were practicing hard and reading the old texts."

"You will?" Lihari asked, smiling suddenly. "Really?"

"Absolutely," Rosa told her, grinning. "On one condition."

The little girl's face fell and she fidgeted anxiously. "Okay?"

Rosa dropped to her knees to be more on the girl's level and lowered her voice as she said, "You have to watch over my friends here. They're not Dalish and they might get lost around all of the clans. They need your help while I go find the Keeper. Can you keep them company while I'm away?"

Lihari sucked in a breath, puffing out her little cheeks. She let it out in one loud puff and then nodded vigorously, though her eyes still looked intimidated as she glanced over Rosa's shoulder at Solas and Sera. "I'll do it, Rosa. I promise."

"Good," Rosa said and patted Lihari's shoulder a moment before rising to her feet again. Turning round, she faced Sera and Solas. "Lihari here is going to keep you two out of trouble while I find this clan's Keeper."

"This Lavellan?" Sera asked, waving a hand at the banner of the owl.

"No," Rosa admitted. "This is clan Naseral. The clan I was born into."

"Who's she?" Sera asked, pointing rudely at Lihari. "You have a little sister?"

"No," Rosa said, shaking her head. "Lihari is the Keeper's apprentice." Hesitating a moment, she decided to elaborate further at Sera's distrusting look. "The Keeper is my mother. I just want to chat with her before I find my clan."

"Can't keep all this elfy-elf shite straight," Sera complained, frowning down at the ground.

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Look Sera, just be nice. I'll be right back, I promise."

"Heard that before," Sera bit out.

Glancing to Solas, Rosa saw he too looked tense and uncomfortable, shifting his weight from side to side and gazing at the boulders and the banners and everywhere but at Lihari. Rosa wondered how much experience he had with children and then shook herself, remembering he'd been a general in Elvhenan and had lived a solitary life by his own admission. He had said he was also a teacher, but perhaps his students had been older than Lihari.

They were all so tense. If only…

Seized with an idea, Rosa turned around to Lihari and asked, "Did the Keeper bring some supplies with her?"

Lihari nodded. "Yeah. She brought wolf pelts and halla skins and iron bark and obsidian and—"

"Did she bring some of the special cider?" Rosa asked, smiling wide.

Lihari nodded again. "Yeah. She says I can't drink it. I'm not old enough yet." She scowled, as though she vehemently disagreed but knew better than to voice it.

"Good," Rosa said. "Then why don't you give Sera a little of the cider? I know she'll like it."

Lihari blinked and shook her head. "But Keeper says that's for the celebration tonight."

"I know, but it's only one bottle." She leaned down a little and lowered her voice. "We want to show Sera how nice we are, right?"

Lihari appeared doubtful but she shot Sera a look over Rosa's shoulder and then nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I know where she keeps it." She wrinkled her nose then. "What about him?"

Rosa turned and grinned at Solas. "Well, that is Solas. He's a mage. And he used to be a teacher."

"Inquisitor," Solas said tightly, using her title as a protest.

"He did?" Sera asked, snickering. "Droopy ears? Probably just put the kiddies to sleep."

Solas shot her a venomous glare but said nothing.

"I'm sure there's a lot you can show Lihari. Tell her about fighting Corypheus or…" She shrugged. "Tell her a legend. I'll only be gone a few minutes."

Solas sighed. "Very well."

"Excellent," Rosa said and then turned to Lihari again. "All right. Go get that cider for Sera and then Solas will be your teacher while I'm away. He's a very skilled mage, so please show him respect."

Lihari stared at Solas a moment, her doubt palpable. It was probably his lack of vallaslin that made her hesitate, but she trusted Rosa and eventually nodded. "Okay." She spun about on her heel and darted into the dark of the overhang created by the boulders. Rosa could see furs and crates inside.

Satisfied Lihari would watch over her "flat-ear" companions, Rosa set off back to the clearing to try and find her mother.

* * *

_Tillahnenn. _The name echoed in Tal's head as he walked about the clearing and then the forest of the gathering grounds, searching for a banner he had never seen with his waking eyes. He wouldn't have much time before Rosa would likely return to him and if she found him missing from Ghilath's hearth she'd be alarmed. Tal couldn't afford that.

He'd borrowed a cloak from his mother before leaving her, claiming he needed to go for a walk to get some air. She'd let him go, of course, though he hadn't missed the pain in her eyes. He hated himself for leaving her like that, but there was nothing else to do. As good as it was to see that she was still alive and healthy—even if she now shared the furs with a monster—Tal hadn't come to the Arlathvhen for a chance to change minds and hearts or even just to reunite with those he loved.

He had a mission.

But when he saw the familiar sigil of a brown fish on a blue background, Tal couldn't help but stop mid-step as his heart ached. That was clan Manaria's symbol, hung from a maple tree's broad low branch at the end of the clearing. There was no sign of an aravel, but he could see a campfire with a thin plume of smoke drifting from it and a man lay beside it, dozing.

Heat leapt to Tal's cheeks and he hunkered low in the hood. It was somewhat conspicuous to waltz around in a hood at the Arlathvhen, but Felassan had done it often enough. Chances were high a lot of the elves here would see Tal and assume he _was_ Felassan. Would any of them except his mother be upset to learn the old roguish mage was dead?

Well, another kind soul like Nola probably would. And likely Sammael too.

_Later,_ he promised himself, staring at the fish. _Later._ Right now he owed it to his blood to find Tillahnenn clan of Crestwood.

He found them a few minutes later inside the forest. They had brought three aravels, meaning most of their clan had made the journey over the Frostbacks to come here. They didn't bother with a banner and instead had sails on the aravels marked with their sigil: the red head of an embrium flower against a yellow background. There were several campfires and numerous elves wandering about. A hearth keeper was skinning hares caught by hunters, prepping for supper. A few young girls were grinding grain to make flour. A child not much older than a toddler was squealing as his father chased him between the aravels, laughing gleefully.

Tal spotted the Keeper—or possibly the First—standing beside one of the fires and chatting with a warrior. Tal lingered far enough away to remain unobtrusive, but close enough that occasionally he caught snippets of conversation. He picked at his nails, trying to appear nonchalant as he observed the food prep, but he knew that already the men and women here would have taken note of him and wondered at his purpose. Trade was common during the Arlathvhen, but most strangers would approach open and smiling, not hooded and cautious.

Still, Tal had a bag of Ferelden coins in a pouch at his waist that these elves might agree to trade for. Just…not what he wanted. The Crown would be in the Keeper's control and hidden inside one of the aravels. It would definitely not be for sale.

Tal would have to steal it, creeping into the aravel tonight while the clan was off guard, celebrating. That, or he _could_ risk approaching them and invoking _vir sulevanan, _a ritual that allowed any Dalish to claim a possession or artifact of a clan. Because, technically, the Crown did not belong to Tillahnenn clan any more than it belonged to any single elf. It was _Elvhen._ It belonged to anyone born with pointed ears in the eyes of the Dalish. Of course, only _Dalish_ could invoke that rite. If Sera or Solas were to try the clan would laugh in their faces. Even with Tal they'd almost certainly refuse. They owed him nothing. He was a stranger and, although Dalish, the rite was usually used by former members of a clan to reclaim an aravel or a halla or a favorite knife they'd been forced to leave behind.

Ancient artifacts were something else entirely. The clan would cling to it tooth and nail until it was time to trade it to another clan for safekeeping.

Tal frowned to himself, puffing out a breath. If only he could be _honest_ and have this clan believe him that in fact the Crown belonged to him and Rosa more than it ever did them or any other member of the Dalish. It was part of his heritage, if the Formless One was to be believed. But he knew better than to entertain that thought for more than an instant. Felassan had been known as a heretic for far less and Tal could easily follow in his footsteps.

"Can I help you?" a female voice asked then.

Tal flinched and turned to see a teenaged girl a few paces away through the underbrush. She had a wary expression, intrigued but cautious. She wore Keeper robes, a sure sign she was the First or Second to Tillahnenn. She'd probably approached him because she could see his robes peeking out beneath his cloak and the staff on his back made it obvious he was a mage.

Facing her, Tal plastered a smile over his face. "Actually, yes. Yes you can." He motioned at the aravels. "I've heard of your clan. You live around Crestwood, right?"

The girl nodded. "Yes." She edged closer, tucking her hands behind her back. Curiosity had won out over caution. "What have you heard about us?" she asked, buying into his bait.

"Only that you have the finest elixirs and…" He smacked his lips and clucked his tongue as he hummed playfully. "The single best mind-bending mushrooms around. All those caves around Crestwood with the deep mushrooms and whatnot."

The girl grinned. "You heard right." Pointing at his head, she asked, "But what's with the cloak and hood? You hiding round ears?"

Fearlessly, Tal yanked it down to let her see his pointed ears. "Did you want to run a finger over my vallaslin to check if that's real?" he teased.

The girl smirked. "Maybe." She shrugged. "You're weird. Who are you? What clan are you?"

"I'm between clans right now. My old clan isn't too fond of me, so that's why I wear the hood. I don't want anyone picking a fight with me. This is supposed to be a happy time." He offered her his most genuine, charming smile. "My name's Eolas."

The girl nodded and then thrust out her hand. "I'm Lytha. Second to clan Tillahnenn."

"Well," Tal said, grinning. "Lytha. A pleasure to meet you." He clasped her hand in his and shook. "How about you show me that stock of mushrooms? I have good Ferelden coin your clan can use with the _shems._ I feel like being blitzed tonight. Might help me make some friends with another clan."

"Probably will," she agreed, giggling. "I'll take you to the Keeper."

* * *

Rosa's meeting with her mother wasn't going the way she'd envisioned it.

"Why _wouldn't_ it work?" she asked, growing increasingly exasperated. "Just because you say it won't? Or because you already know you won't stand up for what you _know_ is true?" Biting her tongue a moment, she glowered her frustration and the old resentment she still felt toward her mother for letting Felassan be ousted from the last Arlathvhen at the older woman. "Why won't you stand up for the truth?" she bit out.

Her mother, Halesta, narrowed her dark blue eyes critically. "Because I have no desire to see the Keepers banish my only child the way they did Ivun."

"They're fools if they do," Rosa snarled and lifted her left hand, palm outward. "I have what _lenalin_ never did. Proof. And power. The magic of our people can still run so strong. It can tear apart the world when used incorrectly. But when it's used _right…"_ She shook her head, letting out a breathy chuckle. "I've done things no one dared dream of, _mamae_. Elgar'nan's fiery asshole, I'm fighting a Darkspawn Magister!"

"Yes," Halesta said, jaw clenching. "In the name of the _shemlen's_ goddess."

"Who cares what the _shems_ think?" Rosa retorted with a slash of her hand. "Let them think I fell from heaven holy. Let them think I puke rainbows and fart diamonds if it will help our people. Why do we care? We know the truth that it wasn't their goddess but _our_ ancestors who gave me this." She waved her marked hand again.

Halesta's brow furrowed and something unpleasant clouded her blue eyes. "No," she said slowly, lips pinching together with disapproval. "Your Elvhen lover's misplaced artifact gave you that."

Rosa scoffed, spinning around and crossing her arms over her chest. Glowering down at the trampled grass underfoot, she huffed with irritation as she drummed her fingers on her chainmail. Why was it speaking to her mother could reduce her to acting like a sullen teenager despite the fact she had been a grown woman living far from Halesta for years now?

A cool breeze ruffled at the loose strands of hair poking out of her sloppy bun and halla bleated from the field nearby. A few aravels were scattered at the edge of this clearing and Rosa spotted hunters in scout mail moving to and fro. This was where Boranehn had left their aravels, padlocked and with a few scouts as sentries. Rosa had found Halesta with the other clan's Keeper, helping to haul supplies back to the main field where the gathering would take place and where much of the trading occurred.

She'd been surprised to find Halesta seemed…_intimate_ somehow in her interactions with clan Boranehn's First—a man only about a decade older than Rosa. Halesta was his senior by about the same amount. Halesta had sent Boranehn's Keeper and First away at Rosa's request and had been all smiles upon first meeting her, but everything since then had gone downhill. First Halesta frowned with disapproval when she learned Rosa had brought outsiders to the Arlathvhen. Then she had immediately insisted Rosa mustn't bring forward anything new and revolutionary to the other Keepers.

"Ivun was the son of Mythal," Halesta murmured softly. The underlying note of bemusement was what made Rosa turn round again to stare at her mother, eyes narrowed. "And yet he did not wake with such a powerful artifact."

"Solas was a general," Rosa explained, not correcting her mother's mistaken understanding of Felassan's lineage. Felassan had always been reserved about the truth. _"Lenalin_ was a pampered noble."

She'd told her mother everything that'd transpired since the Conclave and even before that in long dream conversations where she sought comfort from Halesta when she'd been mourning the loss of her unborn child and then struggling with the weight of the Inquisition and Solas' return later. Halesta had always counseled caution and suspicion. She had warned Rosa to resist her own desires and to hold herself back. She'd said Solas would hurt her again if she let him get too close.

Rosa had never been very good at listening to her mother.

Halesta frowned. Her expression made it clear she didn't believe that explanation even as she said, "So he was."

"What are you getting at, _mamae?"_ Rosa asked tartly.

Halesta shook her head. "Nothing." At Rosa's disbelieving glare she let out a short breath. "Only that your lover was entrusted with…or _obtained_ a relic so powerful it tore open the very sky."

"Yes," Rosa growled. "When used by a monster."

Halesta's blue eyes narrowed. "A sword may be used to kill innocents, beasts, and villains alike, but the task is always the same; is it not?" She was silent a second and then spoke again somberly. "Death."

Rosa rolled her eyes. "The orb isn't as simple as a sword. It's not meant to tear open the sky. But the fact that it _can _be used that way is all the more reason why I am working with Solas to get it back from the Darkspawn Magister," Rosa snapped. "And all the more reason why the People should be trying to use this chance to our advantage. The _shems_ will be in our debt. If we—"

"But what will the relic be used for when you have reclaimed it?" Halesta challenged. At Rosa's hesitation—her mother's question left her head spinning with sudden fear—Halesta arched an eyebrow. "Will you give it over to Solas for safekeeping without even knowing its purpose? Has love robbed you of all sense? Ivun lusted after nothing but old relics and tombs and trinkets. Solas is the same. If he is anything like Ivun he will leave you the moment he has the relic again."

"No," Rosa said, shaking her head vehemently. "No. He's trying to set things right by getting the orb back from Corypheus and then…" She faltered, frowning as she bit her tongue to keep from mentioning the Formless One and the other demons.

"And then?" Halesta pressed, edging closer with a smugly knowing look. "You don't know, do you?"

"I do," Rosa protested, glaring. "I just can't tell you. I _won't_ tell you."

Halesta's lips twisted down. She sucked in a breath as her eyes drifted away to stare at something unseeingly beyond Rosa's shoulder. "Did he place these foolish notions in your head about rallying the People to fight with your Inquisition in the hopes of winning new land and respect?"

"No," Rosa snarled. "This is my idea. Solas knows people like you would sit back and deny the truth, even knowing better. He knows what _lenalin_ went through."

Halesta's blue eyes snapped back to Rosa. "Then he is wiser than I thought." Rosa scowled and opened her mouth with a sharp retort, ready to storm off, but her mother beat her to it by asking, "You haven't told him what you plan to do, have you?"

Rosa shut her mouth and jerked her head away, averting her eyes. That was all the answer Halesta needed, however, as she clucked her tongue with disapproval. "You hope to corner him, do you? You take after me a little _too_ much, I should think."

Glowering up at the dappled sunlight peeking through the green canopy overhead, Rosa groaned. "Seriously, _mamae._ Solas and Ivun are not the same man."

"They are cut of the same cloth," Halesta said in a dismissive tone. "Just as a black wolf and a gray wolf are both still wolves. You can't trust them with the halla."

"That is the stupidest metaphor," Rosa grumbled, kicking at a clod of dirt poking up out of the grass. "Solas is not a wolf and I am not a halla. We're _people._" She shot her mother a bitter glare. "And so was Ivun. He wasn't some monster. You don't know."

Halesta's brow furrowed. "I know enough, _da'len._ I know he did not care that he broke my heart when he left our clan. I know that he wouldn't have stayed even had he known I carried you. I know that he did not save you from possession as I had hoped he would when I banished you."

"And _I _know you banished me," Rosa spat, only to grimace and take a step back from her mother, hands curling into fists at her sides. She sometimes struggled with resentment toward her mother for banishing her. Rosa had saved the clan from slavers by fusing with Rogathe and Halesta's solution had been to make her outcast. Logically Rosa had always understood why her mother did it, yet she couldn't help that thorn of pain in her side that wondered at how calm her life would be if she had never left the clan.

Halesta's expression warped with pain. "You know I had no choice, Rosa. I had to protect the clan. I had no way of knowing what would happen. The spirit could have become a demon at any time."

"I know," Rosa admitted, glaring. "But that's because I know _why_ you did what you did." She edged closer to her mother and dropped her volume. "What if I told you _lenalin_ didn't have a choice about leaving? What if I told you he served Mythal herself and didn't dare risk defying her because he knew he'd pay for it with his life?"

The older woman's somber gaze searched over Rosa, gradually changing from righteous anger and frustration to astonishment. "That…would make a great deal of sense." Halesta's features darkened with something that was both anger and sadness. "I would believe it. He always said the Creators were not as we remember them in our tales." She shook her head, smiling grimly. "I always thought he had some greater purpose. But if it was all for _her…"_

"He wasn't free to live the way he wanted," Rosa explained, swallowing hard at the sudden pain in her throat. "He was—"

"A slave?" Halesta finished for her, arching one brow and pinching her lips together.

Rosa nodded. "Yeah."

Halesta sucked in a breath, seeming to stiffen. "Then he has been released now. He's free."

"Because she _killed_ him," Rosa hissed.

Halesta's look was wary. "Are you certain?"

Rosa hesitated, trying to remember Rogathe's exact words. "Rogathe melded with him before he died. I think he knew he was going to be killed. When I saw Rogathe it told me he had died when he dared think on his own. So…he did something against _her_ wishes or refused to do something she demanded of him."

Halesta closed her eyes and sighed as she nodded. "Unfortunately we have only the spirit's words."

Bristling on instinct, Rosa immediately leapt to her old friend's defense. "Rogathe is—" She cut herself off, frowning at the spurt of pain that cut through her chest. "It was trustworthy. Everything it said would have been the truth."

"At least as it understood it from Ivun," Halesta reminded her with a solemn look.

Rosa huffed with frustration. She and her mother had never seen eye to eye on Rogathe. Pushing that topic to the side, Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at the older woman. "Never mind, _mamae. _I didn't come to talk about Ivun. I came here to see if you'd support me. If I can get enough Keepers to stand up and _listen_ to me and to Solas when—"

"But you have not asked your lover if _he_ will stand up for you in the meeting," Halesta reminded her in an infuriatingly smug tone. "How do you know he will agree to what you're considering? You are being impulsive, _da'len."_

Rosa rolled her eyes in irritation. Whenever her mother called her _da'len_ it meant she had become the removed Keeper, the elder who had ultimate authority just because. She wasn't really listening. Rosa had ignored Halesta using the term earlier with her but now it grated on her skin like gritty sand. How many times had her mother lectured her and tacked that term on there? How many times had she warned Rogathe was a dangerous thing, untrustworthy, sent by a father who was absent and uncaring and cold? The spirit would be little better. How many times had she counseled her teenage daughter to control her desires and emotions around men? How often had she insisted that Ivun was a liar and any ancient wisdom he dispensed would be poison even if it was true?

"Don't call me that," Rosa growled. "I'm a grown woman. I am not your student anymore. I lead an Inquisition that numbers in the _thousands._ Bigger than any clan I could lead as Keeper. I am qualified to do this, _mamae. _I could rally the People. We could—"

"The People are scattered and divided," Halesta interrupted, her expression saddened. "Some clans would join you, yes. Others would not. Most would not."

"If enough agree they'll override the others," Rosa insisted, even as she felt her cheeks flush with heat as she sensed the truth in her mother's argument. Keepers like the one in charge of Ghilath would never agree to join her simply out of pride.

"You saw how this turns out," Halesta told her in a hushed voice. "You saw what happened when Ivun tried to sway them just to join together enough to recover an eluvian and its key at the last Arlathvhen. He succeeded only in making himself unwelcome here. You would do the same. Worse, the man you've brought to our gathering is _not_ one of the People."

Rosa choked on her bitter laugh. "Solas is _Elvhen._ He's more one of us than _we_ are."

Halesta shook her head. "They will not believe."

"Then how do I convince them, _mamae,_ since you're so sure you know how this will go down?" Rose demanded, glaring out her challenge.

Halesta sighed. "I suspect nothing short of one of the Creators appearing would move them. They will only join if they are assured victory through the divine. Even then there will be those who will refuse. We do not live this way because we like it, _da'len._ We live this way because it will ensure we survive. Elves in the alienages will be killed or bred with humans until they are no more. In the wilds, in clans, we survive with our culture as intact as we can keep it and our blood stays pure." She chewed her lips a moment, eyes skimming over her daughter. "You know this."

"I know we used to be more," Rosa grumbled sullenly. "I know we could be more again." She clenched her jaw and glared at her mother with the sudden heat of defiance as another thought sprang into her mind. "The Creators were nothing more than very powerful mages. Ivun told you that."

Halesta shook her head, lips puckering as though she'd tasted something incredibly sour. "It does not matter what they were. They—"

"It _does_ matter. Because there aren't gods, _mamae. _We _make_ them into gods with our stories. The _shemlen_ make me divine every step of the way, even when I deny it. They think I am touched by their prophetess, by their Maker. What if…" She sucked in a quick breath, her thoughts flitting wildly through her head, trying to calculate. "What if I told the Keepers the truth. What if I told them what _lenalin_ was? What _I_ am?"

Her mother blanched and cringed back a step. "No, child. No. Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Rosa insisted. Edging closer again and reaching for her mother's forearm as though to keep her from retreating again. "With Solas at my side and the Anchor I carry I can prove it. I can make them believe I'm divine. The humans have already imagined me to be theirs and I hate it. Why can't I be the same for my people?"

"You are as mad as your father," Halesta whispered, her eyes wide with a touch of fear.

It was that fear that made Rosa let go of her mother and withdraw, looking away. "Maybe I am, yeah. But traveling with Solas and seeing what I've seen…losing _lenalin_ and Rogathe and facing down Darkspawn Magisters…" She let out a shuddering breath. "We are not doing enough, _mamae._ We are losing our way and this world with it. How long until we are nothing but memory? Solas and Ivun woke now, in recent history, and maybe it was meant to be that way. Maybe we're meant to rise again…"

"Certainly," Halesta murmured, frowning thoughtfully. "We are meant to rise again—once the _shemlen_ have run themselves into the earth. Until then, we endure. Never to break, never to submit."

"Trees that do not bend do break, _mamae._ They break and then they die and the flexible saplings take their place." She stared at her mother, stiffening her spine and squaring her shoulders. "I have the Creators' blood in me. This all has to be happening for a reason." Fingering her left palm, she traced the line of it where the Anchor lay and felt her stomach tighten even as determination hardened her. She had to try to save her people, didn't she? Solas wouldn't do it without some prodding, but…

Halesta sighed again, shaking her head in consternation. "Please, reconsider this. Mingle with the clans tonight. Listen to them. Talk to your lover. If you find after tonight that you believe they are ready for your message…" She bit her lip. "Then I will come forward to vouch for you and for Ivun, that I believe your story." She thrust out her hand, as though they were two Keepers making some agreement.

In a way, Rosa supposed they were.

Smiling tightly, she clasped her mother's palm with her left one, squeezing tightly. "Agreed."

* * *

It was sunset before disaster struck Solas.

Everything had gone stunningly well taking on the timid Lihari as a student for an hour or so. Solas had focused on guiding her to reshape her barrier with some rudimentary success. But then Rosa had returned with her mother, clan Naseral's Keeper, and the First and Keeper of an allied clan who shared their camping site at the boulders and the cave beneath them. After some tense introductions—and awkwardness as the Keeper from clan Boranehn realized Sera had consumed most of their alcoholic cider and was now snoring in the back of the cave—Solas had volunteered to aid them in some simple manual labor.

The clans had aravels some distance away on the other side of the clearing where they stored most of their trade goods. They needed to cart everything from there to the cave. They'd left Lihari to hold their stake on the site so no other clans took it while they were away, but Rosa's arrival had delayed their timetable. Solas volunteered to help out of a desire to prove himself useful and polite, even as internally he wanted to snarl back at Boranehn's Keeper with disdain for the other man's unearned pompous arrogance. Bickering and fighting with the people who would feed and shelter them over the next two days seemed foolish.

It was late evening before Tal reappeared, grinning as he carried a steaming pot. His Keeper had kicked him out but he'd brought food his mother had prepared. Clan Boranehn's Keeper and First seemed perfectly happy to accept the food Tal presented and so they settled down inside the cave at the hearth to eat. The Keepers would soon leave for the first of two great meetings, communing to share knowledge and take a census.

That was how Solas found himself seated at the hearth with Rosa at one side and Tal on the other, sipping at watered down Ferelden ale one of the two clans had obtained somehow—probably through theft and raids of human villages—and eating more of Enasa's hearty cooking. This stew had a rich taste with venison, turnips, and mushrooms. Solas focused on eating rather than conversation, hoping to fade into the background as he listened to Boranehn's Keeper, Rosa, and Keeper Halesta, Rosa's mother, jabber together.

"So," said clan Boranehn's First, by the name of Fravun, to Rosa with a playful smirk. "You've changed a lot since I last saw you." He was a man of about thirty and somewhat reminiscent of Felassan in his prime with Mythal's vallaslin to complement his pale skin and hair and dark eyes. He seemed charismatic as well, comfortable despite the frequent awkwardness of their current situation.

"I was _twelve_ the last time you saw me," Rosa reminded him between bites. She was smiling at him, as if this were an old joke between them. Solas focused on chewing and swallowing, pushing aside the faint pang of irritation twisting inside. It was hardly fair to this other man, who he had known scarcely more than two hours and shared nothing more than an introductory greeting with, to automatically dislike him. Still…

"She's a lot more talkative than last time," the Boranehn Keeper, named Elan, added with a grunt. "I liked you better when you were a quiet elfling."

Rosa laughed. "I liked you better when you had more hair and fewer wrinkles."

Elan grunted again and then, as Fravun and Halesta both snickered, he let out a full-throated laugh. "I take it back," Fravun said, grinning. "You _haven't _changed, Rosa."

"And you," Elan said then, snapping his fingers as he pointed at Tal. The younger man lifted his head and shot the Keeper a speculative and mildly annoyed look. The old man narrowed his eyes, as though struggling to place Tal. Finally he snorted. "Weren't you the lad the Firsts hogtied the last Arlathvhen?"

Everyone—except young Lihari, who merely looked confused in her place at Halest'as side—tensed at the topic and Solas lowered his bowl to watch the proceedings. He had heard this tale before and understood it was the moment Rosa said she had first met her younger brother. He saw Rosa was scowling with disapproval at his side while Halesta and Fravun were both occupied by their meals as though deaf to this discussion.

"I was," Tal said stiffly. And then, in the blink of an eye, all tension melted from him. He grinned and reached for his cup of ale again, lifting it in a little toast. "Here's to past grudges. May they never die."

As he drank sloppily the others chuckled, unsure whether Tal was being sarcastic in bitterness or facetiously jesting. Solas saw Rosa lay a hand on her brother's shoulder and squeeze. He wondered if Fravun had been one of the Firsts to abuse Tal until a second later the other man answered that question.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you, Tal. If I'd been there I would have put a stop to that, Mythal have mercy." He shook his head, seeming genuinely distressed on Tal's behalf.

But Tal only shrugged. "No worries. Water off the halla's back."

"Why aren't you eating?" Lihari asked, grinning goofily at Tal. Of everyone present he was the closest to her in age and, judging from the way she gazed at him while they ate, she'd taken a shining to him.

Tal glanced at her and a flicker of something crossed his features, but was gone before Solas could read it. Then Tal shrugged. "I ate with my _mamae_ in clan Ghilath. She sent the rest of it as a gift—and an apology because she knows the Keeper is an ass."

Lihari gawked at that, apparently shocked at how blank Tal discussed another Keeper. She started shoveling more stew into her mouth.

"It's growing late," Halesta said, sitting more upright to try and see over the rise of the slope leading out from under the cave beneath the boulders. "We should prepare for the meeting."

Elan nodded to her. "Agreed, _falon._ I will work with Fravun to gather our items." He looked to Rosa and Tal and then, tentatively, to Solas. "Perhaps you will help should we need it?" he asked, arching one gray, grizzled brow.

Solas waited, watching Rosa and expecting her to agree. Tal appeared to do the same. Contrary to their expectations she shook her head. "I'm sorry, _hahren,_ I really need to find my actual clan before the meeting to let my Keeper know I am here." Her expression warped with sheepishness. "I was in such a hurry to rejoin _mamae_ that I have neglected my duty."

Elan clucked his tongue. "Shame. But I understand. I'm sure Lihari will help us—and we have several hunters and warriors at the aravels."

"I am sure I can cover for clan Naseral," Fravun supplied. He seemed to puff himself up as he glanced toward Halesta. She was at his side, sitting quite close. Something seemed…intimate about the way she looked at him. It seemed that Rosa's mother had moved on from Felassan and not let his jilting of her hold her back. Solas bit at the corners of his lips to keep from smiling but found he could not quite keep the expression from escaping. He felt suddenly flushed warm and drew in a deep breath, trying to dispel the strangely strong emotion.

"I can help, too," Tal said. "If Rosa and Solas are going to be sleeping with clan Lavellan then I don't really want to burden them with _three_ guests. I could stay here and help."

"Good," Elan said with a nod of approval. "Well, let's get to work and see what that lazy flat-ear archer back there left for us to trade as far as cider. The celebrations will be nothing without alcohol for all!"

As Fravun and Elan rose from the hearth the old man wavered on his feet and Fravun caught him. "Are you all right, _hahren?"_

Elan shook his head, as though dizzy. "Just stood up too fast, I think." He patted Fravun, smiling affectionately at him. "_Ma serannas."_

His accent was _all wrong._ "Your pronunciation is incorrect," Solas blurted and then blinked, startled and alarmed at how that had just…slipped out.

Elan glared at him and then laughed derisively. "A flat-ear telling me how to speak my language! Ha!" He waved a hand dismissively at Solas and then spun around to head for the crates and other supplies they'd laid up at one end of the cave. Sera was snoring a few feet away, wrapped in some bear furs that likely belonged to one of the other elves.

"We should go help them," Halesta said, aiming the words at both Tal and Lihari. Then she got to her feet and Lihari started to do the same—only to stumble and land hard on her rump. Her foot shot out and knocked over her bowl of stew, sending it splattering over the cave floor.

Lihari yelped and then flushed brilliant red. "I'm sorry, _hahren._ I don't know what happened! The room is spinning,"

Halesta blinked down at the child a moment and then lowered her hand to help her up. "Maybe you should sit down, _da'len._ Rest." She looked to Solas then, eyes narrowing. "Did you overwork her? Did she experience mana burnout?"

"No," Solas answered immediately, scowling with offense. "I am no novice who would overwork his student or needlessly stress her." His heart beat suddenly too fast when he realized she could possibly question him and his experience. Did she know the truth about him? Had Rosa told her?

"That's fine," she said, lifting a palm as though she expected him to lecture on. Tugging Lihari's hand, she guided the little girl away from the fire, speaking to her in a quiet and concerned tone. Tal shot to his feet and moved to help, taking Lihari's other hand, like a father trying to protect his daughter.

Rosa sighed and leaned close to Solas to whisper, "I think Tal's avoiding clan Manaria."

"I would agree with that interpretation," Solas said even as he found himself distracted with the scent of her skin. Her sweat was as good as an aphrodisiac. Her neck had a smooth, elegant shape as she met his eye. Her ears, her lips, her eyes…they were all…divine. Delicious. He felt heat wash over him and settle low, in his belly. He tried to push the sensation away, unsure how far the arousal had gone and if it would become obvious what was on his mind when he got to his feet. Yet, oddly, the horror of this situation was dull and distant. He knew he was blushing but it was…difficult to care.

"We should go find clan Lavellan," Rosa suggested and blinked in a strange way. Her eyes had a glaze over them, as though too moist. Her brow furrowed an instant and then she stood up. She shook her head and then started for the slope leading out of the cave.

Solas hurried to do the same—only for the world to jerk sideways. He staggered off to the left and his hand shot out on instinct, drawing mana to use spirit magic as raw force. Pushing himself straight with the little green wave of energy created a _boom_ that echoed loud from the chamber. Everyone yelped or gasped with alarm. Solas heard the crackle and buzz as the mages instantly threw barriers over themselves and each other.

"Elgar'nan's fire!" Fravun exclaimed. The others echoed similar sentiments.

Even Sera sat up in her corner, kicking and thrashing at the bear furs. "The fuck was that? Arrows! Need arrows!"

"Apologies," Solas said, heart pounding and red faced with humiliation. How could he have been so _sloppy?_ "I…appear to have consumed too much ale."

"It was strong stuff," Tal said as he dispelled his own barrier. "I think we all imbibed a little too much." He winced and made a gesture at his head, as if dizzy.

"Yes," Halesta agreed, though her tone sounded doubtful. "That must be what's affecting Lihari too."

"Who the fuck are you?" Sera demanded, jabbing a finger at Halesta, Fravun, and Elan.

"I'll calm her down," Tal promised, motioning at Rosa and Solas. "Get going or you'll never reach clan Lavellan before they're gone to the meeting."

Rosa trotted down the slope on surprisingly steady feet and snatched Solas' hand, hauling him up and out of the cave. To his shame, Solas found his feet were clumsy. His gait was awkward and uneven. He was either stumbling as he tried not to collide with Rosa or falling behind enough that her hand tugged on him sharply.

The sky was golden with the nearing sunset. Oranges and pinks already highlighted the clouds. The colors reminded Solas painfully of the Fade and the Crossroads. The sky had once held those colors so vibrantly it was enough to make grown men and women weep at its beauty. He felt his own eyes stinging and gnashed his teeth in frustration. Had the ale really been that strong? It hadn't tasted strong. Perhaps it was contaminated with something?

Rosa led him through the trees. Leaf litter and pine needles and twigs crunched underfoot. Water trickled somewhere nearby and Solas faintly remembered there was a river they'd crossed to reach this place. Were they crossing again? His sense of place was scrambled and unclear. Which way did the sun set now? Had Elgar'nan reversed its course again? How had that tale been forgotten?

Rosa stopped when they'd reached a sharp uphill slope. Jagged rocks and lichen-covered boulders stuck out here and there. A few brave and unlucky saplings grew in the dirt that had collected over some of the stones as the hillside gradually eroded away. The river was little more than a stream, but here it trickled down in a loud patter over the rocks, creating a waterfall.

"I had my first kiss here," Rosa said suddenly and laughed.

Solas frowned. What were they doing here again? Why had they left the hearth? He tensed as she turned round and he saw the pale ink of her vallaslin. _Dirthamen._ He took a step back at the sight, mind reeling. She was not a slave for she was thinking and speaking, reliving some memory. She was dressed in armor, meaning she could fight. She must be one of Dirthamen's disciples. Or one of his daughters, perhaps? She had come to spy on him, to control him, to…

He blinked hard, then rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them he saw Rosa and remembered Dirthamen was no more. But her vallaslin seemed to glow like moonlight and they twisted like worms. He recoiled, lifting his palms up as if to ward her off for a moment, but he forced himself to relax when she didn't press forward or attack. Instead she merely stared at him with glazed eyes, smiling as she relived some memory. What had she said? Something abut a kiss…

"He was a First from another clan," she went on, raising her voice to be heard above the pattering waterfall. "I thought he was so handsome. He was a few years older than me and in the evening before the first meeting of elders I let him take me here and he kissed me." Her cheeks were rosy, her lips plump like juicy strawberries. "He told me this was the lover's waterfall because it makes enough noise coming over the rocks that it hides the sound of lovemaking."

It did seem loud enough for that and, in spite of the fact he couldn't stop seeing her vallaslin squirming on her face, Solas nodded. The idea of sharing pleasure with her seemed entirely doable. Even if she was a spy. That was a little odd for him, but he wasn't feeling particularly analytical right now. "It is an apt name." It was…somewhat difficult to talk and he noticed with irritation that his voice was slurred. Rosa's was too, but it was also husky and that seemed appropriate enough.

"And then the next day, after the Keepers banished _lenalin_ from the Arlathvhen, he sent me to find Tal. I had to keep him safe. But when I found him a bunch of Firsts had hogtied him. They were throwing halla dung at him and they'd be beating him next." Her features twisted in a scowl. "And the boy I'd kissed was one of them."

"Did you kill him?" Solas asked.

Rosa frowned at him. "No, of course not." She shook her head and then swayed, unsteady on her feet. Her hand shot out and caught one of the slick rocks next to the waterfall. "_Fenedhis,"_ she cursed, staring down at the ground. "This can't be the ale. There's no way…"

Groaning, Rosa straightened again and rubbed at her eyes with her dry hand. "I wanted to talk," she muttered. "But I'm…I'm having trouble remembering what about. Something about gods and my mark and my mother and the Inquisition and you and…"

"There are no gods," Solas growled. He knew that much and would make sure she knew it too. "Your god is nothing more than a man born with great power."

Rosa frowned at him. "I know. I…" She shook her head, wobbling again with the motion and laying a hand over the stone nearby. She left it there rather than pull it away even after she'd stabilized. Drawing in a deep breath, Rosa continued. "I wanted to take you to the meeting of elders. I want to tell them who you are."

Solas recoiled, cursing. _"Fenedhis._" What did she know? How had she learned the truth? Had Rogathe told her before it sacrificed itself? "No," he said, the word breathy and desperate. "No, no, no."

Rosa's stare was suddenly pained—but also frustrated. "Why not? They will respect you once we convince them. If we tell them that it was your orb—a relic from our ancestors with _our_ magic in it—that tore the sky apart they'll realize the power—"

"No," Solas interrupted lips curling with revulsion. "No. You are wrong."

She stopped again and Solas could see her eyes in the golden sunset streaking through the trees, lighting her in dappled sunshine and dark. She was so beautiful and he was hurting her. She knew the truth and hadn't run from him, but she was mad if she thought telling the Dalish the truth would accomplish anything. They would never follow the Dread Wolf.

"Why wouldn't it work?" she asked, frowning. She blinked, wrinkling her nose and groaning. Her eyes rolled about for a moment. "Creators….I can barely think…what the fuck was wrong with that ale?"

"The enchantment was skilled indeed if it passed the arcane taster's inspection," Solas told her. Yes. That must be it. One of the Evanuris had found a way to enchant the meal or the drink in such a way that the taster hadn't—

"What are you _talking_ about?" Rosa asked and then laughed sharply. "Arcane taster?" She held up a hand then in a gesture that was probably to stop him saying anything, but Solas tensed, taking a step backward. Instinct made him reach for mana, ready to defend himself. But Rosa didn't attack and instead said, "I got off topic. I-I want to take you to the Keepers. I want you to help me convince them we can be more if we fight Corypheus publically. We can be like Shartan." She broke off and made a noise halfway like a laugh and halfway like a whimper. "_I_ can be like Shartan."

That name was familiar but…Solas couldn't place it. Still, best not to let on. "How…" He cut himself off, scowling. His thoughts were thick and bleary. Memories mixed like paints on a canvas running together. He couldn't keep it straight and he knew it. This was a dangerous conversation sober and inebriated he had zero chance of escape. "Perhaps…" he hedged, grimacing. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation when we are both of sound mind."

She stared at him, breathing hard for several long seconds before she nodded. "Yeah." And then she reached for his hand, grabbing it in her own. Solas managed not to flinch at the sudden motion and didn't resist as she pulled him close for a kiss. As the taste of her washed over him, triggering a deeper memory that couldn't be dulled by inebriation, Solas sighed and relaxed. He was safe. Rosa was no spy or assassin. She was his lover, his heart.

When he returned her kiss with gusto, hands wandering wildly over her, Rosa moaned. Solas started backing her into some stones beside the waterfall that were far enough away that they were dry and covered in plush grass. Rosa let herself be directed that way and together they fell to the grass, limbs already entwined.

* * *

**Next chapter:**

The Keeper frowned again and Tal rushed to make the introductions. "Nola, meet my friend Sera. She's part of the Inquisition and she likes women. _Only_ women."

Nola blinked at this introduction and the others behind her shifted or snorted with varying reactions. Sera glowered at him. "Yeah? What of it? You tryna get me with her, Treeface?" She wrinkled her nose with disgust. "Yeah? No." She slurped on the cider loudly.

* * *

Well, I am back! Next chapter is an interlude told exclusively from Tal's point of view. That scamp, Tal. As you can see, he will finally run across Nola, his pseudo-fiancee.


	37. Interlude: Grand Theft Aravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tal embarks on his heist, with unexpected consequences. He also comes to regret certain actions involving hallucinogenic and sedating mushrooms.

When Lihari and Sera were both quiet after sunset and the others had all left for the meeting (while struggling to stay coherent and coordinated), Tal rose from his bedroll. Snatching his cloak from the cave floor beside him, he donned it quickly in the near-total darkness. His clever fingers found the loopholes of the buttons and made short work of them. Feeling at his waist, Tal found the dagger in a little leather sheath and the lock picks and knockout bombs he'd brought specifically for this task. Then, on the silent feet only years of teaching by rogues can achieve—one thing he could thank his Keeper for inadvertently giving him—Tal left the cave.

Striding through the trees and then into the clearing, Tal grinned at the elves scattered about the clearing. Bonfires had been lit as hunters and warriors who weren't at the meeting mingled. They would trade goods and stories and celebrate. The scent of alcohol was thick in the air, as was the delicious smell of roasting meat as hearth keepers like Enasa prepared food for all assembled. Tal's stomach was empty, but it twisted with anxiety and tension rather than hunger. He would eat after this was over, one way or another.

Men and women and a few tweens and teens were dancing around a nearby fire and Tal's heart seized as he recognized Lanatriel—clan Manaria's war leader. She was an older woman with long gray hair. It reflected the firelight; brilliantly yellow and orange just like her face currently was. She was grinning and laughing as she danced about the fire. Tal recognized another middle-aged man, also from clan Manaria, in the dance beside her.

Pulling his hood up, Tal picked up his speed, hoping to just get through the celebratory throng quickly before anyone noticed the dour looking cloaked stranger—or the unusual fact that what little they could see of his armor revealed he was a mage. Mages would be at the meeting. Only very young Firsts and Seconds would be absent from it. That and outsiders like Felassan, anyway.

_I guess I'm one of those outsiders now too,_ Tal thought and sighed to himself.

He reached the end of the clearing and then tramped off through the woods, as silent as he could be in the leaf litter and underbrush. The trees opened up gradually as another clearing appeared, much smaller than the previous one. More campfires burned through the space, letting out an orange and yellow flickering that lit the trees, ferns, and saplings all around. This was Tillahnenn clan's clearing with their aravels. As if to confirm it, Tal's eyes spotted the banner they'd hung from the trees and embroidered onto their aravel sails: the blooming embrium head against a yellow background.

Tal crept closer, cautious of tripwires or any other traps the clan might have set if they were particularly paranoid. This clan did come from the plains of Crestwood, after all. The thick forests south of Halamshiral might very well unnerve them after lifetimes being able to spot danger approaching from some distance away. At the edge of the clearing he crouched and watched the camp for a time.

He spotted the toddler he'd seen earlier in the day now sitting in what must be his mother's lap. The young family sat around one of the three campfires, singing a soft song that might have been a lullaby. The babe looked content, laying across his mother's lap and unmoving. At another fire Tal saw five warriors and hunters passing a flask of something that was almost certainly alcoholic. They were fairly quiet in their chatter but everyone wore broad smiles. At the last fire a man who must have been the hearth keeper was tending a meal of what smelled like it was flatbread that he would probably add honey or nuts or some other treat to the mix to make it into a dessert.

Tal had taken a risk by stopping here in the daytime, but he'd needed to case the scene and it just so happened this clan was well known for its mushrooms—edible and otherwise. There were poisons and treats, big and small, but Tal hadn't been after food. He'd used coin to pay this clan for a sizeable dose of hallucinogenic and sedating mushrooms. Enough to be effective against about ten adults. He still had a few of those mushrooms in a pouch at his waist, but most of them had been added to the stew Enasa had prepared for him…and now they were working their strange magic on everyone who'd eaten it.

It was a shame he hadn't been able to keep the little girl, Lihari, from indulging. The effects would be strongest on her and hopefully it wouldn't cause any harm. But everyone else…Tal just needed them to be foggy and sleepy enough that none would remember if they saw him crossing camp or leaving when he should have been asleep. He had to cover his tracks in case this heist exploded in his face.

Drawing in a breath, Tal decided there was no sense delaying the inevitable. Summoning the invisibility spell, Tal crept from the woods and into the clearing. Each step on the grass created a tiny rustle and he evaded leaves and brush as he circumnavigated the fires and headed for the aravel closest to the family. The journey was slow and excruciating as he watched the clan for any sign they could sense him. A magically inclined person might pick up the stray mana of his spell and raise the alarm. That was why he'd chosen now to do this. He was least likely to be detected currently as mages _should_ be in the meeting, after all.

Controlling his breathing and concentrating on maintaining the spell as accurately as he could to avoid letting a shimmer or some other visual sign show for the elves to cue in on, Tal reached the first aravel. It was open, which was a small relief until, at the top step, he froze with slow, cold horror. Inside he saw Lytha, the Second he had met and traded through earlier that day. She was old enough he'd hoped she would be at the meeting with her Keeper and the First. Instead they must have decided to leave her behind. She lay sprawled out just inside the aravel, reading by the light of a tiny little candle.

_Shit,_ Tal thought. _Shit, shit, shit!_

The family outside must be hers. They'd accompanied the Keeper and First and the hunters to watch over their daughter.

Heart pounding and body clammy with cold sweat, Tal slowly reached for his waist and pulled out a small knockout bomb. He'd prepared several of them during their journey toward this place, though he hoped he would not have to use any of them. This would mean the clan would realize they had been robbed right away. Lytha would waken and recall falling asleep under strange circumstances. Hallucinogenic mushrooms added to the bombs might make her memory foggy enough to cast doubt on her memory, but it was unlikely.

Still, there was little choice. Tal needed to be fast. He needed to be precise.

Pulling out his dagger as silently as he could, Tal pricked the bottom of the knockout bomb—but Lytha had heard him. The girl lifted her head from what she'd been reading and stared out at the aravel with a frown on her face. Tal froze, heart racing and stomach twisting in knots as he waited for her to turn back to her reading so he could strike. Crickets sang their shrill song outside and the campfires crackled. The mother's lullaby resumed, her voice sweet and lilting. Had Tal not been so tense he might have found himself feeling drowsy and comforted with the memory of his own mother's songs.

Finally Lytha looked down at the scroll, lifting one finger and dragging it over the lettering as though to find her place again. Her brows furrowed with concentration.

Tal sheathed his blade almost silently and then used his free hand to lift the scarf he'd used while they traveled through the Western Approach. It'd protected him from sand out there. Now it would have to shield him from exposure to the knockout powder. Clasping the knockout bomb with its tiny hole in it within his right hand, Tal sprang catlike across the aravel.

Lytha lifted her head again, features twisting with alarm. Tal felt the spell fail as his concentration lapsed and knew she saw him as her eyes locked with his the instant before he had grabbed her by the back of her head and, with the other hand, pressed the knockout bomb hard to her nose and mouth. She let out a strangled cry and then a gagging noise. Her hands clawed and scraped at him and the touch of them froze his forearms, cloak, and some of his armor. The chill sank deep but Tal effortlessly dispelled her magic with a little flicker of his own, small enough that it wouldn't alert anyone outside.

Lytha's wide, terrified eyes drifted shut then and her body went slack. Tal stayed where he was for another minute, heart rushing and his breathing fast. He could smell the stringent stink of the knockout bomb through his scarf and felt woozy. As dizziness made him sway Tal jerked away, leaving the bomb behind beside Lytha's face. There was no sense in hiding it. She would remember when she woke. Best to let her breathe more of it in to ensure she remained unconscious as long as possible.

Resuming the invisibility spell with a little shudder, Tal set to work. He quietly opened compartments, laying his hands on bags and wooden boxes. The demon had told him he would _feel_ the Crown if he drew close enough to it. But how close was _close enough?_ A meter? Two? Or did he have to touch the chest it was stored in before he'd feel it?

Whatever it was, ten minutes searching this aravel yielded nothing. Cursing in a whisper of frustration, Tal slunk out of the aravel and slipped around it, through the darkness behind the landships. At the second aravel, the one in the middle beside the hunters' campfire, Tal laid a hand over the wood to see if he could _feel_ that connection the demon had said he would. His hand felt only chilled wood, slick from a layer of paint meant to make the aravel resistant to water.

_Think,_ he ordered himself. The middle aravel was probably where the warriors and hunters slept and stored their things. The first aravel with Lytha within it had belonged to her family. That left the last aravel where the hearth keeper was preparing the meal.

_It's the last aravel,_ he thought with confidence.

Creeping forward again, Tal snuck around the far end of the half-circle of aravels to walk behind the hearth keeper and his fire. Here Tal saw the aravel door was shut. If the hearth keeper was using herbs and seasonings from inside the aravel he had apparently already finished with them. In fact, a quick look revealed the hearth keeper did have a small collection of leather pouches and pottery bowls and lidded pots that undoubtedly had to hold ingredients for the food he was cooking.

Trying to be patient, Tal waited beside the aravel in the shadows, watching as the hearth keeper continued cooking. Long minutes passed and the camp continued its usual activities. The warriors were singing and mending their armor. Someone came in from deeper in the forest with five halla in tow, attached by harnesses one right after another. The animals snorted and quickly set to grazing when the woman who'd led them into the little clearing released them. She came to the hunters' fire and chatted with them in a bright, cheery voice.

Maintaining the invisibility spell for so long was taking its toll. Tal was shaking, breathing hard as his mana began to dwindle. Hunkering low into the underbelly of the aravel, he let the spell slip. Hidden from view in the shadows, he watched the fires and clawed out his impatience on the grass beneath him. Until everyone was asleep or unless the hearth keeper finished cooking and opened this aravel door, Tal would be stuck waiting.

_C'mon,_ he thought, gnashing his teeth. _C'mon already!_

And then, suddenly, a cry came from across camp. The hunters sprang upright, some wobbling from drunkenness. The hearth keeper shot to his feet as well, mouth gawping. The cry came again, but this time it was no longer incoherent. It was Lytha, calling for help.

"We're under attack!" one of the hunters yelled. "Grab your weapons!"

"_Shit,"_ Tal snarled to himself—but then he saw that this was actually just what he needed. Most of the hunters were scattering, charging for the woods to search for the intruder. The hearth keeper had left his post. The cauldron steamed and bubbled without him as he ran to investigate firsthand with Lytha's family what had happened.

It left virtually no eyes on this last aravel. Would anyone notice if the door fell open?

Sucking in a breath, Tal took on invisibility again and crawled out from under the aravel. Slinking around the front of the landship now, between it and the hearth keeper's fire, Tal stretched up to his full height and grasped the leather strap on the door hatch. With a stifled grunt and a tug it gave, falling open just when he'd begun to fear it was actually locked.

With a loud creak the aravel hatch fell open, revealing the stairs on the other side. Tal glanced over his shoulder to see no one had come running at this unusual happening. Hunters and warriors were scattered about the clearing, searching. A few of them, along with the hearth keeper, were at Lytha's aravel with her family, listening to her tale.

Now or never.

Tal sprang up into the aravel, still concentrating on the invisibility spell. This aravel was crowded with chests, satchels, crates, and bags stacked on wooden shelves constructed into the walls. Tal wanted to whistle, impressed with this clan's storage, but of course he couldn't without risking giving himself away. He had to be fast.

At least this aravel seemed to be the right place.

Tal started handling the sacks, gripping the crates and chests, hoping the demon had not lied. _You will have a connection to it,_ it had said. _You will feel it recognizing you._ He knew that sensation. It was the same one he'd experienced in the Forbidden Oasis, at the Temple. But where—?

Then Tal's hand thumped onto a small chest low to the ground and beneath a halla skin. A shiver traveled up his arm and then down his spine. The invisibility spell flickered and failed. Tal gawked a moment, too stunned to reenact the spell as he tore off the halla pelt and pulled out the chest. It was locked with a small, rusty padlock. This clan had had the Crown for several generations, the demon had said. This chest had been locked for a very long time for the padlock to have grown so rusty.

And then he heard a rough male voice from behind him shout, "Dhavon? Is that you?"

_Shit, _he thought for the umpteenth time tonight.

Grabbing the chest and pulling it tight under one arm, Tal took on invisibility again and simultaneously snatched another knockout bomb from his belt. He heard a gasp from behind him as he whipped around and saw the hearth keeper staring from just outside the aravel with wide, stunned eyes.

Excitement and wild fear thrumming through him at the same time, Tal couldn't help but laugh at the fearful look on the old man's face. His expression made him look like he'd just witnessed some dark, malevolent force…

_Oh. Yes. Perfect!_

Tal let out a wolf-like howl as he leapt for the stairs leading out of the aravel. He barreled into the old man, pushing him backward with a grunt. He tossed down the knockout bomb as he jumped clear of the hearth keeper's prone frame. He caught sight of Lytha and her family gathered about the first fire as he ran. Their eyes were on the cloud of knockout powder, wide and terrified. Tal let out another howl, like a wolf rejoicing in a successful kill.

"The Dread Wolf has come! The Dread Wolf is here!" someone shouted. Screams answered and others began pleading with the Creators for mercy and protection.

But the warriors had begun running for the aravel, arrows nocked and swords drawn. Tal hugged the edge of the clearing, still invisible, and ran. The chest remained clutched under his arm as tight as he could get it. The worn edges of it dug into his fingers, giving him splinters, but Tal didn't care.

Tonight he had been the Dread Wolf and he had gotten away with some sweet, sweet mischief.

Felassan would have been so proud.

* * *

When he was far enough away from Tillahnenn's clearing that he felt certain they wouldn't find him, Tal broke open the chest. He used lock picks at first but discovered the padlock was so rusted that the effort was pointless—especially in the dark. So he did the next thing that came to mind: brute force.

Finding a heavy rock that fit well in his hand, Tal smashed the padlock four times to break it. Then, straining to get the rusty hinges to move for what might have been the first time in an age, Tal at last beheld the artifact that he had worked so hard to obtain and with such nefarious methods.

The Crown of Falon-Din was made of metal, thick and bronzed in color when he lifted it to the light of the milky moon through the dark trees. When he held it just right, however, it glimmered in a rainbow where his fingers touched it. It was hard to see and he could only just make it out when he squinted and turned his head right. Interesting.

It was disappointing in that it did not appear to be much of a crown—more like a circlet, actually. Tal had been given a vision of the Crown from the demon in one of his dreams and this did not match it. The one the demon had showed him had offshoots of curving whorls and circles that would have gripped the forehead and temples. The front of it had looked uncannily like Falon'Din's vallaslin.

But he _knew_ it was the Crown. The bronzed circlet spoke to his blood the same way the door in the Forbidden Oasis had. It was undeniable and it made him shiver. It seemed to whisper of a seductive power and the hidden potential waiting inside himself. It was as if it longed to be used again and it knew it had found someone who would do something with it rather than locking it away in a chest.

Tal tucked the Crown into his cloak and then made his way back to the larger clearing where most of the clans gathered to celebrate, mingle, and trade. He found it just as busy as before, but now some warriors and hunters had peeled away from the celebration and were talking together in stern, hushed voices. Tal tugged down his hood to make sure no one would identify him as the Dread Wolf in guise, wandering amongst them. With his hood down they would see his vallaslin clearly, letting him look the part of just another reveler, just one who preferred capes. They might even still mistake him for Felassan from a distance. Rosa had told him he resembled their father enough now that that was possible, though Tal himself didn't see it much.

He reached the opposite end of the clearing where clan Boranehn and Naseral were sleeping. He wondered idly if Rosa and Solas had found their way to clan Lavellan or went off into the woods to fuck like bunnies. Either option seemed likely. Normally Tal would have guessed Rosa would do what was right and proper, but Solas seemed to make her reckless the same way Rogathe had when there were suicidal odds—like taking on a dragon one on one.

Inside the cave Tal quietly went to his travel pack and tucked the Crown deep inside. Then he ditched the cloak altogether and, as an added layer of security to be further inconspicuous, he changed into nothing more than a shift and breeches. That way if Lytha thought she recognized him Tal would be lacking the Crown, the cloak, the armor, and the knockout bombs.

But, as he was about to leave, something made Tal pause. What if he ran into trouble? What if Lytha implicated him outside before he could establish an alibi? What if he had no weapons, no bombs, no means at all to fight back other than his own magic? Considerable as his magic was it wouldn't be exactly ideal. Sighing as he gave in to caution, Tal grabbed up just one bomb and tucked it into his belt.

He set off again to return to the reveling, this time thinking of his empty stomach, drinking wine, and finding his mother or…clan Manaria. Nola would be with the Keepers, of course, but…maybe…_maybe_ he could join the gathering? He _was_ a mage. Felassan had gone, even though he never was a Keeper or First. Surely Tal could—

A crackling sound echoed through the trees before Tal had reached the start of the clearing. He whipped around and almost laughed at what he saw. Solas was a few paces away, shirtless, and with purple-white lightning arcing in the fingers of his right hand. He looked dazed and unsteady on his feet—still drugged by the mushrooms. But…there was something dark and brooding and dangerous about him that wiped away any trace of a smile from Tal's face. "Solas…?"

"_You bear her marks,"_ Solas said in a snarl, speaking elven. _"But you are Falon'Din's creature."_

Tal stiffened and fought the instinct to throw a barrier over himself or summon fire for defense. He forced a smile onto his lips. "Remember me, Solas? I'm Tal. Talassan. I'm Felassan's son? I have Mythal's vallaslin because he did. I took them to piss off my Keeper."

"Your Keeper?" Solas asked, then shook his head only to sway slightly. The crackling lightning in his left palm never faltered. Tal couldn't help but be impressed. Drunkenness and drugs should have marred Solas' concentration, especially because he seemed to have consumed a more hallucinogenic dose rather than a sedative.

"Yeah," Tal said, nodding enthusiastically. "My Keeper. You know the asshole we met earlier today?"

"_You are no slave,"_ Solas said then, again reverting to elven.

"Damn right I'm not," Tal said and managed to laugh. "You know us Dalish. Never shall we break. Never shall we yield. All that." He waved a hand dismissively.

"Dalish?" Solas repeated, scowling as though with confusion.

Tal let out a breath. "Oh boy. You're trapped in the past, aren't you?" He clucked his tongue. "Sorry."

"Dalish?" Solas repeated, sounding irritable. Apparently he actually wanted an explanation.

"Don't worry about it. It's a sad, long story. I'll tell you tomorrow morning." He leaned to one side, trying to see into the darker depths of the woods. "Where's Rosa?"

Solas cocked his head, brow furrowed. "I…" His shoulders heaved as he breathed a touch faster. "Rosa."

"Yeah. My sister. The reason, I'm guessing, you're standing there without a shirt?" A frisson of fear raced up and down Tal's spine as the cold, horrible possibility that in his mushroom-induced confusion Solas could have turned violent and hurt or killed Rosa sprang into Tal's mind. "Do you think you could take me to her?" he asked as kindly as he could.

Solas' lips curled back in a hard, angry snarl. _"You are Falon'Din's creature,"_ he repeated, using elven again. _"You think to kill me for your master? You are a greater fool than even your false god."_

Tal chuckled nervously as Solas began to advance on him. "I think we've misunderstood each other. Let's start over. I am Tal. Talassan, son of Felassan. You remember Felassan, right?" He backed up as Solas drew closer.

Solas hesitated, stopping to frown with confusion. _"Slow Arrow?"_ he repeated. _"You wish to trade inane stories now? Do not waste my time, _Lethanavir."

"Okay, so you don't remember that name my father used," Tal said, laughing tightly. "So, what about Ivun?"

This drew no reaction from Solas at all, other than a dangerous glare. The lightning continued to crackle. Tal licked his lips, cursing himself for being such a fool. Had he really thought this through? Drugging someone like Solas? Of course it would royally fuck him up. The Elvhen man was Creators knew how old, but most of his life had been spent in Elvhenan. Of course he would revert to _that._ And apparently Ivun was a newer name for their father too. What had Felassan been called back then?

"Uh," Tal scrambled. "My father is Eolas…? Does that mean anything to you?"

Now Solas blinked, looking less hostile and more confused. _"You are Dirthamen's progeny?" _he asked and then seemed to decide on the answer for himself as he sneered. _"No. You are Falon'Din's."_

"How about we stop worrying about that and talk about where you left my sister," Tal pressed, hoping to change the subject. "Or, if you don't remember her, how about your shirt? Don't you want that shirt back? You probably made it yourself. It's a nice shirt. Why don't we look for it?"

Solas glanced down at himself and seemed to start as he realized he was indeed lacking his shirt. The crackling died away as Solas slapped both hands to his chest and then his neck, feeling about as though he might find his shirt if he searched his own chest thoroughly enough. "What…?" he asked, but Tal was sure he wasn't actually talking to him, more just questioning all of life right now.

"Yeah," Tal said, pointing back out into the woods. "Do you remember waking up next to a woman? Brown hair? Kind of curly? Violet eyes? Olive skin? Dirthamen's vallaslin?"

Now Solas looked up at him and frowned, all hostility and rage. _"You shall not have her."_

"Oh, c'mon," Tal said with a groan as Solas once more summoned lightning. He switched to elven, hoping that might get through to Solas. _"I don't want her. I'm not your enemy. I'm her brother."_ He fidgeted anxiously where he stood before going on in common._ "_Seriously. Just tell me you didn't hurt her and I promise you I will walk away and you can go back to banging like bunnies."

But Solas had apparently lost his patience. He lobbed lightning at Tal. With a yelp Tal erected a shield at just the last moment. Solas' attack was so strong he felt the barrier break, barely managing to absorb all of it. _Damn._ Only Rosa and Felassan had ever been that powerful previously. He'd already known from Rosa that Solas was at least as powerful as their father. Maybe to be a general you needed to be stronger still in Elvhenan?

"Enough, already," Tal snapped and grabbed the knockout bomb from his belt, grateful now that he had decided to take it after all. As his barrier fell he lobbed it at the ground beneath Solas' feet. The Elvhen man tried to step clear of the spreading cloud of dust, already coughing, but his feet were clumsy and he quickly stumbled and fell straight into the cloud. Soon he was wheezing and then silent as the dust knocked him out cold.

In the silence that followed, Tal laughed and wiped at the sweat on his brow. "Elgar'nan's big fiery balls, Solas. What is your problem with Falon'Din, anyway?" Well, Solas _had_ told them he'd fought the Creator in a civil war while serving under Mythal, so it made sense he'd hold a grudge. It also made one nastier side effect of the mushrooms abundantly clear: paranoia.

Best try to check on Rosa, although that'd probably mean an eyeful of his sister naked and passed out somewhere. Yuck.

"The things I do for the love of you, _asamalin,"_ he muttered as he stepped around Solas' prone form.

* * *

It was only about fifteen minutes later that Tal did indeed find Rosa exactly as he'd feared—though not murdered as he'd dreaded. She lay naked in the plush grass beside a small trickling waterfall that reminded Tal he really had to piss. Seeing Rosa made Tal sigh and then, grumblingly, he took off his own shirt and moved to kneel beside her to pull it over her. He gathered up a few parts of her armor and then, with a grunt of effort, scooped her into his arms to take her back to the cave where she would be safe.

In the cave Tal laid her in his own bedroll and covered her with his furs after recovering his own shirt. While tugging it off her, Tal's palm brushed over the rough line of a scar he didn't remember her having before. He and Rosa had bathed around one another often enough while traveling that Tal knew her body well—or he had as of a year or so ago. He knew one of her shoulders had a nasty scar from when she had fought to save her clan from slavers. And on one thigh there was a scar she earned while fighting Templars in the Hasmal Circle. This new one was small, consisting of one long line. A slash by a sword, maybe?*

He made a note to ask her about that new one and then dismissed it just as quickly. Better for her not to realize how sober he was this night. She was too clever and inevitably would figure it out if he did.

After Tal took another knockout bomb in case he encountered a very angry and confused Solas again, he noticed Sera's bedroll was empty. A pang of worry lanced through him and he spun in a circle, trying to find some sign or hint as to where she might be and if she'd be safe. Seeing nothing, Tal quickly left the cave to search outside it and found a trail of rounded tracks in the dirt that had clearly been left by Sera's slipper-like shoes. The tracks headed off into the bushes nearby.

As he approached he heard Sera's voice drunkenly call out. "Stop. Right there. Right now."

Tal obeyed and realized through the still night air that he could faintly smell urine. He grimaced with disgust even as he snickered. "Call of nature, Sera?" he asked.

The bushes rustled and the archer lurched out, bleary and eyes glassy. She shot him a half-hearted glare. "Sneaking round tryina peep." She stabbed a finger at him. "Thought I was Dorian, yeah?"

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Tal shook his head. "Why does everyone think Dorian and I are together?"

"Cuz you are," Sera insisted, then grinned. She laughed and then snorted loudly through her nose. Walking unsteadily past him, Sera squinted through the trees and toward the clearing where the orange light of bonfires glowed. "What's that?" she asked.

"It's…an elfy-elf party."

Sera made a noise of disgust and then stopped, her expression easing with something akin to thoughtfulness. "They got more of that cider?"

Tal shrugged. "Probably." He stepped beside her, deciding that hanging out with Sera would be a decent alibi. She'd been drunk and asleep during his heist and that combination meant she'd probably swear he had been with her all night without even considering—let alone caring—if that was true. He extended his forearm out to her. "Want to go with me? That way you'll have one elfy-elf you know."

Sera glanced at his proffered arm and snorted, as if about to refuse. Then, again, she seemed to reconsider. Her pinked cheeks split wide with another grin. "More cider, yeah?"

"Absolutely," Tal promised.

"Fuck yeah," Sera agreed then, grabbing his arm and holding tight—mostly because her balance was severely impaired. But Tal didn't mind…except he still needed to find a place to piss.

* * *

Much to Tal's surprise, Sera seemed to be _getting along_ at the "elfy-elf" party. They'd started by drinking a bit on the sidelines but then Sera drunkenly decided to take an interest in something other than the alcohol. She pointed—obviously and rudely using her whole arm and index finger to indicate the person she meant—to one woman dancing with a half dozen others about a nearby bonfire. "See her?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tal said, shrugging. The other woman was a rogue by the look of her. Daggers glinted in beautifully crafted sheathes on her back. Tal sloshed the cider about in his cup, enjoying the smooth movement of the amber liquid. "What about her?"

"That one followed us in on her deer-thingy." Sera explained. Her voice was too loud and carried. Tal noticed some elves a few meters away were throwing them suspicious and annoyed stares—mitigated only slightly by the fact that they too were sloshed.

"Uh-huh," Tal said, not even bothering to feign interest. He had consumed enough cider to start a little pleasurable warmth curling in his belly and just barely easing the lingering tension from his earlier heist and the strange encounter with mushroom-high Solas. But he wasn't fool enough to let his guard down by drinking _too_ much. It was a delicate balance. A little alcohol would make him believable if he had to act _deeply_ inebriated to escape suspicion, but too much would make him loose-lipped and liable to making idiotic mistakes.

"Nice arse—for an elf. Not all chicken bones and shite." Sera shuddered and then laughed. Tal eyed the woman and saw that she was maybe a little more thickly built than some Dalish and her ass was plump with muscle.

"Kinda wanna…" Sera narrowed her eyes, licking her lips in a deliberately slow, sensual way and then a moment later wrinkled her nose with disgust. "Nah. Maybe just feed her arrows."

"Are you saying you want to fuck her?" Tal asked, arching an eyebrow.

Sera glared at him but lost all heat when she swayed on her feet and Tal had to reach out and steady her. This drew a chorus of giggling from her. "No," she finally said after she'd finished her fit. "Not one bit. Arrows. Just arrows." Turning away, she started to walk back to the nearest crate where glass bottles of cider waited in a steadily dwindling assortment. Tal moved with her, certain that she would fall over if left unattended for too long.

As Sera poured herself another cup of cider, Tal heard someone calling his name. Turning at the neck, he tried to locate the source and forgot to breathe as he recognized the silhouette approaching. _Nola. _She was backlit by the nearest bonfire and flanked by others he also recognized—Lanatriel's long silver hair, her husband's strong build and distinctive double headed axe, and one of the hunters who'd managed to escape death and slavery during the raids the clan had suffered. But it was Nola of course who captured his attention, leaving him speechless and frozen.

"Tal?" she asked, her voice quieter now. Her face was poorly lit with the orange light thrown off from the bonfires, but Tal could still see that her brow was furrowed. Was she angry? Wounded? Or merely confused?

Words had flown away from Tal like birds spooked from their roosts. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again as his throat closed up. He swallowed, heart pounding. This was not the Fade. This was _real._ She was here. Of course she was here. He'd known intellectually that she would be here and he'd even wanted to find her but now that she was here…

Sera turned now, swaying drunkenly. A bit of her cider sloshed out of her wooden cup. She surveyed Nola and the Keeper in turn took her in—but only for a moment before she looked to Tal. Her perfect pouty lips downturned and Tal cringed, certain he knew what she must be thinking. He'd claimed to prefer men but here he was with a flat-ear woman. "It's not what you're thinking," he blurted.

But Nola's frown had already passed and instead she squared her shoulders and ignored what he'd said. "I did not expect to see you, Tal. What brings you to the gathering? Have you reconsidered leaving the clan?"

"I…" He rubbed at his neck sheepishly, feeling his cheeks flushing with heat all the way to his ears.

"Who's 'at?" Sera asked, slurring. As she had earlier Sera pointed her index finger at Nola rudely.

The Keeper frowned again and Tal rushed to make the introductions. "Nola, meet my friend Sera. She's part of the Inquisition and she likes women. _Only_ women."

Nola blinked at this introduction and the others behind her shifted or snorted with varying reactions. Sera glowered at him. "Yeah? What of it? You tryna get me with her, Treeface?" She wrinkled her nose with disgust. "Yeah? No." She slurped on the cider loudly.

Ignoring the inebriated response, Tal motioned between the two women again. "Sera, this is Keeper Nola of clan Manaria." He hesitated a moment, his mouth dry and his pulse racing before he added. "My…clan."

Sera didn't stop slurping on her cider to make comment, just shoved one hand out, thumbs up as her way of acknowledging the introduction. But Tal hardly noticed as Nola and the clan members with her were too distracted with the possibility that Tal would be rejoining them. They stared at him, each gaze feeling like a bag of bricks on Tal's shoulders, pressuring him to respond with some clarification.

"I…" Tal stammered, then shrugged awkwardly. "Can I talk with you, Keeper?"

Nola dipped her head to him. "Certainly." She motioned at Lanatriel and the others. "Go on and rejoin the festivities. I'll meet you all back at camp." They nodded to her, murmuring respectfully as they turned away. Tal couldn't maintain eye contact with them, certain that he would see simmering resentment in everyone but Nola.

"Walk with me?" Nola asked, smiling as she held out her hand.

Tal swallowed, trying to keep his breathing slow and even. "Yeah. Okay." He took her hand in his and let her walk with him toward the tree line. Sera watched him go lackadaisically, far more interested in drinking more alcohol—and watching the rogue who'd caught her eye.

Nola led him to an abandoned bear pelt at the edge of the trees, one of many such pelts that had been left for revelers to sit upon. From this spot, slightly elevated on a rise, they could survey the rest of the clearing, watching the dancers moving about the bonfires and the drunken elves moving from one area of crates to another to indulge. They sat together in silence for a time, staring at the scene below. Tal could hear the piping sound of a flute somewhere harmonizing with drums. He wiggled his foot, halfway in time to the tune and halfway just in a nervous tic as he waited for Nola to speak or for himself to find the right words. Neither option seemed to be happening very quickly.

Finally Tal blurted out, "Don't the Keepers meet for most of the night? Shouldn't you still be there?"

Nola turned her head, eyes glinting from the firelight and moon. "Haven't you heard?" she asked.

"Heard what?" Tal asked, grinning with nervousness.

Nola shifted her position, leaning a touch closer to him. It was difficult to read her expression but Tal could sense the somberness in the air between them—that undercurrent of tension that was more than just what lay between them personally. He had already tensed with anticipation before her words his him. "The meeting was adjourned early because one of the clans was attacked." Her teeth gleamed in the distant firelight. "They say it was the Dread Wolf himself."

Tal snorted and then let himself laugh. "Seriously?"

Nola nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It's true. They're saying an ancient relic was stolen from their aravel."

"What," Tal said, smirking. "Did the Dread Wolf come back to reclaim his sacred hairbrush or toothpick or toenail clippers?"

Nola chuckled, her body language easing up. Tal found himself relaxing as well. "Something like that." But a moment later she sobered. "Tal," she said and then dropped her gaze to the bear pelt between them. "I…I missed you. I did not think I would see you here. I…" Drawing in a sharp breath, Nola turned her face back toward the bonfires in the clearing, letting Tal see the golden light painting her features. The sight robbed him of breath—as did the way he saw her nostrils flaring and the sheen of unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.

"I came here to find a new First," she said, voice even despite the obvious emotions on her face. "The clan elder agrees, as do most of my hunters and warriors. We are too vulnerable without a First. If something were to happen to me the clan would dissolve. We would be lost."

"Nothing will happen to you," Tal told her, softly. But he could feel determination harden like a fist closing over his heart—that same protectiveness he felt toward his mother and sister. The kind of devotion that scared him shitless because he knew he would do _anything_ to protect them.

Nola's smile was a touch wan. "You cannot make such promises," she said and chuckled sadly. "It was divine luck and the sacrifice of my Keeper before me that spared me in the raids. There's no way you could prevent another and if the _shems_ attacked again…"

"I…" Tal swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat and simultaneously not vomit into Nola's face with his anxiety. "I can't leave my sister, yet…"

Her expression warped with surprise. "You wish to return?"

"I…" He wrung his hands, finding them sweaty. "I never wanted to leave, but…"

Now her brow furrowed with bafflement. "You were adamant on going," she reminded him. "And she is your sister and she had suffered so much, losing her little one before its time. How could I deny either of you, even if it was dangerous?"

"I know," Tal said, nodding quickly. "I meant I didn't want to stop being First—not really. It's just…" He croaked, his throat closing, and jerked his head away from her. His breath came too fast, whistling through his nose.

"Yes?" Nola pressed, edging closer. Tal felt her breath puff once on his cheek.

Screwing his eyes shut, he let out a long, shuddering breath and finally blurted, "I lied. That night in the aravel. I lied. I panicked. I'm a fraud, Nola." He snarled, "Dread Wolf take me."

"What?" Nola asked, sounding a touch breathy with shock.

Tal covered his face with his hands, finding them clammy and shaking. "I lied about what I said. I was terrified when I realized you wanted to…to…" He dropped his hands to his lap with a slapping sound and rubbed them over his breeches, trying to dry them. "You wanted to make a Second. With me." He scoffed, still not daring to look at her. "I'm the Bastard of Ghilath. I'm no one's father. I'm no one's First. I don't know how to be those things. I _want_ them, I think, but…"

"You don't prefer men?" Nola asked, her voice a whisper.

Tal laughed, tossing his head back with a touch of hysteria as his heart pummeled his breastbone. "Are you kidding? I _could not care less._ Men or women. But—"

"But you love Sammael," Nola said, louder and firmer now, as if confident of that. "Bonding and making children with me would seem a betrayal. It's not what you—"

Tal interrupted her with another sharp laugh. Finally finding the gumption to look her way, Tal saw she stared back at him with her lips slightly parted and her gorgeous eyes wide. Had he truly convinced her so thoroughly with Sammael?

"You really don't see it?" he asked her and then, at her confused tilt of her head to one side, he blurted, "I love you. Sammael is awesome but—"

"You love me?" she asked, interrupting. Her expression was unreadable but she'd begun shaking ever so slightly. Tal didn't know if that was a good sign or a very bad one.

Tal forced himself to keep meeting her gaze as he said, "Yeah. How could I not?" He felt his own body snapping taut, muscles quaking as he risked revealing more of that terrifying vulnerability inside. "But I can't tell how you feel. Is it all a duty for the clan? If I weren't around would you be asking one of the hunters to bond with you? Would you—"

But the confessions and explanations he'd been about to utter fled from his mind as Nola suddenly reached for him, pulling him close. Tal stiffened for an instant and then found her lips were against his: hot, soft, and salty. It set him afire within, as though a forest fire had been fanned to the point of explosion by a stiff wind. His head pulsed in time with his galloping heartbeat.

Nola's hands slid up his chest and around his shoulders. Sliding his own hands up her armor from waist to back and then lower. It didn't matter that it was chilled and metallic and hard to the touch. It was _hers._ And this was _happening. _

She pressed closer and closer, with Tal in turn pulling her toward him and then into his lap. Then finally Tal fell back on the bear pelt. They rolled back with a thump and Tal wheezed, breaking the kiss to suck in a breath to replace the one that'd been pressed out of him by their combined weight. Nola stared down at him, her lips spread wide in a grin and her eyes wide and dark, the pupils expanded enormously in the darkness.

"I've desired you almost from the moment we met," she murmured and Tal thought for sure she was blushing, abashed at the confession. Shy.

"Really?" he asked, a thrill of joy streaking through him. It squeezed his heart with relief and pleasure. The grin that claimed his mouth was as irresistible as Nola's kiss earlier.

She nodded, her smile trembling. "Yes." She laid one palm over his cheek and mirrored his previous phrase: "How could I not?"

"Well," Tal said, squirming beneath her to shrug with a self-deprecating quip. "There's the whole me being a bastard from another clan and poorly trained and then that time I panicked and ran away most of all." He winced. "Sorry about that, by the way, if I didn't apologize before. I can't remember if I—"

Nola stopped him with a laugh and pressed close again to kiss him fervently. Tal groaned with appreciation and almost whimpered in protest when she pulled away. But she was grinning as she stared down at him, one hand still stroking his cheek. "The only flaw I can see, Talassan, is that you talk entirely too much."

He laughed. "Yeah, I do ramble."

"I forgive you," she murmured, her lips brushing his skin tenderly. And, as Tal's heart lurched with the sudden wonder as to whether she meant for his rambling or for the night he had panicked and left her with a lie, Nola mercifully answered the question before he could ask it. "For all. On one condition."

"Yeah?" Tal asked, unable to stop himself from stiffening, afraid she would ask him to abandon Rosa and return immediately to the Free Marches.

But she merely sighed her satisfaction and spoke in another whisper against his skin. "That you return to us as First when you are ready. And that you write."

Even as his stomach clenched with nervousness, Tal nodded. "How could I say no?" As she smiled at him with approval Tal kissed her again, full of heat and eagerness. He nipped at her jaw and then her neck, only to shiver as she caressed one hand up his tunic along bare skin. When Nola shifted against him, bumping the enormous lump of his cock, heat leapt to his face all the way to his ears. He couldn't stop from rambling again, frantic to explain himself before anything progressed. "It's been almost a year since…uh, the last time. I'm out of practice and—"

"Sammael was your last partner?" she asked, her tone doing nothing to hide her doubt.

"Yeah," Tal told her. He was about to ask why everyone seemed to think him incapable of sexual restraint but bit his lip to keep the unimportant question back. He didn't exactly have a great track record. Rosa had once said he had no standards in a partner short of willingness and that had been true…but since Sammael and the fiasco with Nola he had found himself shying away from sex at the last moment. So it was he'd done some minor fondling with Herah the Tal-Vashoth mercenary before the Conclave explosion killed her and then after had dared only to make out a bit with Dorian, though he knew the Tevinter wanted _much_ more.

"Then we have both waited," Nola said, smiling. "And…perhaps we needn't wait any longer?"

Tal laughed, heat continuing to coil in his belly. "Keeper, I am yours to command."

* * *

* This scar is from Corypheus running Rosa through many chapters back. Solas healed her to the point that it's not as noticeable as it should be for what would have been a fatal wound. I always imagine Rosa has more scars than the typical mage. Solas, for example, I think has relatively few. Nothing in the past, (save maybe other Evanuris), before he woke weak, got close enough to do much damage—or nothing he couldn't heal to the point of invisibility, anyway.

* * *

Elven Used:

Lethanavir: Another name for Falon'Din

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"You're sleeping with him again," Halesta said and clucked her tongue with disapproval. "I hope you have created a charm this time to avoid unwanted children. Elvhen seed seems to be potent. I made you almost immediately when I laid with Ivun. With how quickly your brother came along I suspect the same was true for his mother."

Rosa groaned with disgust. "Really, _mamae?_ Yuck." Lifting one leg she motioned to the anklet contraceptive charm she had been wearing since before the Conclave. "I am no fool."


	38. Blame the Flat-Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the mysterious theft that so disturbed the Arlathvhen, Rosa finds her flat-ear companions accused of wrongdoing. Because, *obviously*, it must be the outsiders. But things go from bad to worse when Rosa's own mother implicates Tal with disastrous results.

Something thumped against Rosa's knee and a voice above her said: "Wake up."

She opened her eyes, groaning as the world spun about her. A hazy shape came into focus above her but she had to blink hard several times to clear her eyesight before recognition dawned. Her mother stood stolid and steely-eyed over her. The bump Rosa had felt against her knee had been her mother nudging her with one foot.

"_Mamae?"_ she croaked and started to sit up—only to freeze as she realized she was naked beneath the bear furs. "Damn," she muttered in a low voice. "I…I don't have any clothes. Why…?"

Halesta knelt and motioned to the scattered bits of armor laid haphazardly beside the bedroll. "At least some of your things are here. As for where the rest are? I haven't any idea." She sniffed, looking about the cave. "And your troublemaking brother is missing too. As is your lover and the flat-ear girl you brought."

"What?" Rosa croaked, scowling with worry. Her head was foggy and her body sluggish to respond as she tried to reach for the smallclothes beside the bedroll. She twisted as much as the bear furs allowed while still preserving a modicum of modesty and saw Lihari, Keeper Elan, and Fravun were sitting at the hearth nearby with a few other elves, poking at the fire and prepping breakfast. Light glowed pale blue outside, suggesting dawn had not quite broken over the forest but was about to.

"Our meal was drugged last night," Halesta told her in a low voice.

Feeling as though she had found herself in a nonsensical waking dream, Rosa gawped at her mother and again asked, "What?"

Halesta's lips pinched tightly together. "The meal we ate was tainted. I recognized the symptoms once I felt them for myself after Elan, Fravun, and I left for the meet. I know the mushrooms that cause this illness of the mind. Some people it makes sleep. Others it drives to madness." She huffed. "Your babae taught me the antidote years ago and I managed to make enough to keep Fravon, Elan, and myself sound of mind."

When she said _your babae_ Rosa knew she meant the Keeper before her; Keeper Taeras. Not Felassan.

Rosa growled with irritation and flung off the bear pelt when she had too much trouble trying to keep herself covered and got dressed. She pulled the breast band over herself and wrapped it tight, then shamelessly rose to her feet and began to shimmy into some skintight breeches. She heard a few of the hunters chuckling at her expense but no one commented otherwise at the eyeful she must have offered everyone. Once she'd finished with the smallclothes Rosa began scrounging about for her finely woven chainmail, but already she could see she was missing pieces. What had happened to her last night?

"I don't think you've comprehended what I've said," Halesta told her stiffly.

"The stew was laced with bad mushrooms," Rosa muttered without looking up from her task. She found the chainmail for her lower body and began to pull it on.

"Yes," Halesta said, her tone one of thinning patience. "But Tal is the one who brought the meal to us."

"Yes," Rosa agreed. "And it was tainted. Did you know clan Ghilath's Keeper is an absolute _atrocious_ ass? I expect he's the one who tainted it, or he ordered Enasa to do it and she just did it because the poor thing is like his thrall or his slave."

"I understand Keeper Sahren is an insufferable prick," Halesta agreed. "But Tal is the one who tainted that stew."

Now Rosa stopped looking over her armor and turned to her mother, frowning. "What?" How many times was she going to ask that? But this time her stomach clenched cold with dread.

"He didn't eat it," Halesta murmured. Her brow was furrowed and her blue eyes narrowed. "He claimed he had already eaten. And when Lihari began to fall ill from the mushrooms he blamed the drink to deflect our suspicions."

"No," Rosa protested, shaking her head. The world spun at that movement and she hissed through her teeth, laying one hand to her head. She wished she'd recognized the symptoms and known the antidote as her mother had. But, addled brain or not, she could _not_ just listen to her mother impugn Tal with such…well, it wasn't exactly _little_ evidence. But still. "It could still have been Keeper Sahren. Tal pranked and humiliated him as often as he could. Tal might have eaten beforehand and unknowingly brought the tainted stew to us. You can't jump to his guilt."

Halesta frowned. "And you cannot allow yourself to be blind to the obvious, _da'len."_ Her blue eyes darted to the fire behind Rosa and then she edged closer, lowering her voice to little more than a whisper. "There is more. The meet last night was adjourned early because one of the clans was attacked and a relic stolen."

"_What?"_ Rosa asked, stunned into staring stupidly. It seemed she would be endlessly condemned to repeating that one word in shock. Would that only be for this morning or would it last the rest of her life? Right now it felt like it would be the rest of her life.

"Yes," Halesta said, her expression hard. "This is just the sort of nefarious, underhanded trickery I would expect from Ivun. And it would appear Tal has fallen prey to the same behavior. Your lover and your brother conspire against the People together it would seem."

"Hold on," Rosa said, lifting one palm out to her mother in a _stop_ motion. "You're jumping to conclusions. Solas had nothing to do with any of this. He's just here to accompany me, as is Sera. I was the one who hoped to rope him into something more."

Halesta was silent for several long moments before her features eased. "I believe you."

Rosa blinked as she realized that her mother had worried _she_ was part of this imagined plot too. Her cheeks flushed with the heat of humiliation. "You thought I had something to do with this," she said through gritted teeth. "Have you shared these thoughts with anyone?"

"You brought them here," Halesta said. "I could not trust that you were innocent, but I have told no one else. I would not betray you like that."

"And do you still think I'm part of this imagined plot?" Rosa asked, gesturing to her still half-undressed self. "Do you really think I would stage this?"

Halesta's lips twisted up slightly. "No. I watched you eat the stew last night."

"Didn't you also see Solas eating it?" Rosa asked, snarling the question. "Because I saw him eating it."

"Yes," Halesta admitted. "But he is Elvhen. I would not be surprised if he knew a spell to counter the effects entirely."

Rosa rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure he had no clue." She strained her memory, shutting her eyes tightly to try and dredge up some inkling of what had happened last night. She vaguely remembered emotional pain tightening her heart and Solas' voice saying _no._ The sound of water tinkling came to her as well, along with the taste and smell of Solas' woody maleness. Well, that explained the nakedness then. But how had she come to be here and where was he?

"Solas was with me," she said then, nodding with confidence. "The last thing I remember was…well…"

"You're sleeping with him again," Halesta said and clucked her tongue with disapproval. "I hope you have created a charm this time to avoid unwanted children. Elvhen seed seems to be potent. I made you almost immediately when I laid with Ivun. With how quickly your brother came along I suspect the same was true for his mother."

Rosa groaned with disgust. "Really, _mamae?_ Yuck." Lifting one leg she motioned to the anklet contraceptive charm she had been wearing since before the Conclave. "I am no fool."

"We shall see about that," Halesta retorted, her tone somehow managing to be both facetious and serious simultaneously. But, sobering entirely then, she added, "If he gives you another child I will take it. Do not wash it away."

"_Mamae,"_ Rosa said, frowning with disapproval as she shot another look over her shoulder, aware that the others about the fire were close enough they might overhear this conversation at their current volume—particularly inside the echo chamber that was this cave. Thinking of hypothetical future children always made her remember the one she lost and it made her heart ache. Better to push that aside for now. The last thing she, Solas, or any of them needed right now was a child. She sighed and spoke quieter now as she asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to spring on me this morning?"

Her mother grimaced and then said, "Unfortunately, yes. The clan who suffered the attack and the stolen relic is claiming it was Fen'Harel himself. The entire Arlathvhen is ready to disband and just wait for a year before meeting again in a different place." She clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes at Rosa, speaking in barely more than a whisper. "I'm sure you can see why it would be disastrous to challenge their views on the Creators at a time like this. Ivun was well known for his eccentricities and questionable wisdom, as well as his heretical tendencies. With the Keepers as they are currently, it would be beyond foolish to spook them. They will stampede and trample you like a herd of halla if you do. You'll be banished. They'll blame you and your friends for the attack and the theft."

Rosa stared at her mother, her heart pounding and her hands clenching into fists. The terrible truth was that Halesta was right. Any dreams she'd had for strong-arming her people into greatness with Solas' help had been dashed by whatever had happened last night. Groaning, Rosa covered her face with both hands. _"Fenedhis,"_ she cursed and then, a touch louder and with more heat, she added: "Elgar'nan's flaming ballsack." A few gasps echoed from the fire behind her, but Rosa paid them no mind.

Halesta smirked but cuffed her daughter on the side of the head. "Watch your language, da'len. There has been enough blasphemy in the last day. We don't need your colorful cursing to add to the misfortune that has befallen us."

With a brief glare at her mother for the reprimand—the same sort she would have received ten years ago as a preteen for speaking out of turn among the meeting of elders and Keepers—Rosa returned with a fury to dressing herself. "I have work to do, _mamae._"

"Then I wish you luck," Halesta told her politely. They were Keeper and subservient now rather than mother and daughter. Rosa _hated_ when they fell back into that relationship. "But Keeper Deshanna was searching for you. Please find her and check in with your clan."

"Yes, _hahren,"_ Rosa retorted, a touch bitter. "I'll make sure I do that."

"And if you need breakfast," Halesta added, softer now. "You are welcome here." With that she walked past Rosa and toward the fire to return to the others, leaving Rosa to finish donning what little she could find of her armor and to wonder what in the great beyond had gone wrong.

* * *

Solas woke to chilled morning air. His body was damp with dew over his bare chest. That was the first odd thing he noted. The second was that he was alone and not on a bedroll inside an Inquisition camp. He sat up and brushed at the dew over himself, then searched his memory for some hint as to what had happened to place him here.

Hazy memories swam to the surface: one of Dirthamen's spies speaking with him, plying him with sex, and then he'd encountered Falon'Din's assassin out here in the woods, but he was wearing Mythal's vallaslin. And then he had been in the Fade and he had felt hundreds of sleeping minds buzzing through the Fade, but their connections were faint and strained, as though all of them had dosed themselves with herbs to halfway block their dreams. As if they knew the Wolf prowled among them. He'd walked through dreams, spying and learning, but all of it was cloudy now. But where _was_ he? And where was his shirt? Or his wolf-jaw pendent?

When he got to his feet Solas smelled the pleasant scent of wood smoke on the breeze and turned slightly to see activity through a clearing in the distance. Men and women moved about, sluggish with the recentness of dawn. They were dressed shabbily in homespun cottons and furs and makeshift armor, not the resplendent silks, gossamer, and fine-hammered plate armor he expected. No…this was…

Feeling how _small_ his mana core was, Solas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as reality returned to him. The "Great Betrayal" of both Evanuris and Forgotten Ones. The Veil. The fall of Arlathan and all of Elvhenan. The enslavement of the Elvhen people and now, thousands of years later, their slow glacial extinction as magic died and humans ground them into dust.

All. His. Fault.

And then he heard the quiet rustle of hunter' feet and lifted his head, tensing as he saw a trio of elves—_Dalish_ elves—approaching. They used minimal stealth, but they were armed and wearing armor. The man in the lead was a rogue, carrying both knives and a bow over his back. When the man raised his head, even from many meters away still, Solas recognized him: Mahanon. Their eyes locked and Mahanon halted, signaling the elves behind him—one old man with large ears and a silver-haired middle-aged woman who must be the Keeper—to do the same.

"Flat-ear," Mahanon shouted to him, his tone one of wariness and irritation. "Where is Rosa?" Their group began to approach once more, hurrying now at a jog through the underbrush. Dried leaves crackled under their feet and ferns swayed.

Solas waited until they reached him before deigning to answer. "I…am uncertain," he admitted. "I believe I may have consumed too much wine last night."

"You and half the clans," the older man quipped, smirking.

The Keeper shot the older man an amused look and then stepped forward around Mahanon to extend her hand out to him in greeting. "You are one of Rosa's companions?" she asked, smiling politely as she waited for him to greet her in kind.

Solas considered refusing to answer but knew that would be unwise. His memories were still disjointed and he could easily become confused. Best to behave courteously. He clasped the Keeper's hand and shook it briefly. "I am indeed. My name is Solas."

"Also known as Revas," Mahanon grumbled, glancing at the Keeper in a way that suggested he had discussed Solas with her previously and hoped to jog her memory.

The Keeper's eyes widened as comprehension dawned. She did not release his hand but her grip did seem to slacken before Solas let go of it. "A pleasure," she said and, surprisingly, she did not sound as though she feigned it. "Anyone helping my First protect Thedas from a Darkspawn Magister has my trust and respect."

The connection snapped inside Solas' mind and he smiled now more genuinely. "Ah. You are the Keeper of clan Lavellan."

"Yes," she confirmed. "Clan Naseral's Keeper, Halesta, told me Rosa was here, but I've not seen her." Her eyebrows shot into her forehead. "Have you seen her?"

Solas swallowed, remembering the warm, soft flesh of a woman under his hands the previous night. The taste of her was still in his mouth. He'd been confused about her vallaslin and taken her to be one of Dirthamen's disciples or a Dreamer enslaved to his care who'd been sent to spy on him. Now he realized that was Rosa. No wonder he'd let his guard down and lain with her despite his confusion and doubt about her identity. Then again, as a hot-blooded man who had always far preferred women warming his bed over men, he couldn't be certain that while inebriated he might not have lain with _any_ one who showed interest.

"I…am unsure. We became separated." That much seemed true. He frowned. "She did not seek you out?"

"No," the Keeper said, shaking her head. "Not yet. I was heading to clan Naseral's camp to see if she's there." Her brown eyes swept up and down his body for a beat before she hedged, "You are the man she escaped the Hasmal Circle with?"

Solas tensed, unable to keep his gaze from flicking to Mahanon and seeing the younger man had crossed his arms over his chest and now idly nudged at a small stone imbedded in the leaves and other underbrush. The Keeper's tone made it clear she knew the significance of Solas' answer. If he confirmed it she would know he had been the one to father the child Rosa had lost that spring over a year ago. The desire to defend himself was like an itch he couldn't scratch as he clenched his jaw and nodded. It would be unseemly to offer up some excuse or explanation, no matter how much he wanted to. None of it was relevant now.

"Well," the Keeper said, still smiling politely. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Solas. Now." She motioned forward. "Shall we be going?"

"Certainly," Solas agreed.

By the time they reached the other clan's campsite—which Solas did vaguely remember when he saw the banners on the boulders above the cave—it was clear clan Lavellan's Keeper was not the only one searching for Rosa. Mages, warriors, and hunters had assembled outside of the cave. All wore armor and carried weapons but, disturbingly, more than a few of them had those weapons drawn. They glared daggers at Solas and seemed to have nothing but suspicion aimed at clan Lavellan's people either. It seemed odd—but then again, everything had seemed strange this morning to Solas.

He tried not to feel self-conscious about his lack of a tunic as he edged past the other Dalish and down the slope into the dimness of the cave. Angry words echoed off the roof and walls and floor and Solas' heart leapt at the familiar sound of Rosa's voice even as he scowled at the other as it too triggered a memory. The words fell silent as he and the other members of clan Lavellan arrived but as Solas' eyes adjusted to the dark he recognized Tal's former Keeper, Sahren.

"What's going on here?" Lavellan's Keeper asked, looking perturbed as she stared at Rosa, Sahren, and Halesta where they stood at one side of the cave, away from the crackling fire of the hearth where Solas saw another two mages, some hunters, and a little girl who also sported a small stave on her back. _Lihari,_ he recalled. The other two were…_Elan and Fravun._ Yes. His memory was definitely returning in force now.

Rosa opened her mouth to speak but Sahren beat her to it. "Your wayward First is sabotaging the Arlathvhen, Deshanna."

Lavellan's Keeper, Deshanna, shook her head and scowled. "You're going to lay the blame for last night's attack at Rosa's feet?"

Solas turned his head sharply to stare at the Keeper, alarmed. His heart began to hammer hard in his chest. Attack? Had _he_ caused this? Had he attacked someone while inebriated? 

Deshanna went on, "She is the Inquisitor! She is fighting to save Thedas. Why would she come here to antagonize her own people?"

Rosa's shoulders sank with relief. "Thank you, Keeper."

Halesta nodded in agreement. "Yes. And I can vouch for Rosa. She woke here and was in no state to attack a clan and steal anything."

"Yes," Sahren snarled. "Because your entire entourage, Halesta, allowed themselves to be poisoned by mushrooms. How convenient that everyone in your party was out of sorts and could not be capable of the attack."

Rosa held out her arms and gestured to herself. Solas realized then that she was missing her upper body chainmail and much of her outer Keeper armor. Her stave was nowhere to be seen as well. "Do I look like I made some kind of raid on another clan last night? Half my fucking armor is gone. So is my staff. Tillahnenn clan is clear on the other side of the clearing and still a ways through the woods at that. Do you really think I went to that kind of trouble to—"

"You are a heretic who has abandoned the People to serve the _shemlen,"_ Sahren spat. "You are a disgrace to the People, just as your father was."

Solas' hands curled into fists and his mana bubbled with rage on Rosa's behalf as the cave fell silent at Sahren's outburst. The crackling of the fire was the only sound. Long seconds passed and Solas could see Rosa was shaking slightly, glowering with outrage. Her hands had also formed fists, but she kept herself in check. It was Halesta who rose to her daughter's defense.

"You're out of line, Keeper," she said in a somber, stern voice. "Rosa has done no demonstrable wrong. Rather than condemning her in your hunt for a scapegoat, perhaps you should consider that _we_ are as much victims of the mischief that occurred last night."

Rosa's head jerked toward her mother. _"Mamae,"_ she hissed in a tone of warning.

"What's this?" Sahren asked, sounding like a desire demon salivating at the first hint of its victim falling to temptation.

"I'm not going to let him implicate you when you've done nothing, _da'len,"_ Halesta said in an aside aimed at Rosa.

"No," Rosa growled. "No. I _forbid _it!" Mother and daughter glowered at each other a moment before Sahren drew everyone's attention by letting out a triumphant laugh.

"I see," he said, grinning. "You are protecting the little bastard."

Despite the darkness, Rosa blanched. Halesta appeared impassive. It was clear the mother would protect the daughter, regardless of Rosa's feelings on it, but even she did not confirm or deny the Keeper's impression. Solas' ever-quickening memory had already puzzled out who the Keeper meant: Tal. And, judging by the other man's wicked grin of twisted delight, this was the perfect outcome for him. At long last he would get to exact a revenge decades in the making against Felassan for stealing the heart of the woman he had loved and getting a bastard child on her almost immediately that _he_ and his clan had then had to raise. It apparently did not matter to him that Felassan was dead. All of his hate had transferred to Tal.

"I will tell the others of this," Sahren said, somehow managing to both snarl and grin at once. "Where is the little snot?"

"You will not _touch_ him," Rosa yelled, stepping forward and stabbing a finger at the earth.

"You have no authority here," Sahren growled at her. "You are an outsider." He turned his head slightly and shouted up the slope and out of the cave. "Taswin. Mora. Jeneth. Come down here and seize the _Inquisitor_."

"Stop this," Deshanna interrupted then, stepping forward and glaring at Sahren. "You do not have authority over my _First_ without sufficient evidence of any crime or wrongdoing. Keeper Halesta has vouched for her as well. You will _not_ take her."

Sahren harrumphed and went red in the face for an instant—and then his eyes flew to Solas and the gleeful, malevolent smile returned to his face. In that moment Solas wanted to crush the other man with a Veilstrike so powerful it would pop his internal organs like grapes. His stomach twisted and he ground his teeth, certain he knew what was coming.

"Then the flat-ear," Sahren said, motioning to Solas. "He does not belong here. The _Inquisitor_ should have known better than to bring him or the other flat-ear woman with her. If she had respected our way of life she never would have brought them here. And who better to commit the crime and theft against our people for her than a couple of flat-eared lackeys?" He turned and made eye contact with the three warriors he'd called down. "Seize the flat-ear."

"No," Rosa growled, darting forward to place herself between Solas and Sahren's warriors. "Have it your way, Sahren," she snarled. "We'll just leave. Will that make you happy? Driving away talented mages who could help you? Who would like to help all the People?"

Sahren shook his head. "No one is leaving until the relic is found and those responsible for the attack have been found and punished accordingly."

"They say it was Fen'Harel himself who stole the relic," Halesta protested. "Do you honestly expect you will find and punish the Dread Wolf, Sahren?"

Solas would have burst out laughing at that unknowingly ironic comment if the situation had not been so tense that it robbed him of breath.

Sahren snorted. "No, but I _will_ put an end to those who bring chaos and who have broken our rules."

"And what rules have I broken?" Solas retorted, unable to stop himself. In all honesty he couldn't be certain he hadn't been involved in this so-called attack. But it just as easily could have been hooligans. One clan could have taken some petty revenge last night against another clan and, like an opportunistic vulture, Sahren was using it to his advantage to ream his own enemies. _Pathetic. _

"Your mere presence here is an affront," Sahren sneered. He glowered at Rosa. "Step aside, woman, or there will be violence."

"Let them take him," Halesta implored her daughter. "It is not worth you being outcast, _ma'ashalan."_

"_Harellan,"_ Rosa shot back at her mother. She was red faced and shaking with rage.

Halesta cringed but did not back down. "Please."

"Rosa," Deshanna said, her tone grave. "No harm will come to him."

Still Rosa would not relent as she glared at Sahren. "Solas was with me last night. He couldn't have done what you're trying to pin on him. He was drunk, like I was."

"Then why did he arrive separately?" Sahren demanded, smirking with his certain triumph. "Deshanna, how did you find this man?"

"Out relieving himself," the Keeper lied, unexpectedly rising to Solas' defense. "I suspect he had only been out of this cave a short time."

"Yes," Mahanon agreed, also surprisingly aiding Solas and Rosa. "I know Solas. He would not have done what you claim he did."

"Well then," Sahren said, frowning. "Then it is a shame he must suffer for the crimes of another—but I will have answers. The People _will_ have answers. And to ensure we get them from Felassan's sniveling little bastard son, who is so conveniently missing here, we will take this flat-ear and the other when we find her." He smirked at Rosa. "If you want him back you'll have to bring your precious brother to me and the other Keepers before sundown."

"Fuck you," Rosa bit out. "You won't have Tal and you won't have Solas. I will—"

Both Halesta and Deshanna protested, trying to calm Rosa and get her to submit, but it was Solas who silenced her by grabbing her bicep and pulling her closer. She was trembling with fury, hot to the touch and her face was red and mottled with the intensity of her emotion. Solas leaned close, touching his lips to her ear to whisper in elven. _"They cannot hold me, _vhenan." She shivered at the endearment and he felt her muscles relax. _"Find your brother and Sera. Leave for camp. I will find you in the dreaming if we are separated."_

She turned her head slightly, brows furrowed with concern. "No," she said, gentle but firm. "No. I won't risk you like this. They see you as _nothing_ because you're barefaced."

He could pick out her unsaid meaning easily enough. Sahren and the others would not hesitate to kill him. The Arlathvhen was their holiest of events, the only time when the clans communed in a celebration of lore and culture—and _someone _had blasphemed it. Only Rosa's affection for him afforded any protection and it was clear Sahren's vendetta against the siblings and Felassan would strip that protection away entirely. Other Keepers might not even be told of his connection to the Inquisitor. As a result the Keepers would be all-too happy to use him as a scapegoat.

"_They cannot hold me,"_ he repeated the whisper in her ear.

Rosa gnashed her teeth, her eyes too bright with moisture, and Solas could see how the decision agonized her. Yet it was clear when she had made up her mind. She reached for him, wrapping one arm around his neck and pulling him to her for a fast, hard kiss. Solas returned it, curling one arm around her waist.

Sahren made a noise of disgust. "Take him," he ordered his warriors again. "I am sick of this."

Rosa released him as the warriors pressed close to do the Keeper's bidding. They snatched Solas' bare arms, pulling them behind him and binding them at the wrist with a cord of leather. Solas glowered at the Keeper a moment and then looked to Rosa, feeling his chest constrict at the sight of her tears. _"I will see you soon,_ vhenan," he promised her as the warriors tugged him toward the slope leading up and out of the cave.

* * *

As Sahren's warriors hauled Solas out into the sunshine of morning, Rosa tried not to feel like she would throw up or explode. Her hands were hot, ready to fling fireballs at Sahren's head. When the asshole moved to taunt Rosa one final time she knew she was about to lose all control and kill him, but somehow she managed to stay still.

"Bring that little shit to us by sundown, _Inquisitor,"_ he said, meaning Tal as he smirked with smug triumph, "and we will set your flat-ear lover free. If you don't bring him…well, the flat-ear should have been killed trying to enter this sacred place of our people in the first place. I will rectify that mistake."

"You son of a bitch," Rosa roared and drew her mana, summoning fire into her palm. Everyone about her gasped, stunned or frightened that she would attack—but then Mahanon lunged for her, grabbing her forearm. The shock of his intervention aborted Rosa's fire spell. The light went out and she stared at Mahanon, taken aback.

"He's not worth it," Mahanon told her firmly, giving her a little shake. "Don't let him win."

She knew he meant the Keeper and swallowed her rage, tabling it. Dropping her hands to her sides, she let herself deflate, though her body still burned with fury. She had never cared for Sahren before, thinking him a bully and cruel for the way he had treated Tal. Now she saw he was a slimy, evil, conniving…

"_Harellan,"_ she spat at the Keeper. "May Elgar'nan's fire burn you alive. May Andruil hunt you down like the vermin you are and may Falon'Din leave your soul to wander the Fade for eternity. Dread Wolf take you."

"Go back to the _shemlen,_" Sahren snarled at her and waved a hand at her dismissively. He turned on his heel and left the cave. The gaggle of other elves he'd brought with him also dispersed. They would be trying to understand why this flat-eared man had been apprehended and Rosa wondered what stories Sahren might concoct.

"I'm so sorry, _da'len,"_ Deshanna said softly. "This is truly awful. I have never seen its like before. What have we come to? Killing flat-ears who were invited into our midst by our own people."

"No one will kill him," Halesta insisted. "He is a powerful mage. A Dreamer. The Keepers will not blot out such a gift, even if he is just a flat-ear to them."

"Shut up," Rosa snarled at her mother. "You caused this mess by implicating Tal when you have _no_ evidence. Just circumstance. Is it any coincidence that Sahren showed up here right away? What if _he_ is behind all this?"

"There is one way to find out," Mahanon said, letting go of Rosa's arm. "We have to find Tal."

"Yes," Rosa agreed, clenching her jaw. "And Sera." Squaring her shoulders, Rosa pivoted back to the bedroll she'd first woken on at the start of this truly wretched morning and started gathering up everything there—including everyone's travel packs. When she'd finished she forced a smile onto her lips and nodded her head toward Fravun, Elan, and Lihari and the other hunters with them who'd watched the scene unfold with shock and horror. "I thank you all for allowing me to stay with you. Someday, if you come to Skyhold or any Inquisition camp, I hope I can return the favor for you. But this is goodbye. _Dareth'shiral."_

She hurried out of the cave, uncaring who followed behind her.

* * *

After a brief delay to visit the lover's waterfall to grab the rest of her armor—and to find Solas' shirt and wolf pendant, of course—Rosa set about finding her brother and Sera. Deshanna, Mahanon, and Halesta had accompanied her. Rosa refused to speak with her mother except to order her and Mahanon off to find Sera. Keeper Deshanna joined Rosa in searching for Tal.

Tracking Tal down was both easier and harder than she'd anticipated. Her first place to search was clan Manaria's camp where she readily learned from their war leader, Lanatriel, that Tal and Nola had reconnected the night before. They'd met after the commune between the Keepers and elders had been adjourned early. Tal had left to talk with Nola and no one in clan Manaria had seen him since. Lanatriel's smirk told Rosa easily enough what she thought the couple had wound up doing and why they were nowhere to be found.

With that in mind, Rosa expanded her search to the outskirts of the clearing where the clans had gathered. Everyone knew that outside the light of the bonfires couples melted into the woods and brush to make love. The Arlathvhen was supposed to be a fortuitous time to conceive a child. Men who never held interest in women, and women who had never enjoyed men sexually, would choose this time and place to roll the dice, picking a partner who wasn't a member of their clan to try and conceive. Everyone knew survival was a numbers game. All pureblooded children were precious, after all. No one could abstain from taking part in creating and raising the next generation. So it was actually difficult _not_ to run across couples just outside the clearing, snoozing away and still tangled in one another's arms.

That was why it took some time before Rosa found her brother. He was halfway tucked under a bedraggled bush, wrapped up in a great bear pelt some fifty meters out of the clearing. He was sleeping with a smile on his lips and Manaria clan's Keeper tucked tightly against him. Both were clearly naked. Tal's shoulders were bare and exposed while Nola's right leg protruded from the pelt, displaying smooth olive skin that contrasted sharply with Tal's pallid shade.

The sight warmed something inside Rosa even as she felt pain and suspicion warring inside her. She wanted to let them continue sleeping. Tal was at peace. He was happy. Whatever problems he had had with this Keeper they seemed resolved for the moment. Interrupting it felt wrong enough that she stood over them, staring down for several long minutes without moving.

It was Deshanna who eventually woke the pair. The older woman walked through the underbrush and ferns, a confused look on her face as she neared Rosa. Doubtless, the Keeper was wondering why Rosa had stopped in this spot and lingered when she should have been searching. But as she drew closer she halted too and said, "Oh. I see."

Both Tal and Nola stirred at the Keeper's words, inhaling sharply and shifting beneath their furs. Tal blinked blearily at her, his deep brown eyes ringed by bags even as his plump lips curled into a warm smile. _"Asamalin,_" he greeted her, grunting with pleasure as he stretched.

Nola also lifted her head, twisting slightly to spot Rosa and the Keeper. Unlike Tal, who showed little alarm, Nola squeaked and hiked the furs over her head—as if she could hide now. She murmured something softly to Tal and he nodded, yawning. "Yeah," he told her. "I'll get it."

Tal shimmied to free himself from the great bear furs without exposing Nola and rose to his feet with a shiver. He was completely naked and Rosa groaned with disgust, looking pointedly away. She had seen him naked plenty of times, of course, but in this context it was more embarrassing than usual knowing he had been having sex. And, naturally, he had a merry morning erection to make it extra awkward.

"Is that you under there, Nolava?" Deshanna asked, laughter making her voice warble. A timid, piping affirmative rose up from the bear pelt. Deshanna nodded and grinned. "Well, good for you."

Tal busied himself gathering smallclothes. He pulled on a set of loose breeches to cover up and then said to Rosa, "It's safe now, _asamalin."_

Rosa sighed as she turned her head back to the scene in front of her and then, frowning, moved to help. It seemed Nola had been wearing Keeper armor as well during their encounter. As a result there were countless parts scattered about wherever the couple had tossed them in their rush to disrobe. Tal have been dressed for relaxation though, a fact that reassured Rosa he couldn't have been the one to conduct the attack the clans were whispering about.

As Rosa gathered more parts of Nola's Keeper armor, Tal delivered her smallclothes to her. The young Keeper was more adept and patient than Rosa had been while trying to dress in the same situation earlier. Nola managed to dress inside the modesty of the pelts before emerging huddled and shivering to collect her chainmail. She began donning it, the metal ringlets tinkling musically. Tal waited on her, his eyes glued to her and making no attempt to disguise his interest in the way he stared. Rosa guessed that if she and Deshanna hadn't been present to interfere Tal would have been trying to seduce the Keeper back into the furs. He was still shirtless and with his belt missing, with no sign he intended to put them on any time soon. Nola, apparently, came first.

Unfortunately Rosa did not have that kind of patience. "Get dressed, Tal," she ordered and fought back the desire to grimace when his head swung toward her, brows furrowed with concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"We're leaving. Now."

"What about Sera and Solas?" Tal asked, eyes widening with mounting alarm. "And—hold up—what brought this on? Is it that Dread Wolf attack the Tillahnenn clan is going on about?"

_Tillahnenn?_ Rosa stiffened, trying to keep from frowning. No one else had mentioned which clan was supposedly attacked, only Sahren when he first came to the cave to challenger her. Halesta had only known it was a clan when she'd first shared the news with Rosa. It was Sahren who'd first named the offended clan. Now Tal had done the same thing. Had Nola known too or…?

_No,_ she pushed the cold dread rising in her chest down. _Tal did _not_ do this._

"As a matter of fact," she started, trying to keep her voice firm rather than shaky. "Yes. It is. Sahren has decided we must be to blame because we brought flat-ears into the Arlathvhen." That wasn't the full story, but…she found she didn't want to tell him all of it. That her mother had implicated him in front of Sahren and the Keeper of Ghilath had leapt at the chance to punish the boy he had hated so long, the son of his nemesis. So instead she skipped to the most important part. "He took Solas and he's going to take Sera and you if he can get a hold of you."

Nola gawked now at this news. "Truly? Keeper Sahren has lost his wits."

"That's what I certainly think," Deshanna said with a grunt. "The man was relentless, like a buck halla tailing a doe in her season. He would not leave without punishing you or Rosa or both. Taking your flat-ear companions was the closest he could come with myself and Halesta vouching for Rosa."

"I will vouch for Talassan," Nola said, standing proud as she finished securing her armor. "He is my First. Keeper Sahren cannot touch him."

"Plus I spent most of the night out drinking with Sera and then I was with Nola," Tal put in, grinning like a smug cat that'd gotten into the halla milk. "You can ask Sera about it when we find her."

"None of that helps Solas," Rosa pointed out, frowning. "Or Sera if she's caught."

"I will stand against Keeper Sahren," Nola said firmly. Nodding to Deshanna, she said, "Keeper Deshanna will as well."

"Of course," Deshanna agreed with a warm smile. "We cannot become barbarians who slaughter flat-ears. I have taken in several elves from alienages to round out our numbers when too few children were born and food was plenty. I know you have done the same, Nola."

"Yes," she agreed. "We won't let Keeper Sahren get away with this." The young Keeper had a fire in her Rosa had not seen before. Her dark blue eyes were as arresting as the Waking Sea. Something tugged inside Rosa—admiration. She had not known this Keeper well before, only that the woman was compassionate enough to offer to care for her when she was clanless and pregnant and abandoned by her lover. But now she saw the woman had a much stronger will than she'd let on.

Rosa fidgeted, glancing toward the trees where the golden sunshine slanted in through the tree trunks to check the time. "Solas told me not to try and get him away from them. He will escape on his own." She didn't bother trying to disguise her unhappy tone.

"We're really going to just leave him?" Tal asked, frowning his disapproval. Then, before she could answer, he suddenly saw the extra packs on her back and scrambled forward, reaching for them. "Do you have my travel pack? I need that. My—ah, my armor is in there. I want to be ready to fight that asshole Sahren."

The sudden switch of topic and slight sound of franticness in his voice made Rosa frown but she still shrugged off his pack and extended it out to him. "Here. All yours."

"Great!" he exclaimed, grinning as he immediately set it down amidst the ferns and underbrush. He rooted through it, snatching out his own Keeper robes, then hurriedly and clumsily pulled them on. Nola watched him, smirking with amusement and raw want.

"What will you do, _da'len_?" Deshanna asked her as Tal continued dressing.

Rosa clenched her jaw, trying to think. Solas had told her not to try to save him…but what if he had underestimated her people? He thought so little of them, after all, it seemed likely he would be vulnerable to that sort of miscalculation. And yet she knew he was very powerful, at least as much as Felassan.

When the Keepers had turned on Felassan at the last Arlathvhen they had threatened to arrest him as well, but had not gone through with it because they all knew of his power. Felassan had saved so many clans from bandits, bloodthirsty _shemlen_ nobles, and even just wild animal attacks or dangerous arcane beasts. The Keepers liked to say that was why he named himself Slow Arrow. He was the unexpectedly dangerous weapon that could fell almost any threat. So although they would have liked to make an example of him, none dared. They merely declared him banished and chased him off because they feared the Slow Arrow turning on them.

But Rosa still remembered the pain tearing into her chest, the aching lump in her throat as she watched the Keepers spit and scorn her father. She had been a child then, unable to speak up. Her place had been to learn, to observe. Her mother had held her by the shoulders in a crushing grip as the Keepers banished Felassan. She had whispered in her daughter's ear not to bring attention to herself. No one must know she was connected to this heretical outcast or she would bring suspicion and shame upon herself and the clan. The cowardice of her silence, and the simmering resentment she felt toward her mother for allowing it to happen, had been a stain on Rosa's soul.

That was why she had fearlessly embraced her little brother afterwards when Felassan charged her with his care. She had to right the wrong of her silence, of her cowardice. Latching herself publically to Tal, calling him _da'isamalin,_ little brother, announced loud and proud that they had the same father. Everyone knew Tal was Felassan's get, but no one had suspected Rosa was until then. It still wasn't widely known and Halesta would do anything she could to deny it, supposedly for Rosa's sake.

_Never again,_ she thought. _I will not run. I will not let sit idle while someone disparages and threatens those I love._

"I'm going to get him back," Rosa said through a hard, humorless smile. "Whatever it takes."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"I am Inquisitor Rosa Lavellan, First to clan Lavellan," she replied sharply and then waited as both her mother and Deshanna introduced themselves with formal titles.

"And why have you come?" the man asked, though again she saw the knowing gleam in his gaze—especially as he took in the fact that she had not brought anyone else with her.

"To confess my guilt for the attack and theft from clan Tillahnenn last night."

* * *

Endnote: Surprise! Rosa did it. Bet you never saw that coming, eh? Especially since you were all there with Tal when he did it. But you know, Rosa would never lie.


	39. Daughter of the Creators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To rescue Solas, Rosa formulates a dangerous plan that might get her banished from the Dalish. It also, though she doesn't know it, thoroughly triggers Solas. Meanwhile, Solas must endure being a prisoner of the Dalish. It'd be easier if it wasn't so funnily ironic that the crime he's being held for has some whispering about the Dread Wolf. But of course, the Dalish know they'll never capture the Bringer of Nightmares so Solas is just a lame stand in. Oh, the irony...

By midday Solas had long since tired of playing the role of hostage.

He had decided he was going to kill Sahren. Slowly.

And yet, through his mounting irritation and outrage, he could not help but find this situation _hilarious_ in its own way. The Dalish were blaming the attack on the Dread Wolf, or some fool serving the evil god. Whatever the truth of it, Solas didn't know, but it was hard not to chuckle at the ironic twist of circumstance. None of the Dalish expected to capture the Dread Wolf himself and hold him accountable—but they had done exactly that. Trouble was, of all the wrongdoings and crimes Solas was indeed guilty of...this was not one of them.

Clan Tillahnenn's Keeper, First, and Second were some of the first to come by and Solas learned from overhearing them the particulars of the so-called "attack." No one had been harmed, but the clan's Second, a pretty girl who was barely into her teens, had been knocked out. She appeared shaken, pale and trembling when the Keepers escorted her to where they'd tied Solas to a tall, sturdy oak and laid down mana-sapping wards to ensure he could not simply burn through his bindings and escape.

The girl clung to her Keeper with one hand as she stared at Solas, biting her lip. Solas met her stare impassively, though when she said nothing for a long time he eventually arched one brow at her expectantly. Finally the girl sucked in a breath and turned to her Keeper. "I…I don't know. It was dark. He had a cape. I…I thought I met him earlier in the day. He came to trade."

"You met him earlier in the day?" the Keeper asked.

Sahren stood behind them, arms crossed and his expression gloating.

"I….I don't know," she said, shaking her head in consternation. "I can't tell. We traded with a man who wore a cape and had Mythal's vallaslin in the daytime. Then last night I saw the man who attacked me and stole the circlet. They might have been the same? But…I don't know."

"But was it _this_ man?" her Keeper pressed, gesturing at Solas. "Please, Lytha. Try to remember."

The girl looked to Solas again and bit her lip as she closed her eyes. Her brow knit with concentration. Behind her, Sahren, losing patience, sighed and yelled at one of the warriors downhill. "Someone fetch a black cape."

And so began the first humiliation of his tenure as hostage when the Dalish demanded that he stand, dragging his wrists along the harsh bark of the tree he'd been tied to, and slung a cape that stank of sweat and filthy, unwashed bodies over him. Sahren sneered as he tugged the hood up over Solas' face, putting him into shadow. The girl's expression warped with fear now as she beheld him.

"It…could have been him," she pronounced.

"Bring the hearth keeper," Sahren ordered as the Keeper ushered Lytha away, downhill.

Solas watched as an older man came up next, grunting as he climbed the slope. He glared at Solas, lips pressed tightly together and surveyed him for a time, then moved closer as hate twisted his features. He leaned nearer to Solas than Lytha had, daring even to step over the line of mana-sapping wards, and then spat into his face. Solas flinched, jerking his head away and biting his tongue to keep from cursing violently. He shook his head, trying to clear the spittle from his eyes and then, straining his neck, tried to wipe his face off using one crooked shoulder.

The old man snarled, "Filthy flat-eared thief!"

Sahren's voice was gleeful as he stepped forward. "This is the man you saw? The monster that robbed your clan last night?"

"Aye," the old man said. "Without a doubt. Didn't see the bastard too good but he had the same height and build. Bowled me over, he did. Trampled me and howled like a demon."

"Like a wolf, you said?" Sahren asked.

"Aye."

Solas, having managed to clean the spittle from his face as much as possible without the use of his hands, now glared at the Keeper and the hearth keeper. "I did not attack your clan, nor do I know who did."

"Both witnesses agree it was you," Sahren said, grinning.

"The child said the attacker bore vallaslin," Solas said. "I do not have any such markings."

"Yes," the hearth keeper snarled. "Because you are a worthless piece of shite flat-ear."

Solas clenched his jaw and said nothing, but he willed both men dead with his eyes. _You have _no_ idea. _

When Sahren and the old man had gone for a time, leaving Solas under the watchful eye of four warriors who stood or sat along the grassy slope or on some of the less craggy rock outcroppings, he plotted escape. They had taken him to their meeting spot, in the rocky slopes of a formation of pale stones that rose above the copse of woods below them. Behind Solas, to the south, he had seen the mixture of tawny and green that marked the Dales open grassland. It had yet to dry out with the fullness of summer, making it a fertile place that would easily sustain this large gathering of elves for several days.

The outcropping and its surrounding slope had only a few tall trees dotting it and the Dalish had tied him to one sturdy specimen with the corresponding wards to sap his mana. Solas had watched them lay down the spell and grudgingly applauded them their technique. It was nothing new to him and he knew that although they warded it to draw his mana down to zero as soon as he tried to cast, he also knew that this particular ward would not be enough to contain him—even in his present comparatively weakened state. In fact, this ward was probably not enough to hold even a mage as strong as Rosa or Felassan. He had watched Rosa break out from just such a ward circle in Hasmal during her Harrowing.

Escape, therefore, would not be a problem. But he needed to give Rosa time to leave with the others. So, he waited.

At midmorning Sahren returned, his expression warped with that depraved, malevolent smile. His eyes danced, delighting in holding power over his captive. It reminded Solas far too much of the look that had come over some of the freed slaves who served him and, in his name, committed atrocities upon others. They were twisted by untold years of dissatisfaction and frustration at their own places in the world. Sahren, like the freed slaves who so readily took up arms for their "god," was eager to exact punishment from anyone he could see as feasibly "beneath" him, or who he could blame for his suffering. For the ex-slaves it was the villages who'd served the "gods" who'd enslaved them, even if those men and women had no choice in it themselves. For Sahren it was a "flat-ear" who had submitted to _shemlen _rule. It was men and women like Sahren who'd slaughtered Solas' parents in Elvhenan, unknowingly, as enemies of the Dread Wolf.

Sahren circled outside the wards, hands behind his back and shoulders hunched with a tension that Solas read to be excitement.

"So," he began. "Flat-ear. Based upon your display with the so-called Inquisitor, I believe I can safely surmise you are the current wretch she has chosen to warm her at night." Solas glowered at the other man but said nothing. He knew his role in this questionably termed "conversation" was to simply listen. "It would appear her tastes are increasingly outside of the People. First it is flat-ears such as yourself. Next it will be children of the stone or _shemlen_." He guffawed, leering at Solas over one shoulder. "Perhaps even a Qunari barbarian."

"Is there a point to this discussion?" Solas asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "If you hope to turn me against the Inquisitor you are a greater fool than I initially believed."

"Perhaps you do not realize," Sahren snapped, wheeling about to stomp his way toward the edge of the wards. "But that little bitch has no strong bonds to any but that sniveling bastard boy of Enasa's. She will leave you to die in his place without a second thought. Do you know how I know this?"

"I find it doubtful that you know anything about the Inquisitor," Solas retorted, curling one lip with revulsion. "Considering you have spent almost no time in her company and used what little time you did have with her to insult her."

"Shut up," Sahren growled, baring his teeth in a snarl. "I know enough. I know that when she was a girl and we banished her heretic father she leapt to the bastard boy's defense over her own mother's wishes. I know she has no respect for authority. And because she has already chosen her bastard brother over her own people and her own mother, she will certainly do the same with you. But I cannot blame you for bedding her." His snarl changed to a leer. "After all, as repulsive as her behavior is, she _is_ a beauty." He paused a moment, eyes flicking over Solas, reading him. Then, still leering, he ran his tongue along his upper lip. Slowly. "Perhaps I will offer her a deal. I've always enjoyed seeing defiant creatures brought low, put in their place, after all."

"Touch her," Solas growled. "And I will end you."

The Keeper scoffed and laughed derisively, gesturing at Solas' current position in the ward circle, tied to the tree. "And how exactly would you hope to do that, boy?"

_Boy?_ Solas snorted and then laughed before he could stifle the reaction. The Keeper bristled and then, pulling out his stave, used it as a club to knock Solas across the temple. Stars shot across Solas' vision and cut his laughter short as pain made him snap taut and hiss through his teeth.

"You do not _laugh_ at your betters, flat-ear," Sahren bellowed at him. He struck again and Solas braced for it, even as his mana boiled over, ready to strike with instinctual self-defense. He held the instinct in check, embracing the pain as it echoed through his skull. This time he felt liquid heat dribble down one side of his face.

Blinking away the blood, Solas glared at the Keeper. For a moment he simply imagined all the delicious and creative ways he could kill this man. Before he could stop himself Solas was speaking some of it aloud in a low, deep voice that was as cold and merciless as a blizzard. "You are a little child, playing at authority. Strike me again and I will crush your bones with a Veilstrike. I will use lightning to burn out your eyes and cook your tongue while you yet live. I will burn away the flesh of your face and the tips of your ears. And if you lay a hand on Rosa I will ensure you remain alive to die slowly from your injuries."

The Keeper seemed stunned at the quiet, dangerous speech. He had blanched and his eyes were wide. But a second later he went red faced and laughed. "You remind me of that ass Felassan. He was an eloquent blowhard too. And now he's dead." He leaned closer, whispering. "And you will soon join him, flat-ear. The Keepers assembled here have already voted and found you guilty. But I am certain you did not work alone. Take comfort in knowing that that wretch brother of the Inquisitor's will die as well."

Sahren swung his stave back and Solas steeled himself for the blow. He heard the resounding crack of it echoing off his skull and then the pain brought a rush of blackness. He went limp as his mind flew to the Fade.

* * *

"Don't do this," Halesta begged from just behind Rosa. "Please. I beg you, _ashalan._ The People need you and you will lose them if you do this."

"You told me the People wouldn't listen," Rosa growled, staring ahead through the trees and underbrush to where the slope rose sharply and little pale rocks protruded from the grass. This was where the Keepers gathered. Scouts and warriors lingered about the tree line, vigilant. Rosa grinned darkly, knowing she would soon give them a _very_ memorable spectacle.

"I must agree with Keeper Halesta," Deshanna said, her voice wary. "I cannot foresee this ending well."

Rosa flexed her left hand, feeling the dormant magic of the Anchor there. She clenched her fist and squared her shoulders, feeling the cold steel of her resolve. "With respect, _hahren,_" she said to Deshanna. "I will _not_ run away. Even if Solas is perfectly capable of escaping on his own, I _refuse_ to let this go on. Sahren has made a mockery of this gathering more than the thief ever could and it's exactly the men and women like him that I need to put in their place."

"But you _cannot_ tell them that nonsense about being divine," Deshanna insisted, her tone plaintive and desperate. "Please, _da'len._ They will banish you."

"Will you?" Rosa asked, glancing at the woman over her shoulder speculatively. "Will you think I'm a raving heretic too and denounce me?"

Deshanna met her gaze for a long time, her expression somber and pained. Her brown eyes softened then and her shoulders sank. "No. You and your Inquisition saved clan Lavellan from annihilation. Of that I have no doubt. The so-called bandits attacking us would have slaughtered us if not for your Commander's aid."

Rosa nodded to the other woman, smiling warmly. "Thank you, _hahren._" Turning to her mother, she asked, "What about you?"

Halesta's pained frown and dark blue eyes were steady on her for a long time before she sighed. "I will never vote to banish you from the People. Not for any foolish words." She paused a moment and Rosa had to bite her lip to keep from adding that Halesta had already banished her once, but it was from her clan and it was somewhat justified. "I will vouch for you, whatever you say. Even in this—but I fear they will react with violence and we will all pay for your stupidity with our lives."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, _mamae."_ She rolled her eyes and then nodded to herself with satisfaction. That was as good of an answer as she could expect from these two leaders. "Tell me again about the thing that was stolen from clan Tillahnenn."

"It is a circlet," Deshanna said. "That is all I know."

"I know more," Halesta said in a begrudging tone.

"Well?" Rosa asked, arching one brow expectantly.

Her mother sighed and shook her head. "This is madness." When Rosa was silent, continuing stubbornly to wait, Halesta finally broke. "Fine. The circlet was uncovered by another clan in the Brecilian that lived there in the time of my grandfather." She dipped her head to Rosa. "Your great-grandfather kept very thorough notes that you would have been allowed to read had you still been my First. The other clan showed this circlet to him during an Arlathvhen at the time, perhaps an age ago. It is a simple circlet, made of metal that appears to be both silver and bronze. It responds to mages but gives off a disturbing aura when touched. The other clan Keeper described it as belonging to Falon'Din because the temple ruins had murals and writing devoted to him. The circlet was deep within, clearly a prized possession."

"And what does it do?" Rosa asked, frowning with interest as well as confusion. _Falon'Din?_ A shiver ran through her, though she tried to stifle it. Unbidden, she recalled Tal at the Solasan temple laying his hands over the sealed doors and seeing them open for him effortlessly. The key was in his very blood. Who else would have taken the damned thing if not Tal? But even thinking that made her feel queasy.

Halesta shrugged. "No one could uncover that. The circlet had immense power of its own. My grandfather recorded that he could feel its power inside, but it was impossible to stir it."

"Well, good to know." Rosa faced forward again and sucked in a long breath to steady herself. "I think Tal will have had enough time to swing around the back. It's time to get moving."

Rising from her spot hunkered behind some brush, Rosa strode out into the open, her spine straight and her shoulders squared with as much pride and authority as she could muster. The hunters and warriors standing guard stiffened with attention as they registered her approach. She was armed and armored, as were the two Keepers behind her. They walked through the dappled lights and darks of the forest canopy, fearless as they neared the guards.

Finally one of them called out, "Stop." Rosa obeyed, though she thrust out her chin in defiance and glowered. This man was a warrior, slim but muscular, and he sported a spear on his back and a sword at his waist. "Who are you three?" he asked, though by the way his eyes narrowed Rosa thought he already knew.

"I am Inquisitor Rosa Naseral, First to clan Lavellan," she replied sharply and then waited as both her mother and Deshanna introduced themselves with formal titles.

"And why have you come?" the man asked, though again she saw the knowing gleam in his gaze—especially as he took in the fact that she had not brought anyone else with her.

"To confess my guilt for the attack and theft from clan Tillahnenn last night."

Now the man's jaw fell open. The others within earshot also gawked. A few of them even took steps backward, as though Rosa had threatened them. Long seconds passed and Rosa could only hear the drumming of her heart in her ears. Sweat dribbled down her back. A prickling itch tickled in her left palm where the Anchor waited.

Finally the man recomposed himself and nodded. "Follow me."

Doing as she'd been bidden, Rosa tailed the man through the last scraggly saplings that marked the tree line and into the clearing where the Keepers and elders waited. As with the clearing below them the Keepers had segregated into clans. Some wore cloaks or banners with their clan's sigil on display. Others simply sat among the boulders, long grass, and scree. They had been chatting together or playing dice games with pieces made of bones, but now all eyes were on Rosa. A few younger Keepers were perched atop boulders, gawking down at her. Others leered or glared with arms crossed over their chests. One old woman jeered down at her: _"Harellan!"_ And then another, much younger man catcalled: "Nice ass, Naseral!"

_This isn't going to work,_ a little panicked voice shouted inside her. She stamped on it, hard. The People were as impressionable as the humans. The tales of her had reached even here, though they were dim. Still, it left her with a foundation to influence. If she could just convince enough of them that she was _Dalish_ more than anything and had never abandoned them they would turn on Sahren and rally around her.

They rounded a rise, circling about a rock formation and then moved to the true hill that led up to the crag of boulders piled one atop the other. There, bound to a tree and encircled by mana-sapping wards, Rosa spotted Solas. He was awake and standing, arms trussed behind the tree and still shirtless, although someone had sloppily tucked a cape over him. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the red-brown of blood that had dried on one side of his face. She swallowed the sudden bulge of rage building in her throat and clenched her fists tightly. _Damn you, Sahren. _

A half dozen Keepers stood about the slope beneath where Solas had been tied. Word must have been sent ahead as they were tense and at the ready, staring down at Rosa as she drew nearer with Halesta and Deshanna at her back. Like her these Keepers were armed, as were most of the others around her. More and more of them swarmed to gather around the boulders and grasses, clamoring like hungry children hurrying in to a meal. Or like vultures who'd smelled blood.

"Stop right there," Sahren shouted from upslope, long before Rosa was within striking distance. The guard guiding Rosa and her entourage halted in place. The rocks and grasses around them rustled as the other Keepers, Firsts, Seconds, and a smattering of clan elders, warriors, and hunters all edged closer to see the confrontation. Rosa glanced up the ridge and saw that Solas gazed down at her with a pained expression. Knowing him as she did, Rosa was certain it wasn't the injury to his head that prompted that look.

"She says she's come to confess to the attack," the guard said, lifting his voice loudly for all assembled to hear. A collective gasp echoed off the rocks, the boulders, and the sky. Tied to his tree above them, Solas grimaced and shook his head, as if imploring her to flee. Rosa pointedly looked away from him, focusing on Sahren and then the Keeper at his side—Tillahnenn's, she guessed. He was middle-aged, about the same age as Sahren. She hoped they weren't close friends.

"Is that so?" Sahren asked, arching his brow.

"You're lying," Tillahnenn's Keeper interjected, frowning. "The attacker was a man." He slashed a hand dismissively at her. "Why are you throwing yourself on your own stave for this flat-ear?"

Rosa bared her teeth at him, savagely. "Do we say that the bow fells the stag? Or is it the hunter? Does a knife have a will of its own? Or is it the hand that wields it to blame when it is used to take a life?"

"You're saying _you_ orchestrated the theft and the attack on my clan?" Tillahnenn's Keeper demanded.

"I am," Rosa said, puffing out her chest to sell the lie. "Solas is completely innocent."

"Nugshit," Sahren raged. "You think that claiming responsibility will spare the flat-ear or _you_? Or that slimy brother of yours?" He let out a hard, humorless laugh. "Fine. If you wish to be outcast for this crime, so be it."

"No," Rosa rejoined, waving one hand at him and the other Keepers above her. "I've come to take responsibility and free the innocent man you've wrongly taken hostage to force my hand. Then I am going to walk out of this gathering and return to my Inquisition to save the world from the Darkspawn Magister Corypheus." She paused a moment and then added, "And I will be using the circlet I took from clan Tillahnenn to do it."

"Nugshit," another Keeper shouted. Others gasped and murmured, unsure what to make of this latest revelation.

"You have no right to _steal_ from my clan," Tillahnenn's Keeper said with a snarl. "If you had asked for the relic I would have given it freely. You have as much right to it as any."

"Would you?" Rosa retorted and then scoffed, shaking her head. "Since I have returned to the People I have faced nothing but doubt and condescension." Spreading her arms wide, as though to embrace them all, she shouted, "This is the thanks I get for fighting to save Thedas."

"You fight for the _shemlen,"_ a woman's voice challenged her from the right.

Turning in that direction, Rosa glared. "I am fighting for _everyone._ Do you not realize that the wildernesses we call home are part of Thedas? Have you heard nothing of the outside world?"

"I have heard you serve the _shemlen's _prophetess," another voice called out—an old man, one of the elders. "The witch they burned at the stake."

"So the _shems_ believe," Rosa called, pivoting to face that man now. "Just as they believe they have ground us into dust. Just as they believe our Creators are heathen lies. You know the _shems_ are wrong about those things. Why is what they believe about me any different?" She paused a moment, reading their faces and seeing interest. Consideration. So she plunged onward. "I have never once accepted their claims. I have never believed I was touched by their prophetess or their Maker. No—because I know the truth."

Out of the corner of her eye, up on the hill and still bound to his tree, Rosa saw Solas squirming, shaking his head. _Sorry, vhenan,_ she thought at him and deliberately avoided looking at him again.

"I was never touched by the _shemlen's_ goddess or their Maker. I was chosen by _our_ Creators. It is their power that has allowed me to close rifts and then the breach itself. It is their power that allowed me to defeat an army of demons at Adamant Fortress and to survive the destruction at the Conclave and the avalanche that destroyed Haven. It is their power that allows me to walk in the Fade and survive." She ignored the shocked stares and gasps in favor of glaring out her challenge to those who were red faced with outrage at her claims. These were the people who were her threat. One of them, of course, was Sahren. But, encouragingly, most of the Keepers and others assembled here were simply stunned.

Drawing in a breath that amazingly didn't quaver with her galloping heart, Rosa said, "The Creators' power runs in my blood. I came to you, to this gathering, to reveal this to you, and to tell you it is time that we fight once more."

"Lies," someone shouted. Another hissed and cursed her. Whispers made a constant rustle through the crowd. "Blasphemy," someone else added.

Sahren was snarling and now he too shouted at her. "Heretic! You are as insane as your sire, that wretch Felassan." This drew more murmuring from the Keepers and additional frowns and angry looks. It also drew trepidation or confusion. There were plenty of Keepers here who hadn't realized Rosa was his daughter.

Grinning hard at Sahren, Rosa faced him. "I will prove it, Keeper. Let me show you the power of our Creators that only I can wield." Squaring her stance, Rosa lifted her left hand and shouted at Sahren and the other Keepers. "Clear the ground where you stand!"

They stumbled and shambled out of her way, gawking or glaring defiance—but at least they obeyed. Sahren was slowest, snarling with hate as he backed away to the sidelines and clearing a path in front of Rosa all the way to Solas' tree. She did not look at Solas, certain she would not like what she saw, and instead reached inward to coax the Anchor to life. It flared with a shocking heat and she grimaced, struggling to hide it as the pain tore through her palm.

Taking aim at the hillside, Rosa felt the Veil connect with her, just as the Fade did in dreams and when she had walked in it. Clenching her fist, she cried out as she yanked down hard. A slick boom rang out and a white-green light flashed as a small rift opened. It hissed and roared, groaning in the way of the Fade, and sucked at loose grass, dirt, and pebbles nearby it. White lightning flickered and filled the air with the scent of ozone.

The entire group around her gasped and cried out with alarm and shock. They backed away and drew their weapons, ready to fight, but Rosa had opened a rift too small to allow demons through. She sensed Halesta and Deshanna behind her, struggling to hold their ground in the face of this strangeness. Even Sahren had lost all sign of hate in his face and simply gawped with a mixture of horror and awe.

With the Anchor still flickering green-white in her hand, Rosa gritted her teeth through the pain and lifted her voice again. "I have been chosen by our Creators to fight an enemy who believes himself a god and would destroy our world. And I needed a relic from our people. I could not risk that you would deny me that right. The circlet is _mine_, but I will return it when my task is finished."

Voices rang out, rife with shock and disbelief and awe.

"What manner of magic _is _this?" "How is this possible?" "This is blasphemy!" "What if she speaks the truth?" "She is Shartan of the Dragon Age." "She has lost her mind."

Shouting over them, Rosa raised her left palm again to the rift. "I control the Veil," she said and, with but a thought, sent a white rivulet out to the rift, connecting to it. With another jerk of her closed fist when she felt the rift was ready, Rosa slammed it shut. Green fade ether dribbled out, splattering the rocks and grass and then vanishing into mist.

In the heavy, astounded silence that followed Rosa shouted, "I am a Dreamer, a daughter of Arlathan. I am _one of you_ and I will see the People rise again!" A few hoots and cheers rang out in response and Rosa felt her stomach flip-flop with the realization that most of the angry faces had become confused or just stunned. She hurried to strike home her point by whipping round to stab a finger at Solas, still pinned to his tree. "I call on you to release him. _Now."_

The Keepers seemed to flinch, fidgeting and looking to one another, hesitating at her command. A First like Rosa would not normally have such authority.

"Release him," Rosa yelled, letting anger darken her voice. "You have seen the power I wield. Do not force me to use it, for I can and will bring Elgar'nan's wrath with me."

This worked. A dozen Keepers and Firsts sprang for Solas' tree. One of them dispelled the wards with a wave of her hand. Another moved behind Solas and blasted the bonds holding him in place with well-aimed fire. Rosa clenched and unclenched her hands as she watched the Elvhen man stagger away, clearly unsteady after the blows he'd taken to the head. He paused a moment and lifted one hand up to his temple. White magic glowed as he healed himself.

The Keepers and Firsts who'd freed him lingered in place nearby, as though they anticipated having to cart him over to Rosa to satisfy her. But Solas managed the walk on his own a moment later, moving with a slow, stately grace that did nothing to disguise the rigidness of his posture to Rosa's eye. He wasn't happy. She'd saved him and he wasn't happy about it. She resisted the desire to sigh with frustration. The show must go on.

"Thank you," she called out as Solas rejoined her, moving to stand beside her mother. She opened her mouth to apologize for the attack on Tillahnenn, for its supposed necessity to her fight against Corypheus, but pushed that impulse aside. _Would a goddess apologize?_ No. Instead she shouted, "Ready your clans. Pray to our Creators. Prepare yourselves for the fight to come." She let the Anchor crackle and fade before saying, "I will return when it is time and rally you."

Spinning on her heel, she motioned at Halesta, Deshanna, and Solas to start heading down the slope. They did it without word, but Solas shot her a scathing look. He was red faced and muscles in his jaw flared. His blue eyes appeared pained.

_Well,_ she thought. _Damn. _

Behind her the Keepers clamored and chattered. Some of them called after her, but none were brave enough to chase after her or try to stop her. Rosa buried the desire to glance back to find Sahren. She was determined to be above him, aloof and untouchable. A woman touched by the divine would be that confident. She would not feel fear gripping her heart in icy fingers, or sweat pouring down her back and pooling under her breasts. Rosa willed herself to be that woman, serene, confident, and untouched by worry as she kept walking.

* * *

They met up with Tal and Mahanon in the hills outside the Arlathvhen. It seemed that Rosa had sent Sera off to the Inquisition camp with Keeper Nola of Manaria while Tal and Mahanon went around the back of the Keepers' meeting place in case her first plan failed and she needed rescuing alongside Solas. Of course, Solas couldn't help but frown to himself knowing that he hadn't needed rescuing to begin with. If Rosa had simply _trusted _him to save himself…

Solas watched impassively as Rosa parted ways with the other Dalish. She was pleasant with both Keepers and Mahanon, smiling and thanking them for their help. But before the two Keepers left her, Lavellan's Keeper laughingly asked when she should tell the other clans to rally for the "Daughter of the Creators" to return.

Solas tried not to seethe, his blood running scaldingly hot as Rosa chuckled and waved off Deshanna's comment with: "Just tell them to be ready for when I need them."

This was just recruiting for her, he thought, trying to rationalize it and ease his own boiling rage. She had done it to help him and wouldn't have done it otherwise—_except_…he had a hazy memory from the previous night of her saying something like this. Had she threatened to reveal him? Solas glared at Rosa's back as they set off again, alternatively confused and then outraged. He had believed her above such temptations. She had allowed others to believe her divine only very rarely to achieve her means with the _shemlen._ Now, with her own people, she had chosen the most despicable, abusive…

"_Fenedhis,"_ he snarled to himself a touch too loudly as Tal, trotting nearby to keep up with the swift pace Rosa set for the group, apparently overheard.

"Problem, _hahren?"_ the youth asked, arching one brow.

Now Solas turned his glare on Tal. "Yes," he said, his tone scathing. "Tell me, why did you steal an artifact from clan Tillahnenn?"

Tal's doe-like eyes widened. "Whoa," he said, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture, as if he feared Solas would spring for his neck and try to tear it out like a rabid dog. Or a wolf. "Chill, Solas. That's a _huge_ accusation. And it's wrong. Seriously."

"The thief wore a cape and had Mythal's vallaslin," Solas said, regurgitating what he had learned during his time as a captive with the Keepers. "He used a knockout bomb on a child and stole an artifact."

"And you think that means it had to be me?" Tal asked, scoffing. "Look, Solas, do you _know_ how many Dalish choose Mythal's vallaslin? Hundreds. _Thousands._ Her vallaslin has a million variations, way more than the others. The Mother is very popular. So are capes. And knockout bombs." He shrugged and grinned. "Instead of _accusing_ me of something like that, why don't you ask what I was _really_ doing last night?"

"There is no need," Solas snarled. "I already know you were the thief. Whatever else you did last night is inconsequential."

"You don't know shit," Tal rejoined with his own snarl. Nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed, he stopped and stood his ground, stiff-legged and seemingly ready to fight.

"I know Rosa would not have condoned your actions," Solas growled, edging closer to the younger elf with his slight height-advantage. "Yet I know that she must believe you are the thief. That is why she has accepted responsibility, though the crime is not hers." A good leader would do that and Rosa had proven herself to be that many times over.

Tal rolled his eyes. "You're so arrogant, _hahren._ You think you know everything. Well, did it ever occur to you that maybe that asshole Sahren did all this?" He spread his arms wide to indicate the grasslands around them, as if he would blame Sahren for the Chantry retaking the Dales as well.

"No," Solas snarled—but his mind was already spinning the possibility as intriguing. Could Sahren really have been clever enough to implicate Tal like this? The man seemed too dull for such a plot, but Solas knew appearances could be very deceiving.

"Well," Tal said, scowling with real hurt in his eyes. "It should. Because it's just the sort of shit that monster pulled all through my childhood." He tugged his sleeves back, revealing faded scars that ran over his wrists in straight lines that interconnected in ugly Xs. "He loved to hit me for imagined crimes and to make sure he left a mark. The crime has just gotten bigger over time." Tal pulled his sleeves down again, hiding the scars.

Solas said nothing, merely glowered with the remaining certainty that Tal was lying. Sahren was not behind this, no matter how badly Tal wanted everyone to believe that. The man was not clever enough for it while Tal was…

Tal was Felassan's son, grandson of Dirthamen and great-grandson of Falon'Din, Mythal, and Elgar'nan. Having known the Evanuris as he had, Solas was certain he had chronically _underestimated_ Tal's cunning. A chill ran through him, tempering his rage as again he saw Tal with eyes trained by Arlathan's cutthroat court and saw the uncanny likeness Tal had to many of Falon'Din's courtiers. How often now had he suspected the youth was duplicitous? How often had he wondered if a seemingly genuine emotion was actually feigned with the talent of a master actor?

Felassan might have abhorred the Evanuris, but he had clearly learned from them. He had hidden his true heritage from Solas for centuries, after all. Was it any wonder his children could be accomplished liars as well?

"What I _actually_ spent my night doing," Tal went on, tension leaving his body despite the fact Solas still faced off with him, emanating silent fury. "Was drinking with Sera and then reconnecting with my clan."

Rosa, from atop a hill some meters ahead, had finally noticed they were lagging behind. "Solas," she yelled. "Tal. Hurry up. I want to be walking for Skyhold before the sun sets."

Tal spun back toward his sister and started walking forward. Solas sighed, still shaking with unspent rage, and marched after the siblings.

* * *

When they reached the Inquisition camp Rosa was surprised to see Keeper Nola had apparently left the Arlathvhen with her entire retinue of warriors and hunters when they escorted the very much hung-over Sera to safety hours previously. Now the camp was crowded with Dalish elves, but they had come prepared with foodstuffs and a little cider to share. As a result Rosa returned to find Blackwall, Iron Bull, and the clan's war chief sitting about the fire trading fighting stories while Cassandra was listening to Keeper Nola talk about something with a skeptical look on her face. Other hunters were preparing a meal and still a few more were standing watch.

"Welcome back, Boss!" Iron Bull shouted to her, lifting a mug that was too small for him as Rosa jogged into the camp.

"Thank you, Bull," she said, smiling. She spotted Sera curled near the fire and groaning with a chamber pot beside her head for retching into and smirked to herself, remembering the way Mahanon and Halesta had said they'd found the archer that morning. Apparently, while drunk off her ass, Sera had wound up having sex with one of the Dalish hunters—a rogue that had escorted them into the Arlathvhen astride her halla.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra called to her, breaking away with obvious relief from whatever conversation she'd been engaged in with Nola. "I must speak with you."

"Well," Rosa said with a shrug. "You got me. What is it?"

Cassandra twisted at the neck to look back toward the tents where Nola still stood—but now the Keeper was grinning as Tal rushed to embrace her in a bear hug. The Seeker made a face that Rosa couldn't quite puzzle out as she took in the scene. Then, as Tal started kissing Nola and the elven woman returned it, the Seeker made her signature disgusted noise and faced Rosa again, her nose wrinkled with distaste. "It is…regarding these…elves," she finally said, fidgeting.

"What about them?" Rosa asked, shrugging again, trying to hide her tension as she feared Cassandra was about to protest them or show herself to be a bigot in a way Rosa hadn't expected.

"They brought Sera back to us but..." Cassandra broke off, huffing. "Now I am informed they intend to travel with us."

Now Rosa's mouth fell open. "To Skyhold?"

"No," Cassandra said with a shake of her head. "At least, I don't believe so. Their leader—" she halfway gestured behind her to where Tal and Nola were still entwined and kissing, but now with Iron Bull whistling at them mischievously and Blackwall laughing. "—has told me they will accompany us through the Frostbacks on their way to the Free Marches."

Rosa grunted with surprise and then nodded her understanding. "I think that's a marvelous idea. Clan Manaria's presence will ensure any other Dalish we encounter won't feel we're a threat. And they're excellent hunters and fighters so if we do run into trouble we'll be safer." She smirked at the Seeker as she shook her head with confusion as she saw the other woman was still fidgeting and, oddly, had begun blushing furiously. "I don't understand why you've got a problem with this."

"I do not," Cassandra replied hurriedly. "I approve. But…" She frowned, still red-faced with embarrassment, and spoke in a quieter voice now. "It is none of my business, I suppose, but their leader says she is betrothed to Tal."

Leaning slightly to one side, Rosa spotted her brother standing with Nola. His hand was holding hers and there was a broad grin over his lips that matched Nola's shier, innocent expression. They had every appearance of a couple in love and the Seeker's words rang with truth that echoed inside Rosa like a gong. Nola had never struck her as a liar or a woman of fanciful chatter. She was as pragmatic as Halesta and Deshanna. She would not say such a thing—especially to an outsider like Cassandra—if it wasn't true.

"You did not know?" Cassandra asked, her tone surprised.

"No," Rosa admitted, frowning. "Tal doesn't always tell me everything. He…" She swallowed at the sudden tightness in her throat. "He had some kind of trouble with his clan. I thought they had ostracized him. Clearly that has changed, if it was ever true in the first place."

"But what of Dorian?" Cassandra blurted and then seemed to grimace at her own words. "Forgive me. This is none of my business. And none of yours, I suppose. I just thought…"

"Yeah," Rosa said, nodding. "I think this is one of those things that isn't our business. We'll make sure Dorian knows but Tal always said they were just friends."

Cassandra scoffed and started to say something only to cut herself off. She was blushing furiously all over again. "Forgive me, Inquisitor," she said then and stiffened into the formal Seeker again. "I should not have brought this up."

Rosa waved away the other woman's apology. "No worries—but if that's all I'd like to break down camp and start marching for Skyhold."

"This late in the day?" Cassandra asked, arching one sculpted brow. "We won't make it very far before we must stop and make camp again."

"I know," Rosa said. "But let's just say I didn't leave the gathering traditionally. I _might_ have made some claims that some of my people _might_ have found offensive enough to hunt us down." She chuckled tightly at Cassandra's look of horror. "Nothing to worry about," she reassured, still laughing as she strolled past the Seeker to begin breaking her tent down. "But we should get a move on."

As she hurriedly packed her tent and the others moved to do the same, Rosa caught Solas glaring at her out of her peripheral vision. When she twisted to stare at him fully, however, the Elvhen man had already refocused on his own tent. Rosa's stomach clenched at the residual stormy anger on his face. What was his problem?

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"You know Tal was the thief," Solas snarled. It wasn't a question.

"I strongly suspect," Rosa admitted, biting out the words. "And before you ask, no. I don't know why. I intend to find out for sure before I—"

"Do you know what you reminded me of today?" Solas asked suddenly, interrupting her. His voice shook with the quiet rage she had seen brewing in him all day.

Rosa sighed. "What? Was it a woman worried sick about her lover and trying to save her brother from his own stupidity? Because that's what it should have looked like."

* * *

Endnote: Naughty, naughty Tal. But he has his reasons. I felt like I was taking such a risk with this route, but I couldn't resist having Rosa disappoint Solas. Her intentions were pure, but he's not going to sit quietly and let her get away with it without a tongue lashing. Oh, speaking of tongue-lashings, LOL, next chapter is NSFW! Make up sex!


	40. As Long As You Will Have Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW!
> 
> Rosa confronts Solas to see what bee got into his bonnet. Tal considers the Crown and all the trouble it caused. And, lastly, Solas gets rid of a thorn in everyone's sides.

At sunset, after about four hours of walking northeast to try and meet up with the Imperial Highway to make it to the pass through the Frostbacks, they finally stopped to make camp. Clan Manaria was prepping a meal before the tents were even up and Rosa realized she'd forgotten how truly efficient her people were with setting up and breaking down camps. The hunters and warriors were content to sleep around the fire, but Nola would be sharing Tal's tent.

The group ate and chatted jovially enough and Rosa couldn't help but feel warm with relief at how surprisingly easily clan Manaria interfaced with outsiders—despite their history. Soon the war leader, Lanatriel, was regaling the humans with Dalish tales. Blackwall listened politely, while Cassandra and Sera both wore expressions of doubt or even open hostility in the case of the archer. Iron Bull, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying the story in a way Rosa suspected was more about his role as a Ben-Hassrath spy psych-analyzing the elves and their culture.

It was Solas, interestingly, who did not seem to mesh well out of everyone. After Lanatriel's initial creation story with Elgar'nan and Mythal—which Solas had scowled through as he ate, as if the food had offended him—he rose to his feet and wordlessly retired to his tent. Rosa watched him go and she noted that Nola and the other elves did as well, but it did not interrupt the flow of storytelling from Lanatriel as she shared the tale of the courser and the Dread Wolf.

When that story finished Rosa politely excused herself—ignoring the knowing look from her brother who lay reclined about the fire with Nola cuddled close to him—and made her way back to her tent. Inside she quickly sorted through some scrolls Cassandra had received by raven and then sighed, scrubbing at her face with frustration. She _should_ be hard at work with these scrolls, writing replies and dealing with her role as Inquisitor, but honestly, it was time to confront Solas. She'd never be able to focus until she did that.

Hearing Blackwall had begun telling stories now, Rosa blew out the candle in her tent and then drew mana for the invisibility spell Felassan had taught her. She shivered as the chill of the spell descended on her and then, as silent and covert as she could, she slipped out of her tent. The rustle of canvas and movement of the tent flap drew almost no attention from around the fire—Cassandra, Nola, Iron Bull, and a few Dalish glanced toward Rosa and then lost interest when they saw no one. It was only Tal who continued to stare longer than the others. His dark eyes held a knowing expression and his lips were smirking.

Rosa paused outside her tent, heart pounding as she glared at her brother, knowing he would never see it. _What game are you playing, _da'isamalin? And _why?_ She momentarily thought about stealing her way into Tal's tent to dig through his possessions, searching for the circlet from clan Tillahnenn so she could confront him with absolute certainty—but then she realized that Tal was currently reclining against his travel bag. No amount of invisibility would hide her attempting to take it from him just now.

Swallowing her huff of frustration, Rosa tiptoed her way past Cassandra's tent and then Iron Bull's to reach Solas'. He'd buttoned the flap closed she discovered and gritted her teeth in irritation. The tent beyond was dark, which might mean he was already asleep, but Rosa doubted it. As upset as he'd seemed all day she felt confident he would be lying awake, staring at the tent canvas, and brooding.

Rosa was going to put an end to that and no amount of buttons on a tent flap were going to stop her.

With slow, nimble fingers, Rosa began unbuttoning the flap. It seemed to take forever with her heart pounding and her stomach flip-flopping the entire time with half-formed thoughts of what was to come. Confrontation. Anger. Pain, possibly, of the emotional kind. Maybe, if they could work it out, fantastic sex.

The last button gave way and Rosa slipped inside and immediately cast the sound barrier spell as she let visibility return. In the near-total darkness she could just make out Solas sitting up on his bedroll. She couldn't make out his expression but had no doubt it was angry.

"All right," she said, not bothering to mask her own irritation. "What's your problem, flat-ear?"

"I am _not_ a flat-ear," he said, the words low and cold. She shuddered at the weight of danger she sensed in them. "And I did not wish to be disturbed."

"You want me to leave?" she asked, motioning at the tent flap, which had fallen shut behind her. "You want to be angry? I get it. It's been a hard day. For both of us."

"This is not the time or place to have this discussion," Solas said, again using that dangerous tone.

_He really is mad,_ she thought and considered giving in—but that idea left her grimacing with distaste. Rosa did not run from confrontation. She did not avoid it. She thought of Rogathe and felt her spine stiffen even as her throat ached with remembered loss. _Here I am, _she thought, _walking the path of bravery, old friend. _

"And what is?" Rosa rejoined. "Are you saying you need to cool off or are you just going to bury it? I've had enough secrets from both you and Tal to last me a lifetime. More than one, actually."

"You know Tal was the thief," Solas snarled. It wasn't a question.

"I strongly suspect," Rosa admitted, biting out the words. "And before you ask, no. I don't know why. I intend to find out for sure before I—"

"Do you know what you reminded me of today?" Solas asked suddenly, interrupting her. His voice shook with the quiet rage she had seen brewing in him all day.

Rosa sighed. "What? Was it a woman worried sick about her lover and trying to save her brother from his own stupidity? Because that's what it should have looked like."

"Of all traits Tal may be accused of possessing, stupidity is _not_ one of them," Solas snapped before returning to his original topic. "Today I witnessed you stand before your own people and _lie._ You used my captivity as an excuse to act as you already intended and claimed divinity and demanded allegiance from them." He was silent a moment and Rosa heard his fast breathing in the silence and was glad she couldn't see his face in the dark. "I was reminded of Falon'Din posturing before villages within Dirthamen's lands, demanding their servitude and worship. And, if they dared question, he tore them apart."

Rosa scoffed. "Seriously, Solas? Did you see me tearing anyone apart? Did you see me _threatening_ them?"

"I did," Solas shot back.

"Then you must have been hit harder in the head than I thought," Rosa quipped with a dry laugh. "I just showed them the Anchor and—"

"Precisely," Solas cut her off, the single word clipped. "You demonstrated power beyond their feeble imaginations to impress upon them the certainty that you _could_ harm them, if you so choose. Mythal was much the same, as was Ghilan'nain. They displayed power but did not overtly threaten. It made no difference in the end. Their enemies and followers alike still felt their wrath when they did not worship them as demanded. Or they made those too weak to be a threat into slaves."

The hatred darkening his words left Rosa taut with tension. "You really think I am going to start enslaving my own people, Solas? Be serious."

"You refute divinity with the _shemlen,"_ Solas snarled. "Yet you embrace it at the first opportunity to gain control of your own people."

"I did what I had to," Rosa said, starting to shout now. "Do you think I enjoyed standing there and saying that shit? You know I hate it when the humans call me their Herald. You _know_ I—"

"Yes," Solas interrupted. "It is easy for you to refuse the divine touch when it comes from the humans' Maker and prophetess. But you cannot turn away your own people's foolish false-gods, even knowing them for what they are." He stopped, but Rosa still heard his fast breathing. Then he said, "You disappoint me."

Heat blistered Rosa's skin and her hands clenched into fists. "_I_ disappoint _you?_" The bitter laugh that wrenched its way out of her throat made her cringe. She realized she was about to sob and swallowed hard to regain control as she blurted, "_I_ disappoint _you_, _hahren._ Let's talk about that a minute, shall we? Here you are, your Elvhen majesty, a survivor from so long ago and with _so_ much knowledge in that eggheaded skull of yours, and you share _none_ of it!"

"That is not true," Solas grumbled—but she knew she had him now. His tone was defensive and underlying it she could sense guilt.

"But it is," she insisted, snapping her fingers at him. "You know how to fight Blight, don't you? You know a _ton_ of spells that have been forgotten. How many of them could save lives? All the things you've seen, witnessed firsthand, and you just keep them locked inside where they can't help _anyone._" She scoffed, shaking her head as pressure and burning built up behind her eyes. "And _I_ disappoint _you?_ For what? For daring to use the Creators-damned _truth?"_

"You are _not_ a god," Solas growled.

"No, I'm not," Rosa agreed. "And none of the Creators were. I'm sure Andraste wasn't either. People say it anyway. No one will believe me when I tell them I'm not divinely touched. Why shouldn't our people have the pride and hope of seeing the same thing? Why shouldn't I use it—especially when I _am_ the direct descendant of the Creators? _That is the truth._"

"No," Solas growled, but the denial seemed more desperation than rage now, as if something inside him was breaking. "This is how it begins, _vhenan._ You cannot know how others will act in your name once you are a goddess to them. Soon you will be beholden to those actions as if they were your own. This is how Elvhenan fell, with false-gods at one another's throats. This is why I say nothing—because it would not take long before I became deified as well." He seemed to stammer and then hurriedly added, "Simply by virtue of being Elvhen, of having known the Evanuris, no matter how distantly."

Heart pounding, Rosa stayed still and silent. She bit her lip, feeling dizzy with the outrage still pumping through her even as her gut registered the truth in Solas' words. Eventually Solas continued in a softer voice. "Your heritage should remain unspoken. It must not be what defines you. Let the memory of the false-gods die away as it should have long ago. If you had known the false-gods as I did, if you had seen their crimes, you would not take pride in sharing their blood."

"So, what?" Rosa asked, scowling at the hurt twisting in her throat. "You think I should deny that part of myself? You think I should be ashamed?" She let out another bitter laugh and then sucked in a breath, angry and humiliated at how vulnerable and wounded she sounded. "If you despise my _grandparents_ and _great-grandparents_ so much, why are you with me? Is it just the orb? Is that it? A nice little fuck before you march off to fight demons or whatever in the great Beyond you're going to do whenever you leave me again. That's what this is, isn't it?"

He moved in the bedroll, sitting up fully and, by the sounds of it, flinging away the furs. "No," he growled. "I have told you before I am here to correct my mistake in losing the orb to prevent more loss of life and suffering. My plans beyond that…" He trailed off and she heard him draw in a deep breath. "I will not leave you as long as you will have me. You are not your ancestors."

"And if I asked you to leave?" she asked, her voice strangled. "Would you go?"

"I would not leave the Inquisition," he told her, and this time his voice was sad. "But I would not trouble you. I take my responsibilities seriously, Inquisitor. I must reclaim the orb."

"And what if I told you to leave that to me? To the Inquisition." Rosa scarcely dared to breathe as her mother's words echoed in her mind that Solas would never stop chasing artifacts. Never.

Solas said nothing for a beat and then sighed. "How would you react, Inquisitor, if Hawke and Varric demanded that you step aside and allow them to fight Corypheus instead?"

"You know I'd refuse," Rosa grumbled, frowning at his logic because it was damn-near inescapable.

"Then you have your answer. I cannot cast aside a duty such as this without betraying myself at the deepest level." His tone was heavy with sadness, almost miserable. "Please, do not ask me again and please do not argue that I am only here for the orb. I have always been here as much or more for you."

She wanted to rail against him, to challenge him, but the heartbreaking tone of his voice…

Closing her eyes, she said, "Say it again. I just need to hear it again."

"Hear what?" he asked her, a note of caution in his words now. "That I will not shirk responsibility? Or—"

"Why you're here," she breathed, squeezing her eyes tight against the burning behind them. "Why _I_ am here, with you, despite what you did to me."

"Because I admire you," Solas told her gently. "You are brave but compassionate. You are stubborn but wise. You are a spirit like no other I have encountered in all my long years. You are the first I have called _vhenan_ and I am certain you will also be the last_—_though you deserve so much better than myself."

She nodded and felt tears drip from her closed eyes as Solas' warm hands closed over her own and squeezed. "What I did today," she said, the words quavering, "I'm not exactly proud of. But I wouldn't take it back. And I'm not going to be ashamed of my heritage, even if _you_ are."

"It is not your heritage that defines you," Solas whispered. "It is not your heritage that I love, but you are perfect as you are. I would change nothing."

Clenching her jaw against the odd pain his words started in her chest, Rosa pressed on. "I could use your guidance. To keep the past from repeating itself as I—as _we_—try to save this world from Corypheus and maybe our people too."

"It is already yours, _vhenan,"_ he told her softly and he released one of her hands to brush at the tears on her face. His fingers were gentle and deliciously warm. "As long as you will have me."

Now she opened her eyes, seeing his vague form in the dark. His pale skin shone despite the lack of light. She let out a little wet laugh as the pain in her chest eased into something bright and tender. "Then I will have you," she said and surged forward to kiss him, hard.

Solas was already there, mouth open and tongue quick to taste her with a hunger borne of their mutual stress from the past day. Fast breaths echoed off the tent canvas, reflected back at them by the sound-dampening spell which Solas seamlessly took control of as was their usual pattern. He had greater discipline than Rosa and so didn't tend to lapse even in the throes of pleasure.

The ragged, sloppy kiss in all its franticness broke as Rosa nipped at his jawline, enjoying the woody smell of nature and campfire smoke clinging to his skin. Solas breathed out a shuddering sigh that had Rosa grinning against his skin with satisfaction. She slid her hands up his loose nightshirt and raked her nails down the length of his ribs and then his flat belly, drawing a hum of pleasure from his throat.

Then she felt his mouth on her ear, his teeth on her lobe. She gasped as his hands slipped beneath her own night tunic. One hand wound about her waist, fingers teasing against sensitive flesh, while the other snaked up to palm her breast. The caress around her nipple set Rosa aching deep inside, flushing hot all over. She could feel them tightening under his touch, each stroke stoking that fire burning within. Now it was her turn to sigh with enjoyment.

Solas' velvety chuckle in her ear had her grinning from ear to ear as he pulled her into his lap. Rosa kissed him again, luxuriating in the sensualness of his lips and the salty taste of dinner still lingering. Grasping his nightshirt, she yanked it up, breaking the kiss only a moment to tear it over his head.

Solas was on her before she could toss the shirt away, his hands finding her tunic just as she had with his and stripping it away even as he kissed her throat. Rosa lifted her arms to help him, casting aside her tunic and then gasping as she felt his mouth encircle one nipple. His tongue swirled in a teasing massage, then flicked the tip. Rosa arched into the sensation, moaning her appreciation in earnest. His arms held her tight around her middle, but his clever fingers traced up and down her spine, sending shivers and gooseflesh in their wake.

Beneath her was the hardness of his cock, pressing eagerly through his breeches. Rosa moved her hips, trying to find friction with it one of Solas' hands trailed down between them and dove into her breeches. He crooked a finger against her, rubbing, and she felt the flare of magic tingling her skin. Another moan tore its way out of her throat. She gripped his bare shoulders, nails digging into his skin, heedless of potentially causing him pain through the haze of pleasure.

And then Solas shifted, pulling his talented, teasing fingers from her sex and using both arms to haul her for the bedroll. Rosa moved with him, capturing his lips in another greedy, sloppy kiss. She fumbled at his breeches, for the laces that kept them secured, and almost laughed when she found them already loosened. Solas might have claimed he didn't want to be disturbed but it seemed he'd been lying and had actually planned on her visiting him.

Without breaking their kiss Solas had hooked his fingers under her hem and with a sharp tug pulled down her breeches. Rosa kicked and worked with her feet to dislodge them and then laid back, breathing hard and fast, as Solas now finally broke their kiss to pry his own breeches down enough to expose his cock. Rosa reached for it shamelessly, gripping and squeezing the hot, smooth length and pumping it several times. She grinned at the gasp that elicited until Solas kissed her again, his mouth scalding and his tongue dancing with hers in a way that had her arching her hips and parting her legs wide for him.

He lowered his hips to hers, sliding inside her and Rosa gasped against his mouth, then moaned as the full sensation made her shudder. She heard and felt Solas' answering shiver as his body reacted to hers. She flexed her muscles as he began to thrust and angled her hips to let him rub just so. One hand roved over her, magic glowing a faint white-green as his fingers traced greedily over her skin from breast to waist to hip and then down between them. Rosa clung to him with one hand, gripping the hardness of his back muscles in sweaty palms while the other landed on the furs he'd tossed off the bedroll, fisting in them as incoherent gasps and moans rolled out of her throat.

The hot coil inside her ratcheted tighter as Solas increased the pace and altered the angle. His skin was slick with sweat, his breathing fast and shallow, broke occasionally by a groan of pleasure when she tightened her muscles over him. His free hand not supporting himself continued its maddening tease of caresses and magic between her legs. The pulses of magic matched the thrust of his hips, faster and faster and then slow and deep.

"_Fenedhis,"_ he cursed, breathy and husky, and the sound of it pushed her over the edge.

Crying out, the coil inside her seemed to burst. Hot waves of pleasure radiated out and through her. Rosa ground against him frantically, hips bucking and both legs wound around his hips to keep him close and deep inside. When the waves had slowed, leaving her shaking and panting, she realized Solas had not finished and felt herself grow warm all over again. He'd been lasting longer and longer since they'd rekindled the physical passion between them. If Rosa had had any doubt of Solas' claims that he had been with no one else this detail washed it away.

He bent down and kissed her, aggressive and hungry and feral, finishing with a bite to her lower lip as he pulled away from her enough to ask huskily, "Did you enjoy yourself, _vhenan?"_

She laid her hands on either side of his cheeks and tugged him into another kiss, fierce and eager. When she broke it, Rosa nibbled at his chin and then yanked his head to one side so she could whisper into his ear. "Did I still disappoint you, _hahren?"_

He snorted, though it was clipped because he was still panting. "Did you feel you needed to be punished, _da'len?"_ he asked, amusement coloring the words as well as arousal.

"Yes," she challenged him and then, just because she always enjoyed how uncomfortable it made him the next day, she bit at his neck beneath his ear and then sucked to ease away the sting of her teeth.

With a growl, Solas pulled free of her and then, strong hands on her hips, pivoted her around so her back was to him. Rosa giggled with naughty delight as she angled her hips to meet his and then gasped as he plunged back inside her. There was no slow lead up this time, just the delicious, fast pump of him into her. One hand snaked around her hips and low, fingers stretching to flick the sensitive bud there. The sultry heat of his magic resumed as well and Rosa quickly lost all thought as the buildup spiraled out of control.

Just when she was about to fall over that precipice once more Solas slowed. He was breathing fast, panting with effort, but that didn't stop him chuckling. Realization dawned on her slowly that he was teasing her. Rosa cursed, hands clutching at the bedroll and furs as she struggled to catch her breath, still chasing the orgasm that'd nearly overtaken her.

"Bastard," she said, laughing breathily.

Solas chuckled again and changed position slightly, easing her more so she was sitting in his lap but with her back still facing him. One hand stayed wound about her waist while the other slid up to cup one breast and then the other. Hot tingles arced down Rosa's spine and she moaned as his fingertips teased her nipples—and his magic. She twisted her head and neck as much as she could, trying to kiss him over her shoulder as he began a tantalizingly slow rocking of his hips. Rosa moved in kind and soon was gasping against his mouth, ready to beg as the pleasure spiraled once more.

Then, with a guttural sound of pleasure in his throat, Solas pushed her back to hands and knees. His hands gripped her hips and he groaned as he began thrusting again, harder and faster. Rosa, already teetering on the edge, cried out as the climax hit her. She arched her back and worked her hips and legs, sliding over him and smashing into him with the slapping sound of bare flesh on bare flesh. Somewhere through her cries and incoherent curses of pleasure she heard Solas grunt and then let out a strained scream of his own. He thrust deep into her and then clung with a crushing grip on her hips as his cock pulsed inside her.

As their cries subsided and the last waves of pleasure broke over them, Solas pulled her close and she turned her head to kiss him over her shoulder again. The bedroll wasn't really meant for two but they fell together on it anyway, bodies pressed tightly together and slicked with sweat. Rosa shook, muscles quivering inside and out. Solas, nestled behind her, seemed to be shivering as well. Rosa almost thought she could hear his heartbeat if she concentrated enough through the dark. She closed her eyes, soaking up his heat and his presence, sated and satisfied.

He let out a long breath behind her. The exhaled air caressed the back of her neck. _"Ar lath ma, vhenan,"_ he whispered.

Smiling to herself, she found his hand where it rested just under her breasts, and squeezed. "I love you too, flat-ear."

* * *

After Nola was asleep, snuggled under furs and as naked as the day she'd been born, Tal crept across the tent they now shared and began quietly rooting through his travel pack. It was near-totally dark within the tent so he worked by touch alone but, under the bits of armor, spare clothes, mending equipment, and dried rations, he found the distinctive cold metal of the Crown.

Blowing out a breath of relief—he hadn't had a chance to check for it until now—Tal chuckled low to himself. He glanced back to Nola on the bedroll but saw nothing through the dark. He listened and heard no sign that she was awake either and so, heart thumping loud in his ears, Tal took the Crown out. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the faint light it emitted where his fingers touched it. It was like looking at light through a prism, revealing little rainbows.

"Wow," he mouthed, not daring to utter it aloud but unable to stop himself from at least going through the motions of awe. His fingers traced the cold metal with the same reverence he had shown Nola as they made love earlier.

The demon had visited his dreams the previous night, laughing with triumph and congratulating him on his performance—in more ways than one. Raselan seemed to mock him and challenge him, cheer him and discourage him in turns. Sometimes it motivated him with threats—to Nola, to Rosa, to his _mamae._ And then it would appeal to his desire for knowledge, for answers about his father's murder and life. It was manipulating him _completely_…and Tal did not care. This needed to be done, whether the demon willed it or not.

It was…unfortunate that his plans had caused such havoc. He'd hoped his mushrooms would go unrecognized and would mostly sedate the others. Instead he'd apparently gotten a more hallucinogenic batch. And Sahren's involvement had been just straight up bad luck. As had his run-in with Lytha. And implicating the Dread Wolf had been great in the moment for mayhem, but in the long run it had spooked the whole Arlathvhen, fanning the flames for cruel bullies like Sahren to mount a witch-hunt.

But it had all been worth it in the end. The buzz of pleasure that passed through him as he held the Crown could not be denied. It whispered in his mind the same way the door at Solasan had. _Welcome, honored one. Welcome Lethanavir, kin of the inevitable way._ It reassured him, calmed him, that although his mission at the Arlathvhen had quite literally been a clusterfuck, he was _right._ The Crown was _his_ by birthright, the same way that Rosa and Solas' was in shaping the Fade.

"_When you will it,"_ Raselan had told him the previous night, "_the Crown will transform. It will yield its magic only to one of the blood. You are the only one who can use it, Two-Hundred Arrows. To all others, even your sister, even Pride, it will be nothing but a circlet of bronze and silver."_

Running a finger around the circlet, Tal could _feel_ the magic inside. It moved with him the same way Nola did beneath the furs. The magic inside followed his fingers over its surface. It craved him and Tal could not ignore or deny the answering desire inside himself. _There is such power within you, honored one,_ it seemed to whisper. _We will find it together. _

"Yes," Tal mouthed at it in the darkness. "Yes, we will."

Tucking the circlet back inside his travel pack and then cinching it up tight, Tal returned to his bedroll and slipped beneath the furs to rejoin Nola. She stirred at his arrival, shivering as his hands, grown slightly cold from being naked outside the furs, brushed over her. The sound of her quickened breath had Tal ready to forego sleep again and, with a few kisses and caresses had Nola eager for another round of lovemaking as well.

Of course, he suspected the rest of camp wouldn't appreciate it as, unlike Solas and Rosa, Tal never bothered with the sound-dampening spell. Let the rest of camp hear them, what did he care? Discretion was overrated.

In fact, he had one goal to complete in the next week or so as they traveled over the Frostbacks with Nola and the others from clan Manaria. It was very simple but surprisingly difficult—to make Nola lose her composure and scream his name. She was a quiet lover and that just wouldn't do. Maybe third time would be the charm?

It was.

* * *

That night Solas shaped himself as a wolf. Not just any wolf, but _the_ wolf of old, as imagined by the Dalish when they envisioned their maleficent trickster god. He was as big as a horse, with fur as sleek and black as the lightlessness between the stars. Six red eyes gleamed from his head and enormous fangs protruded from his mouth.

He shaped the Fade to match his memory of the Keepers' meeting place and then, with but a thought, willed the sleeping mind of Sahren to the dream he had crafted. He watched from the shadows, out of sight behind craggy tan rocks and boulders as the old Keeper took stock of his surroundings. His outline was faint and blurry, a mark of his limited connection to the Fade with the Veil in place. He was no extraordinary mage then, merely average for this Tranquil world. Still, he was keen enough that he sensed danger.

Sahren drew his staff from his back and pivoted in a circle, taking in the familiar surroundings. His posture was tense at first but, as long minutes passed with no sign of trouble, he gradually relaxed. Sahren used his stave then as a walking stick, hiking over the uneven, boulder-strewn hillside. He began to root about for rocks with useful pigments and beneficial herbs that he might take back to the clan.

_That_ was the sign Solas had been waiting for. It meant that Sahren had gotten lost in the dream. He had forgotten it was not reality.

Focusing externally for a moment, Solas reached out to the Fade and made it cling more tightly to Sahren. The Keeper did not notice the difference, but to Solas the man became sharply defined, clear and solid in this dreamscape. He became part of it. In the real world Sahren would be sleeping very deeply now, unmoving and barely breathing. Solas could pull a little more and trap the Keeper here, forever, killing him peacefully, or he could allow the other man to come awake naturally as his connection to the Fade gradually decayed.

Or…

Growling low and deep inside his cavernous chest and throat, Solas at long last announced his presence to the sadistic Keeper. The man froze partway down the slope from where he'd been hunched over, examining a stone with a bluish hue. Now he changed the grip on his staff and slowly, cautiously, rose to his feet.

"Who goes there?" he asked, yelling with authority. His initial instinct and his bodily response might be one of fear, but ultimately the Keeper's long years of confidence and control superseded that.

Solas stepped out around the boulders and allowed himself to be visible. Grass hissed slightly and crackled as he placed huge paws over it. The tiny sound drew Sahren's attention and the older man whipped around. Fear made him turn white as snow. His eyes sprang open as wide as saucers. He took a stumbling step backward and thrust up his staff. "Back away, Fen'Harel! Mythal damn you. Elgar'nan burn you!"

Solas let a canine grin spread over his mouth, exposing his many teeth. "Your false-gods have no power, _da'len,_" he said in a cold, quiet voice that he let echo through the Fade and not directly from the wolf's mouth. "Just as _you_ have no power here."

"Back," Sahren shouted, his voice thinning with mounting horror. "Back I say!" He thrust up his staff, the air crackling as he summoned lightning at the tip and then with the other fist he erected a barrier over himself. "Don't trifle with me!"

Solas took one step closer down the slope, still wolfishly leering. "Do you recall the one you bound here, little man? Do you remember threatening the Inquisitor?"

Sahren scrambled several more steps downslope, stave still lifted defensively. Lightning continued crackling at the tip but his barrier was already decaying. "Back, beast! I do not fear you!"

That was so clearly a lie Solas had to swallow a snort of amusement. He advanced another step, bushy black tail slashing once through the air. He tucked his ears back as his lips curled in a snarl, saliva frothing along the edges of his mouth.

"I am no boy now," Solas said. "I am no flat-ear now, am I?"

Sahren gawped at him, like a fish out of water. His hands shook, making the stave he held out jerk as well. His barrier failed and he quickly started a new one as he began backing up again toward the trees. He was clearly terrified and believed, somehow, that if he could make it to the trees he would be safe.

"Did you not hear me?" Solas asked, still speaking in a calm, flat tone. "I asked you a question, _Keeper._ You must speak when your betters address you—just as you reminded me I must not laugh at _you._" The wolf cocked its head, even as it still snarled. "How interesting that you do not laugh now."

"I—I don't understand…" Sahren stammered, shaking violently. Tears glistened in his eyes. He'd transformed into a shrunken, weak old man before Solas' eyes, changed by his terror. "The flat-ear…?"

Solas let out another snarl. "The flat-ear. Yes." He took another slow step closer. "You should have let the Inquisitor leave. You should have restrained your cruelty. Perhaps then you would not have drawn my eye."

"Mythal protect me," Sahren sobbed and then, suddenly, dropped the staff. He fell to his knees in a shaking, sobbing puddle of the arrogant, cruel man he had been earlier that day when he rapped Solas upside the head. It was pathetic to see and, although a distant part of Solas cringed at the scene, the rest of him continued on unmercifully. This man would only cause trouble for those around him. He would fight Rosa, simply by virtue of having hated her father. He would never cooperate; never willingly or trustingly serve.

There was only one place for men such as Sahren. Solas had toyed with him—something he reserved only for enemies who had personally offended or wronged him—long enough

"Forgive me, Lord," Sahren blathered, begging. "Forgive me and I will be your servant. I will worship you. I will command my clan to worship you. Anything, you have but to ask it!"

The wolf let out a snarling bark, spattering the Keeper with spittle. The man cried out, cringing.

"I take no servants cowed by fear," Solas growled. "I do not accept worship. There is only judgment from me—and you I find lacking."

"No," Sahren shouted, trying to scramble to his feet, scrabbling for his staff. "No—please!"

Solas had no mercy to show the sadistic Keeper as he sprang for him.

Off in the clearing the Dalish were using for the Arlathvhen meeting, Sahren, snug in his aravel with Enasa on the pallet beside him, let out his last breath with a whimper.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Having a bad day, Chuckles?" Varric's voice asked from his side as the dwarf waddled over to the empty stool at the bar next to him.

Solas sighed and swallowed—wincing at the fire it brought in the back of his throat. "I do not feel well."

Varric grunted. "You sound a bit croaky. Got a cold? In summer?"

"It would appear that way," Solas muttered.

Varric clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Sorry to hear that, Chuckles. Summer colds are worse than a swarm of rabid nugs."

* * *


	41. Solas Has A Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning from the Dales, Rosa must endure prep for the Winter Palace ball and hates every second of it. Meanwhile, Solas struggles with a brand new and dastardly foe that he cannot even see.

Rosa stared down at the assemblage of silverware in front of her and scowled. "You cannot be serious," she said as she glanced up at both Vivienne and Josephine. The two human women stood between her and the stairs leading down out of the Enchanter's second story ledge above the main hall of Skyhold. It was as if they both knew she'd bolt at the first chance they gave her.

"I can assure you, Inquisitor, we are very serious. It is vital that you be prepared for your appearance at the Winter Palace," Josephine said, tucking her hands behind her back. She was sans the writing tablet and quill for once.

Vivienne wore an enigmatic little smile on her plump lips and Rosa couldn't push aside the suspicion that the Enchanter was enjoying her discomfort. "Lady Montiliyet is quite correct, my dear. It would be inexcusable for the leader of the Inquisition to dine among the royal court without knowing which fork to use on her salad."

Rosa eyed the _four_ different forks and huffed irritably. "This sort of nugshit really reveals how disconnected the _royal court_ is from the rest of the people." Snatching one of the smallest forks, Rosa spun it about with one nimble-fingered hand and then stabbed it down into the little table with its pristine white cloth. "I'm not going to save Thedas from Corypheus with this fork or any of these forks. So who in the great beyond cares if I don't know which one goes with salad?"

"It is vital that we make a good impression, Inquisitor," Josephine protested, sounding somewhat aghast.

Vivienne's little smirk hadn't vanished and Rosa wanted to use one of the _three _knives in front of her to cut it right off her face. At least Josephine wasn't smug about Rosa's complete lack of knowledge and disgust toward courtly etiquette.

With a sigh Rosa plucked the little fork out of the table and motioned at the salad the chef had prepped for her just for this lesson. "Is it this one?"

"I'm afraid not, my dear," Vivienne said and stepped forward to grab one of the larger forks. "This is the one you must use. The one you're holding now is for desserts."

Rosa rolled her eyes and grabbed the correct fork to stab at the first green leaf. "Fine. This fork it is."

"You can tell a salad fork because it is smaller than the entrée fork and has only three tines," Josephine added in a bright voice. She'd make a good teacher, Rosa decided.

Dutifully, Rosa shoveled a few green leaves into her mouth and began chewing as daintily as she could. That was part of the lesson, too. Josephine and Vivienne thought she wasn't _feminine _enough, or _polite _enough when she ate. But, after several seconds, she couldn't resist adding a snarky comment. "You know," she grumbled. "My clan ate with wooden sticks and spoons. We didn't have many forks at all. It was a waste of resources, really."

"Do not speak before you have swallowed, darling," Vivienne chastened.

Rosa frowned at the Enchanter. "Bugger off, really. We're not in court right now." It would be months yet before the Empress' ball at the Winter Palace. There was plenty of time to put off these etiquette lessons. The weather had yet to even grow chilly yet, even this high in the Frostbacks.

It had been about two weeks since Rosa and everyone who'd accompanied her to the Arlathvhen had returned. Nola and the rest of clan Manaria had stayed only a few days at Skyhold before setting off for the Free Marches to rejoin the rest of their people. Tal had insisted a small retinue of Inquisition scouts and soldiers accompany them most of the way and Rosa had allowed it. Since then things had been quiet. Josephine and her other advisors had mercifully deemed it worthwhile to decline or postpone any missions that would require Rosa to travel for the next month in order to give her a break from months on the road.

In the time Rosa had been away from Skyhold Josephine had been busy. She'd contracted out stonemasons and carpenters and dozens of other professionals to whip the ruins of the fort into shape. It was still a drafty fort high up in the mountains, but at least Rosa had a place to sleep now rather than bedding down in the courtyard. And the walkways on the ramparts were accessible. Most of the rubble had been cleared away. New furniture had been constructed or hauled in. Drapes and carpets and lumber and stone arrived daily. Skyhold was abuzz, day and night.

"You will be far less likely to make mistakes during the ball if you practice and alter your behavior well in advance," Vivienne told her, her ever-polite smile making Rosa shudder. She'd seen Solas do the same thing in company he found unpleasant—or beneath him. The comparison made her stomach clench and she scowled yet again down at the silverware.

"Point taken," she conceded, deciding it wasn't worth fighting the humans. They were probably right. The Orlesian court and its infamous great "Game" were indeed something she had little experience in. All her knowledge of herb lore, ancient Elvhen history from _lenalin_ and Solas, and magical expertise would do her no good at all when she faced the Empress this winter. She would already be at a disadvantage because of her pointed ears, vallaslin, and heritage as a mage.

Half an hour later Rosa was full from the three-course meal the two women had forced her to eat with all the proper silverware, complete with dessert and tea. Vivienne's voice echoed in her brain as she stomped her way down and into the library: _You must clasp the spoon daintily, my dear, not as though it were a staff. Little finger out!_ And Josephine wasn't any better: _Oh! No, Inquisitor. You cannot take great gulping swallows like that!_

"I was thirsty, dammit," Rosa grumbled to herself, staring straight ahead. She almost didn't see or hear Dorian as he rose from his easy chair in the reading nook and called for her. Rosa stopped just short of the circular stairs leading down into the rotunda and whipped around. "What? What is it?"

Dorian arched an eyebrow at her and clucked his tongue. "Testy, aren't we? I take it the _etiquette_ lesson wasn't to your liking?"

Rosa let her shoulders slouch, realizing she had let herself snap at Dorian and it was completely undeserved. "No. It's stupid. It's a bunch of nugshit and I _hate_ wasting my time with it."

Dorian chuckled, teasing one end of his mustache. "I agree with you, love. It _is_ all rubbish, but it's not a waste of time. As much as you or I might dislike it, there are men and women with enormous power who will happily gut us for such imagined slights as using the wrong title in idle conversation or using the left hand to eat your breakfast instead of the right one. There are rules outsiders and pariahs like us must follow to _pretend_ we fit in."

Rosa managed a small smile for him, grateful at his reminder that there were people like him who'd been raised in that world and rejected it, finding it as stupid as she did. It was a comfort to know she wasn't alone. "I'd forgotten you were raised in such fine company too." She chuckled and shook her head. "Why is it you aren't one of my teachers?"

Dorian let out a little high-pitched guffaw. "Me? Teaching _you_?" He waved a hand at her dismissively. "That is the _last_ thing the Inquisition needs. If I were to teach your etiquette classes you'd come out knowing how to dance and use the correct silverware, but you'd also know how to offend everyone from here to Tevinter. More than you _usually_ do, that is."

Laughing, Rosa grinned. "Excellent point. I expect my reputation is bad enough already considering I'm a mage _and _a knife-ear savage."

"Precisely," Dorian said, smiling affectionately at her. Then he sobered and cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting in front of himself in a way that told her he was feeling awkward or nervous. "Inquisitor…Rosa. There's been something I've been meaning to ask you."

Arching her brow at him, Rosa edged closer to hear his lowered voice. "Yes?" She was suddenly sweating, certain she didn't want to get involved with whatever it was. She tried not to mirror his body language and ignore the desire to fidget as well.

"It's about Tal." Dorian met her gaze a moment and then looked away, idly brushing a few fingers on the nearby bookshelf and grimacing when it came away coated gray in dust.

"Uh-huh," Rosa said, nodding dumbly. Yes. Her instincts had been right. She looked over her shoulder to the stairs before she could stop herself, imagining herself bolting for the relative safety of Solas' rotunda where he'd been hard at work painting the plaster walls.

"Cassandra told me…" Dorian's voice drifted off. His cheeks held a touch of red in them. Rosa had never seen him look so uncomfortable and her stomach twisted hard on itself anew with sympathy.

"Dorian," she said, swallowing. "I'm sorry. I didn't know Tal was betrothed to his Keeper. Truthfully. He never told me. I don't know what the two of you had but—"

Dorian scoffed and then made the same high-pitched guffaw he had earlier, interrupting her. "You think we were involved too?" He laughed. "I always knew I wasn't exactly discrete, but…"

Rosa blinked as understanding dawned. "You and my brother _weren't _having sex?"

Dorian scowled at her now, ruffled at her bluntness. "No. Is that what he told you?"

"No," Rosa said quickly, shaking her head and lifting her hands as if to ward him off. "Not at all. He said you were just friends. But I know Tal and I could tell he was…_interested._" She bit her lips to keep herself from adding that Tal had a _lot_ of interest. He was very sexual. That was why she—and so many of the others—had simply assumed…

"Well," Dorian said, seeming to preen now as he smiled smugly and brushed at his fine clothing. "Naturally." He cleared his throat then and seemed to press on with what he'd originally wanted to discuss apparently. "But it's true, then? He is betrothed? Will he be leaving for his clan shortly?"

"I don't think so," Rosa said, giving in to her desire to fidget now. "He's going to stay to fight Corypheus, I think. But the clan will definitely want him back sooner rather than later, I imagine."

"Ah," Dorian said, nodding. "I see." He smiled, businesslike now. "Well, now that that's settled, I thought I might run a little idea I had by you."

The amusement in the Tevinter mage's voice had Rosa grinning. "Oh?"

"Yes," Dorian said, teasing his mustache again. "I hoped that I might use the Inquisition's resources to get my hands on a copy of the Liberatum. With that I might find Corypheus' lineage. I suspect he was a grasping ankle-biter and we might be able to leverage that information against any modern descendants, or against the Imperium itself." He smirked. "Doesn't that sound delightful?"

Rosa laughed. "It does. I especially love the image of our friend Corypheus as an ankle-biter."

Dorian's eyes gleamed with amusement. "As do I, love. As do I."

* * *

There was something wrong with Solas' throat. It _ached. _It felt like he'd swallowed glass at some point and scratched the back of his throat up. Eating breakfast had relieved it briefly, but by midday it had spread from the right side to the whole of his throat and Solas felt wretched. His eyes burned and his sinuses felt as though they were swollen.

The symptoms had come on suddenly overnight. He'd been slow to wake, groggy and with his head pounding. He'd been spending his nights in Rosa's bedchambers, discreetly. At night he used the invisibility spell to creep unnoticed by any in the main hall up the long stair to her room where she was always waiting. In the morning he left using the same spell and so far none was the wiser, although most of their closest companions had long since known the couple had resumed a romantic relationship. Still, it was important for Rosa's image that their involvement be fairly quiet.

That morning Rosa had left him early to attend her usual meetings with her advisors and Solas had tried to resume his studies in the rotunda where he intended to continue sketching out his next panel for painting. But focusing proved difficult and the scent of his paints made his throat and nasal passageways hurt more. He'd eaten at noon out of habit rather than hunger, and discovered it did improve his condition, albeit temporarily—and, frustratingly, his sense of taste had been dulled.

By the time the chills set in, Solas knew this was not some fluke of odd physical manifestations. He had seen others fall ill over the last two years since he'd woken and he had touched dreams of those suffering from illnesses he was completely unfamiliar with. Now it seemed he had fallen prey as well. He suspected he knew what ailment this was, though he had so little experience with it he could not be confident. It was the wrong season, or so he gathered.

It was a "cold."

He had never had a _cold_ before. Such things did not plague immortal elves.

But he was no longer immortal. The cold only further emphasized that. Uthenera had preserved him and maintained his immortality for a time, but waking had erased that.

_Fenedhis._ How did anyone _live,_ however briefly, like this?

Giving up on his painting and research, Solas threw on a cape and headed for the tavern. He'd glimpsed a few of the treatments for this sort of ailment and knew they involved some of his least favorite activities: dreamless sleep and tea. As he entered the tavern he saw regulars like Sera, Varric, Iron Bull, and Blackwall seated along the wall adjacent to the door. He tried to ignore the weight of their surprised stares as he made his way to the bar instead and asked for tea with honey.

While he waited, slumped over and with his eyes half-closed as he tried not to give in to the desire to swallow nonstop to test how bad his throat was, he wondered if there was a spell to cure this ailment. Surely there must be _something. _His people had not discovered any such spell, of course, because they had no need of it. But perhaps Dorian or—he shuddered to imagine himself asking Vivienne for her aid. Scratch that idea.

"Having a bad day, Chuckles?" Varric's voice asked from his side as the dwarf waddled over to the empty stool at the bar next to him.

Solas sighed and swallowed—wincing at the fire it brought in the back of his throat. "I do not feel well."

Varric grunted. "You sound a bit croaky. Got a cold? In summer?"

"It would appear that way," Solas muttered.

Varric clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Sorry to hear that, Chuckles. Summer colds are worse than a swarm of rabid nugs."

The barkeeper swung by then with a cup on a saucer. He poured a steaming cup of water and left the pot behind—along with three teabags. Solas took them with a nod of thanks and let one bag soak in the hot water with a grimace of disgust.

Varric chuckled. "Looks to me like you need something stronger than tea for this." He fished into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver flask. Unscrewing the lid, Varric leaned over the bar, beefy arms outstretched, and poured some of the pale liquid into the teapot and then into Solas' cup as well. " That should do it."

Solas scowled. "I fail to see how this will help." Alcohol burned on the way down without illness. Why would Varric be mad enough to think it would be helpful now?

"Trust me, Chuckles. Booze is the best cure all." He motioned to the cup and then mimed drinking from it. "Go on. Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Giving in, Solas lifted the cup and after blowing on it to cool it, took a swallow. The sharp bite of the alcohol mixed with the tea did make it more pleasurable to drink but his throat still burned. Still, the warm burn of the alcohol spreading through him was a nice distraction, vaguely sexual. The burn also cleared his sinuses for a few moments.

"Better?" Varric asked, smirking.

"Slightly," Solas admitted grudgingly. He moved to take another longer sip, wincing again at the pain.

"The only way I can sleep when I get a cold is if I am drunk off my ass," Varric said, laughing. "Actually, that's my preferred way to live through the whole thing. That way you're not fully conscious for all the misery of the sneezing, coughing, fevers and all that."

That…was actually not a bad idea. Except that Solas knew from his recent bout of inebriation at the Arlathvhen that he might not be able to control himself—his mouth, in particularly. But the fiasco of the Arlathvhen had been mushroom-induced, not alcohol. Perhaps…

He poured more hot water, now laced with Varric's flask of…whatever it was…into his cup and drank again. The tastes were dull on his tongue but the heat and the honey and maybe the alcohol too had numbed his throat a touch. Was Varric's flask whisky? Rum? Did it matter?

"Excuse me," he called to the bartender. The dwarf shuffled over and raised his eyebrows at Solas, waiting. "Whisky, please."

As the bartender scurried off to grab the booze for Solas, Varric whistled and slapped Solas on the shoulder. "Good for you, Chuckles. Keep your chin up. It'll be over before you know it."

"I hope that you are correct," Solas muttered after Varric had left his stool and returned back to Sera, Iron Bull, and Blackwall—who all seemed to be in the middle of a card game. Solas wished he could have joined them, if only for the distraction, but he knew he would be in no shape to compete and he despised losing when he knew he could win with ease under normal circumstances.

Shoulders slumping with defeat, Solas poured more hot water into his cup again and, as the barkeep dropped off a bottle of whisky, Solas worked off the cap to add it in as well. How long did colds usually last? Was it just a few hours or a few days? Or was it longer? A week? Two? He didn't know and asking about it would reveal his ignorance. Rosa and Tal would understand his predicament. He'd have to wait for one of them.

Downing another cup with a grimace of pain, Solas dropped his head to his forearm resting on the table and wished he could just sleep through this misery. His head had begun to pound viciously…

* * *

After a review of her cutlery lesson in Josephine's office, Rosa had hoped to stop by Solas' rotunda to see how his latest panel was coming along, but she found him absent. Still, she surveyed the walls with a smile as she walked from panel to panel. Solas had many talents, she knew, but his skill with paint was a surprise. A number of the others had also remarked upon it and many made a point of stopping by to see his progress.

Now Rosa could see he had begun to outline a fresco that she knew was set to record…well, she wasn't certain exactly. The first panel was clearly a depiction of the breach, although he'd used almost no green to color it. Still, it had to be the breach, with a shining beam aimed down at a mountain peak and dozens of eyes around the centerpiece at the top—the Black City. It was the Fade peaking through.

But when she stepped slightly to the right she saw he had begun outlining a straight shape. A sword? A staff? It mirrored the breach imagery he'd used in the first panel, but this time she saw he'd used green and silver and the sketching he'd laid out suggested he wouldn't be adding more creepy eyes where the breach was in the previous fresco. So it looked like this image would eventually become the symbol for the Inquisition. But blocked in below it and off to the sides were…

Rosa squinted and drew closer, extending one hand out to hover above the faint line work. She frowned as she tried to make out the shape. Solas had connected the first and second panels through his lines, creating diagonals of alternating colors and shades that bisected these shapes. Were they…wolves?

"Inquisitor," Leliana called to her from the rookery high above.

Rosa started, sucking in an involuntary breath as she craned her head back. "Yes?"

"Could you come here for a moment?" the redhead's smooth Orlesian-accented voice asked.

Rosa was already walking for the stairs leading up and out of the rotunda. "Sure." She hurried up past Dorian's reading nook, finding it deserted currently, and returned the smiles of the few mages, including Fiona, as she passed. In the rookery she found Leliana standing at her desk holding several missives that had doubtless come from her agents via ravens. As Rosa approached she lifted her gaze and smiled in her usual way. It was the same sort of coy smile Rosa frequently employed herself.

"I thought you'd like to know that I just received word that your brother's Keeper returned to her clan safely."

Rosa nodded. "Thank you. I had little doubt she'd make it, especially with our people to escort her."

"I took the liberty of ensuring most of the escort team was made up of elves," Leliana told her. "I suspected the clan would prefer that, based on what I've heard about their unfortunate history."

_That's the history of all our people,_ Rosa thought but didn't let her smile falter. She nodded again. "Thank you, Leliana. I'm sure they appreciated it."

Leliana made a little noise of agreement in her throat and then walked around her desk. She held one of the scrolls, which was currently trying to curl up in her gloved hand. "I've had news from my agents in the Dales," she said. "The group of deserters calling themselves Freemen of the Dales have been causing trouble for both Empress Celene and Gaspard's armies."

As the spymaster extended the scroll out to her, Rosa asked, "Which side is winning?" Accepting the scroll she only read over it cursorily.

"It's a stalemate," Leliana said. "Gaspard has a great many chevaliers, but the bulk of the Orlesian army remains with Celene."

"And which side are we supporting?" Rosa asked with a sigh as she handed the scroll back to Leliana. "I mean we know Corypheus wants to plunge Orlais into chaos by killing Celene, but maybe we can subvert him without the need for attending this ridiculous ball just by throwing our lot in with Gaspard?"

"The Inquisition is neutral, currently," the spymaster said, but Rosa didn't miss the upward twitch of her lips. "That is, of course, until your worship makes a decision in the matter, but I doubt you would prefer the likes of Gaspard."

Rosa scoffed. "You know they're both snooty royals to me." She motioned at her face. "I don't see how we're going to get any of them to invite the likes of me. A mage. A _Dalish_ mage." She shook her head. "Have we lost our minds? Seriously. We should just send you and Cassandra and Cullen to warn the Empress discreetly and be done with it."

Leliana's smile was dry. "You know as well as I the message will be ignored unless it is delivered personally." The spymaster leaned closer, dropping her voice as her smile widened. "Is this really something we can afford to leave up to chance, Inquisitor?"

As usual, Leliana was right. Rosa rolled her eyes before giving in with a nod. "Ok, I get it. I'll shut up and just deal with this ridiculous ball and all the _lessons."_

"Very good," Leliana said, smirking. "However, if you'd enjoy a break from Josie and Lady Vivienne's teachings, I can certainly suggest an alternative way to spend the next few weeks." The spymaster lifted the scroll about the Freemen of the Dales again for emphasis.

"You want me to go out and kick their asses?" Rosa asked. She tried to keep the hesitance out of her voice. The Freemen had some sort of dark connection to the Formless One or some other powerful demon. Weeks ago, on their way to the Western Approach, Tal and Dorian had almost been killed by a band of Freemen who jumped them outside a tavern. It was then Rosa—and Leliana through her—had discovered that the Freemen were carrying some sort of sketched wanted posters with detailed artwork of both Rosa and Tal.

"Commander Cullen has already been mounting excursions out to the Dales to gain us access," Leliana told her.

Rosa's mouth fell open with surprise. "Without me?"

"You were delayed by meeting with your kinfolk," Leliana said, tucking her hands behind her back. "We needed a greater force in the area in case of trouble _and_ it was the next logical step in our fight against Corypheus. We need to impress both Gaspard and Celene with a greater presence in Orlais."

"Mmm," Rosa said, nodding her understanding. Apparently Leliana and Cullen had been massing forces in case they needed to rescue Rosa and the others at the Arlathvhen—even though they wouldn't have known where the meeting was. As it was, Rosa had lied about what had happened at the Arlathvhen to her advisors, leaving out the threat to Solas and Sera and the theft of the circlet from clan Tillahnenn. Instead she'd just claimed she was "recruiting" her people at the meeting…with ambiguous success. She'd never been able to shake the suspicion that Leliana knew she was lying, too.

"So…you and Cullen need me in the Dales," she said, summarizing.

Leliana nodded. "Yes. As soon as you are suitably recovered from the previous few months on the road." Her blue eyes scanned over Rosa, as if trying to determine whether she thought Rosa had "suitably recovered."

"I think I'm pretty recovered," Rosa agreed, smirking. "Enough that the thought of all the lessons Josephine and Vivienne have in store for me seems more daunting than riding to the Dales."

"Very good," Leliana said, blue eyes glimmering with amusement. "I will let the Commander and Josie know. Lessons will resume when you return."

Rosa groaned, but it turned into a laugh. "You're probably right."

"I'm always right," Leliana teased and then, with a slight dip of her head, amended, "Almost always, that is. But in this, I am confident. In fact, I suspect your lessons could do with my experience as well. The Enchanter and Josie are both excellent at the great Game, but I'm certain I have some experience they do not."

"The more the merrier, I guess," Rosa said, shrugging. "But I can't promise I'll be a good student."

"That's fine," Leliana said. "But by the time we're done with you, Inquisitor, you'll be the belle of the ball with ease."

"Creators," Rosa grumbled with a snort. "I hope not."

* * *

Tal tugged on his cloak sleeve, trying to get it to fit perfectly. The leather was slick and needed to be broken in, but it was an attractive dark green with brown trim around the cuffs and hood and hem. Easy camouflage—not that he needed it, really, with the invisibility spell at his disposal.

He'd had this cloak commissioned for himself right after returning to Skyhold and this was only his second night wearing it around the fort. He'd been volunteering routinely to join hunting and scouting parties around the mountain since returning. That gave him an excuse to keep his pack with him, the Crown hidden deep within, but if Rosa or someone asked he'd say he was breaking the cloak in. He couldn't risk letting Rosa or Solas get hold of the Crown. So far, however, those two had spent most of their time grabbing hold of _each other_ and forgetting he existed. That was just as well.

Even in high summer Skyhold grew chilly at night, making Tal glad of the cloak as he strode into the tavern. He trotted, light-footed, up the stairs to the second story where he had a date with his favorite dwarf and spirit boy. This was the first night that Varric was back after a quick trip to Kirkwall and so, as was customary, they settled down to a quick game of cards.

Varric looked grizzled, with more scruff on his chin and cheeks than usual, but his brown eyes were still bright as he grinned at Tal. "Stoic," he greeted, laughing. "Good to see you."

"Same to you, Varric," Tal said as he took a seat opposite the dwarf. Their table was against the wall, adjacent to the stairs and hopefully far enough from Sera's corner hideout that the archer wouldn't harass them too much. A chair stood empty to the left. Seeing it, Tal asked, "Where's Cole?"

A soft voice came then and when Tal glanced back to the chair he started, gasping despite himself. "The sea wind smells like dead fish," Cole said, having appeared from thin air next to them.

Varric laughed again. "Nice entrance, Kid." He shuffled his enormous stack of cards and Tal let out a breath of relief. He set his pack at the side of his chair and fully eased into his own chair.

"I scared you," Cole said, speaking to Tal with a quick flick of his blue eyes before he lowered his head, covering his gaze with the brim of his hat. "I'm sorry."

"No harm done," Tal reassured him. "You want in on this hand or are you just going to help one of us win?"

"I like to help," Cole said, smiling almost bashfully.

They'd been trying for months to teach Cole to play cards but the spirit boy couldn't seem to grasp the concept of bluffing as a strategy. Tal was a little grateful for that. If Cole ever figured it out he'd have a truly impossible game face. Tal was bound to lose everything if that ever happened.

"All right," Varric said and began to deal. He included Cole as he always did, but neither of them really expected the boy to participate fully. After he'd completed the deal Varric examined his hand, his expression showing nothing. Tal did the same and bit the tip of his tongue as he saw a good spread of cards. He'd learned that Varric was very good at guessing his hand based on how he moved them about, arranging them. So, Tal didn't reorganize the cards, merely held them in place. It might not save him, still. Varric was as good at reading people as well as anyone Tal knew.

Varric grunted then and said, "So, Stoic."

"Yep?" Tal replied, eyes still skimming his cards.

"Heard you got engaged while you were out in the Dales."

Now Tal's gaze leapt over his cards to Varric. He grinned as he saw the dwarf's tentative smirk. "Who told you that? Sera? Rosa?"

"Cassandra, actually," Varric said, his smile widening.

Tal lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "The Seeker was _gossiping?" _

"Yeah," Varric confirmed, laughing. "You bet your ass she was."

"I thought that was beneath her," Tal said as he reached out to the deck between them to take another card and deposit a less than favorable one into the discard.

"I saw that, Stoic," Varric said, chuckling. He did the same, discarding a card and then drawing a new one. He sorted through his hand, humming in the back of his throat. "Care to raise the stakes?"

Tal fished out his coin purse with one hand and found a silver. Tossing it casually on the table, he grinned at Varric's amused look. "I'm feeling lucky today."

"Yeah?" Varric returned and added his own silver to the table. "I can see that. You sure you can afford to lose to me with a wife back in the Free Marches depending on you?"

At the mention of Nola, even nameless, Tal's stomach fluttered. "Au contraire," he said. "My _betrothed_ has no need for human coins."

"The blade is cold on my arm," Cole rambled as he stared unseeingly at his own cards. "'_Just a little nick here, to bring the blood.'_"

Tal frowned at Cole before he could stop himself, recognizing that the spirit was reading him now. Nola had taught him a smidgen of blood magic as she was quite adept at it. Every clan was different and while some took on the humans' stigma against the practice others, including Manaria, were more open-minded. Tal had come from a clan that forbid it and so had been skittish about learning, but he'd tried anyway for Nola. His lessons with Rosa had also instilled a fear of blood magic because, as Felassan had taught them, it hindered one's connection with the Fade.

"A little dark today, Kid," Varric said with a grunt. When Cole stared at him, clearly confused, Varric asked, "You happy with your hand?"

Cole blinked and gazed back at his cards. "The stars strain for her head because they remember when they were the same, but they cannot reach her. She does not know. She does not hear them."

"I'll take that as a yes," Varric said, nodding. "How about you, Tal?"

Tal wrinkled his nose, feigning distaste with his cards. "It's not going to get any better, I think."

Varric laughed. "Stoic, do you know why I call you that?" He didn't wait for Tal to guess before explaining, "It's because you're _not_ stoic. Same reason I gave Chuckles his nickname."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure Solas is Mr. Happy these days," Tal said, smirking. "He and Rosa are getting along great."

"Yeah?" Varric asked, the single word leading and silently demanding further details. Varric was the absolute king of gossip. He hadn't accompanied them to the Arlathvhen but that hardly mattered. He'd been the one to announce he was confident the inner circle's betting on when the couple would get back together could finally stop—and that'd been back in the Western Approach after Adamant. Tal had seconded the dwarf's declaration once he'd returned to Skyhold because most of the losing gamblers had refused to believe Varric's pronouncement. Tal was considered the real authority.

"Let's just say if you were to go to Solas' room late at night when he _should_ be sleeping you'd find an empty bed." He waggled his eyebrows at the dwarf salaciously.

Varric laughed, thumping the table with one meaty fist. "Good for them." He finished laughing and then pointed to Tal. "And good for you, too, Stoic. When do you get married? Are you excited or is this more of the arranged sort of union?"

"Both," Tal said. "But we're happy with it." Clearing his throat, he jerked his chin at Varric. "Call."

Varric sighed and lowered his hand, exposing a mediocre grouping. "I knew you were going to win this round—unless Cole has something better."

Cole blinked and then, realizing what they expected as if suddenly remembering where he was and what he was doing, the spirit boy revealed an equally unfortunate hand. "I didn't win, right?"

"Nope," Varric said and brought out his flask, unscrewing it. "I think Stoic here is the lucky one this time."

Grinning, Tal showed his cards. "Varric's right." He reached out and snatched up the two silvers. "Deal again?"

Varric was already gathering the cards to reshuffle. "I'd be a nug's uncle if I let you get away with just one hand, Stoic."

"I like nugs," Cole put in.

"I'll take that to mean you're in for another round," the dwarf said, laughing as he began to deal.

"So you never explained how you got _Cassandra_ to gossip about me and…" Tal frowned as he tried to find a good way to describe Nola that wasn't confusing but was still accurate. Varric had called her Tal's _wife_ earlier but that would never be accurate, really, although plenty of Dalish had adopted the terms from humans. He finally settled on saying, "…my betrothed." It still sounded so ridiculous and archaic though that Tal had to wrinkle his nose again.

Varric laughed at the sight of his face. "You gotta sneeze, Stoic, or were you fibbing earlier about how happy you are with the whole arranged marriage situation?"

Another leading question. Tal shook his head and gathered his latest round of cards as he answered. "I am happy about it. I just didn't want to lecture you about the right terms the People use." He smirked. "Didn't want to act too much like Solas. But, you didn't answer my question. Did Cassandra start gossiping or do you have some kind of special charm with her?"

"Getting the Seeker to talk is as easy as embarrassing a Chantry Sister," Varric said as he surveyed his own cards. "You just have to know what buttons to push and how hard. But, when it was about you, she just kind of spilled it right out. Made me think she kinda thinks of you like a kid brother."

Tal snorted. "Ugh. I already have one older sister. I don't need another." This time his hand wasn't nearly as good. He kept the realization hidden.

Cole had scooped up his cards as well and now stared unseeingly at them, his brow furrowed. "Dareth shiral, Fenesvir," Cole said in a strained, hushed voice.

The elven immediately piqued Tal's interest. He turned his head and stared at Cole, one brow arched. "Cole?"

The spirit boy swung his head toward Tal, blue eyes large and doe-like. _"They are coming for her, _hahren. _Falon'Din and Elgar'nan's armies united as one. Dirthamen and Andruil are to the west. She will have no hope of escape."_

Tal frowned, gawking stupidly for a moment before he realized Cole had been speaking in elven the entire time. Since Cole wasn't currently reading Tal it seemed likely he was reacting to the Crown, or maybe Solas? But Solas wasn't here…

"Thedas to Cole," Varric said, his voice a little strained. He typically handled Cole's spirit jabbering when it was in common easily enough, but apparently the elven disturbed him. "Hey, Kid, snap out of it."

Cole ignored Varric as he seemed to answer himself. _"We cannot help her, Fenesvir. I'm sorry."_

"Fenesvir?" Tal asked, chuckling tightly. The name was unusual. _The path of the wolf. _

As if in response, Cole suddenly gasped and tensed. His cards dropped, fluttering like feathers flung off from a frightened bird. Almost simultaneously Tal and Varric both started as well when they heard a crackle of magic from the lower level. Maryden screamed and barstools and chairs scraped over the wood floor. The sharp sound of shattering glass or porcelain cut through the air.

"Andraste's ass," Varric cursed as he shot up out of his chair. "What's going on down there?"

Tal sprang in front of Varric, blocking him on instinct as the fine hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end. His magical senses tingled and his heart hammered. "Shit," he grumbled and flicked a barrier over himself, Cole, and Varric. Then he gripped the wooden railing and hopped over it.

Landing with a thump on the ground floor, Tal saw Krem standing protectively in front of Maryden, who cowered behind him. Both were trying to edge their way closer to the tavern door. Krem had drawn his sword but had no shield and seemed a bit cross-eyed with too much ale. The barkeep lay motionless on the floor a few paces from where Tal had landed and—standing on the other side of the bar—was Solas, glimmering white-purple with a sort of barrier Tal had never seen before.

What _the fuck_ had happened?

"Solas," Tal called, keeping his voice soft. He saw in the orangey, uneven light of the tavern that Solas' forehead was damp and his skin was even paler than usual. Worse, he had gray circles beneath his eyes, which held a crazed, anguished look. "Calm down, _falon."_

Solas had been staring at him, brow furrowed and his shoulders heaving. The purple-white magic faded and Solas seemed to shudder as it did. By the sense of it Tal guessed it was a type of storm magic shield—a powerful spell, probably, that hadn't survived the fall of Elvhenan. It seemed taxing, too taxing for Solas to maintain. He stumbled forward and caught himself on the bar. "Fenesvir?" he asked, blinking out at Tal.

"I'm Tal," Tal said, motioning at himself. "Remember me?" Inwardly he wanted to groan. This was becoming a habit. Facing off with a confused, dangerous Elvhen man who he had little doubt could kill him if he wanted. Solas had been a general for Mythal, after all. He had to have _hundreds_ of years of experience in battle in a time when magic had been much stronger, for whatever reason. The experience alone would probably ensure Tal a swift death at the confused Elvhen man's hands, but Tal also knew Solas was stronger than himself, equal to Felassan at least. Felassan had let Tal win some of their duels when he'd been a boy, but in hindsight he knew that was a father playing with his son. Tal could never stand up to the power of these Elvhen men. No amount of inherited power from Falon'Din would help him here if Solas wanted to kill him.

Solas blinked again and then let out a long, shuddering breath. His head fell forward and he leaned more weight against the bar. "I'm sorry," he said, the words croaking.

Tal remained where he was, unsure if Solas was back in his right mind yet or not. He knew better than to push forward too soon. He caught Varric's gaze on the stairs and quickly shook his head, trying to keep the dwarf from coming into view. Cole was nowhere to be seen and would be impossible to control even if he were in sight. Krem and Maryden had frozen behind Tal, most of the way to the door. The barkeep still lay motionless, but Tal could see his chest rising and falling. Solas hadn't killed him.

Well, that was something.

And then, abruptly, Solas pitched forward, limp as a de-boned fish. He landed with a harsh thump on the bar and then slid off it, knocking a few tankards of ale off with him in a tremendous splatter and clatter. Tal winced as the other man fell, then cursed under his breath and rushed forward. Krem was with him, leather creaking and the few bits of metal he still wore even off duty clanking with every step. Varric's feet stomped on the stair as he raced to join them too. Other patrons were scrambling to either flee or investigate as well, all wide-eyed and staring at the disturbance.

Tal vaulted over the bar and landed straddling Solas. Grunting, he heaved the other man up and wrapped one of Solas' arms around his neck. Krem rounded the bar and hurried to adopt a similar position. As the Tevinter warrior got a good grip on Solas he hissed through his teeth. "Bugger's burning up."

Tal had noticed that too. Solas was definitely burning with fever. "Help me carry him?"

"Sure," Krem agreed. Together they grunted and half-carried, half-dragged the surprisingly heavy elf out from behind the bar. "He's skinny but dense as fuck for an elf," Krem observed with a grunting laugh. Then, a second later, seemed to grimace. "Uh, no offense."

"None taken. Varric," Tal called to the dwarf, who had knelt to check on the unconscious barkeeper. "If Krem can carry Solas I can try to heal the barkeeper. Can you run and get—"

But, as if his thought had summoned her, Rosa jogged through the door, breathing hard. "What's going—" She cut herself off as she registered Solas slumped between Tal and Krem. _"Fenedhis,"_ she cursed and ran for Krem to take his place.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Tal asked, leaning forward enough to grin at her around Solas.

"Cole told me Solas needed me," she said. "I guessed it was urgent but I thought he'd be conscious at least." She jerked her chin toward Krem. "Can you fetch Mother Giselle? Or any healer, really."

Krem saluted. "You got it, your worship."

Her eyes flew to where Varric was now helping the barkeeper up off the floor and she sighed. "What in the Void happened here?"

Tal let out a dry laugh. "I wish I knew, _asamalin._"

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"It pulls on you," Cole said, switching to his breathy ramble. "Even when it's not on you, like now. It's still there. You can't stop feeling it."

"Yep," Tal agreed without looking directly at the spirit boy. He swirled the ale in its mug idly. "Sucks to be me." He kept his volume low to avoid freaking the barkeep out.

"Weight spread over two people is always lighter," Cole said earnestly. "Tell her."

"I can't," Tal muttered, still staring into the mug. The liquid inside slowed now that he wasn't sloshing it. A faint reflection of his face began to take shape. Tal resisted the desire to swirl it again to keep from seeing it.

* * *


	42. Conversations with a Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa struggles with the aftermath of Solas' lapse of control due to fever. She also confronts Tal about what happened at the Arlathvhen.

The sun was just starting to slide behind the western mountains when Mother Giselle finally reported to Rosa. The last few hours had been hectic and tense as Rosa busied herself cleaning up the figurative mess Solas had left for her as half of Skyhold lost its mind at the thought of a mad mage on the loose.

The tavern's first floor had been fairly full when Solas had apparently attacked the barkeep for no reason in full view of everyone. Witnesses who had been drinking beside the elven man said Solas had been slumped over as if he'd had too much to drink. In fact, the barkeep himself attested that Solas had finished off two bottles of whisky. Then, out of nowhere, Solas had lashed out with storm magic when the barkeep came to pick up his second empty whisky bottle.

The blast had knocked the dwarven man overtop of the bar and into the wooden floor, tables, and chairs outside the bars. Most of the witnesses had then scrambled out of the tavern in a panic. Shouts of abomination had echoed through the courtyard, as well as generalized screams of alarm. Much of it had gone unnoticed because Cullen's men were doing training in the yard outside the tavern with Iron Bull and Blackwall. No one else had been injured other than the barkeep, luckily, and he only had a bump on the head and some twitchiness from the storm magic.

_This is the last thing any of us need,_ Rosa thought. The _us_ she was considering now were _mages. _She had a few hundred rebel mages in her care through the Inquisition and if one of the mages in her trusted inner circle could lose control…

Rosa had spent time meeting with witnesses and trying to calm them and then she'd had to contend herself with the secondary wave of hysteria as those not directly involved learned of it. And, of course, by the time the rumor mill had its way with the incident, Solas' brief lash out had grown tenfold worse.

"Crazy fucking codger and his magic shite," Sera snarled. She had caught Rosa in the courtyard, spitting curses repeatedly at "droopy ears."

"Whatever you've heard," Rosa said in a tired voice, "I promise you, the truth is _not_ half as frightening. Solas is sick and he had a momentary—"

"Fuckface fried the barkeep!" Sera interrupted, brown eyes as wide as Rosa had ever seen them. She was red-faced and held her bow in one hand, clutched so tightly her knuckles had flushed white.

Rosa continued where she'd left off. "Solas is sick. He had a _momentary_ and _minor_ lapse of control."

"He bloody _killed_ the guy," Sera repeated. "Told you, Inky. Told you mage-weirdies would—"

"No one was killed," Rosa cut her off, raising her voice. "No one was even seriously wounded."

"…`S not what I heard," Sera grumbled, nose wrinkling.

"You heard wrong," Rosa snapped and, seeing Mother Giselle standing behind Sera a few paces away at the foot of the stairs to the main hall, Rosa gently but firmly pushed the elven archer aside. "If you'll excuse me, Sera…"

"No," Sera growled, turning to try and follow her. "Told you, I did. _Told_ you—"

"We're finished talking," Rosa said, almost yelling. "Good day." Sera glowered angrily as she turned away but Rosa couldn't bring herself to care.

Mother Giselle had waited patiently for her just to the right of the stairs, her hands clasped together and held low. Her dark skin looked perfect and smooth in the golden light of the setting sun and she wore a small but strained smile on her lips. Rosa didn't like the look of it and steeled her spine as she reached the Chantry Mother.

"Mother Giselle," she said in greeting, mustering up a smile with sheer determination. "Please tell me you have some good news for my Fade expert."

The other woman dipped her head in respect. How she managed to do anything without losing her hat continued to mystify and astound Rosa. "I'm afraid I've nothing certain to report, your worship. Master Solas—" she seemed to find his name difficult, grimacing slightly at it "—is quite ill with fever. I have listened to his heart and lungs and both are healthy, Maker be praised. The infection appears to be in the nasal passages and head." She paused a moment, pinching her lips together. "I am led to understand from the young man Tal that you would have seen Master Solas this morning. Did he appear feverish at that time?"

Rosa swallowed, trying frantically not to blush. Had Tal really told Mother Giselle she was sleeping with Solas? Or had he just said he knew Rosa had spoken with him that morning? Either way, the answer was the same.

"No," Rosa said, shaking her head slightly. "I think he was all right this morning." He'd looked paler than his usual that morning, and seemed a little slow to rise, but that wasn't all that unusual. Solas often lounged later than she did, still deep in the dreaming as he was. She couldn't give Mother Giselle that kind of detail though.

The Chantry Mother nodded. "Then it appears the illness overtook him quite suddenly."

"Will he be all right? What illness _is _it?" Rosa asked, scowling at the note of desperation she heard in her voice. Then, quickly hoping to cover her personal, intimate concern with a more professional one she cleared her throat and motioned to the keep around them. "I mean, is it communicable? A pox? A poison in the air or the water? Tainted food maybe? I need to know if I can expect an outbreak through Skyhold or not."

Mother Giselle let out a small breath and shook her head. "It is too soon to tell, your worship. Except for the seriousness of his symptoms, I would almost say he suffered a common cold or flu."

Rosa blinked, frowning with thought. There were plenty of jokes within her clan that men couldn't handle any kind of illness and liked to play it up to receive attention from female caregivers. Once Rosa had grown old enough to understand such jests and had realized her father was Felassan and not old Keeper Taeras, Halesta had even joked that she believed Ivun had hammed up his weakness out of uthenera to seduce her. Of course, Rosa couldn't imagine there being anything sexy about deathly weakness—especially after she had seen Solas endure it in the Hasmal Circle.

No, Solas wasn't suffering some minor ailment.

Or, if he was…well, it wasn't minor to _him._

She swallowed the sudden lump that thickened her throat. "Is he awake? Have you provided him any treatment?"

"Master Solas was alert enough that I provided him with elfroot to ease the fever," the Chantry Mother said. "I recommend rest, minimal excitement, and plenty of fluids—but no alcohol. It may have prompted the incident today by worsening the confusion brought on by fever. It is too early to tell what manner of illness he suffers from, but he is healthy and young. He should recover quickly."

"Thank you," Rosa told her and meant it.

"You are welcome, your worship."

Rosa was about to spring past the Chantry Mother when she hesitated a moment, thinking she should at least pretend that she cared for the interests of the keep at large. It'd look less like she was dashing off to wait at her lover's bedside then. "Uh," she said, motioning at the other woman. "Make sure you speak with Sister Leliana and Ambassador Montiliyet to give them an official report as well."

"Of course, your worship," Mother Giselle said, dipping her head again as Rosa hurried up the stairs of the main hall.

Rosa snatched a notice off a wooden scaffolding just inside the doors of the main hall and pretended to be engrossed with reading it to avoid seeming rude to the countless _shemlen_ loitering about. She heard diplomats Josephine was escorting about call to her and ignored them as she hung a right past Varric's desk and into the rotunda. Solas wasn't here of course, but she needed to get to his official bedroom, where she and Tal had brought Solas earlier.

Sprinting up the stairs, Rosa cut around until she reached the ledge where Vivienne had her daybed. She gritted her teeth when she saw the Enchantress was there, but she was staring out over the courtyard with her back turned. Rosa walked as quietly and quickly as she could past, sweating as she cursed herself for being so anxious about all this that she was skulking about her own castle like a thief.

_What if you _are_ a thief? _

She pushed that thought aside as she mercifully crossed without drawing Vivienne's attention. The last thing she wanted was to have the Enchanter turn and say something like, _"Inquisitor, my dear, one does not _sneak_ in such an undignified way. Fingers together, hands bent out just so, head up and knees only slightly bent—now, darling, that is how a lady of the court tiptoes."_

Ugh.

Outside on the wall overlooking the garden below, Rosa ducked under scaffolding and counted the doors to find Solas'. At the right one she pushed it open and found a small rectangular room beyond. The roof wasn't entirely closed and there was a chill draft in the air, but the bed was new and heaped with quilts and blankets. A little brazier burned, also new, helping to warm the space. It was a little musty, in need of renovations, and there were few signs that Solas had been using it—because, of course, he hadn't been. But now he lay bundled under the blankets, pale and with a sheen of perspiration at his forehead and over his pate.

Rosa's heart ached with concern as she closed the door behind her and walked hesitantly toward him. "Solas?" she called softly.

He opened his eyes and his brow furrowed with what was clearly confusion. After a moment he asked, "Mythal…?"

She stopped where she was, cautious. She crossed her arms over her chest and sniffed, smiling tightly. "No, I'm Rosa."

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Rosa noticed the elfroot leaves in a wooden bowl at the nightstand beside his bed. Had he eaten any of them?

Rosa stepped closer and sat on his bed about halfway down. She scooped up the bowl and lifted a leaf. "Mother Giselle left some elfroot to break your fever. Have you eaten any?"

He opened his eyes and rolled his head toward her again, staring with a look of confusion. "Elfroot?" he repeated, as if the word was completely foreign. Then his eyes widened and his lips parted with recognition. _"Elfroot,"_ he said, using the elven term for it, something Rosa had only really heard from Felassan.

She nodded and, deciding that his fever-addled mind must be too taxed to translate from common to his mother tongue, she switched to elven herself. _"You're sick, Solas. You have a fever. Mother Giselle left the elfroot for you to eat to break your fever. Have you eaten any?"_

He nodded now and, wincing, shifted in the bed, sitting up. His eyes narrowed, staring at her once he had settled. Rosa wasn't certain if he recognized her completely yet or if he was still mistaking her for Mythal. Was he just half-mad with the fever or had he been close enough with Mythal that he would expect her to swing by and check on him when he became sick?

"Rosa," he said, and she felt herself relax. He wasn't so sick he'd lost his wits, merely confused by the fever. _"I'm sorry. I'm not well."_ He frowned. _"It is difficult to think clearly, but there was something…I had a question for you."_

"Yeah?" she asked, daring to smile a little now, even if it wavered with her nervousness. Then, at his deepening frown she switched back to elven. _"I need to ask you something too." _She paused a moment, trying to find the right phrasing in elven. It wasn't a term she'd ever heard translated so she had to make one up on the spot. Solas seemed to be waiting patiently, his blue eyes a touch glazed but otherwise he could have just been sleepy, bleary after awakening from a long night of deep sleep.

Finally she shook her head and said, "All right. Here goes." Clearing her throat, she began. _"You told me back in the Circle that you were already mortal."_ The word _mortal_ she had to use a term that meant _mortal wound_ rather than _mortal life._ The language she had learned from Felassan had some shortcomings that way. It didn't have a lot of words she actually needed for this conversation, but many of the others she'd heard Felassan create from scratch as needed: _Fever, _for example. Felassan had smushed multiple words together to create a new one that he, Rosa, and Tal all understood meant _fever. _Solas had never failed to understand that sort of jargon as far as she knew so it was fairly successful.

Solas cocked his head slightly after a pause during which Rosa guessed he was puzzling out her word choice. Then: _"Yes."_

Rosa bit her lip, searching his face before plunging on. _"Are you certain that was true? The People's legends say the _shemlen_ brought illness with their quick lifespans. That was the sign of the…"_ She broke off, struggling to piece together the right elven words to describe the Quickening. "Shem'hima sal'shiral?" she hazarded. _Become short lifespan._ At his continued confused look she tried a different set of words. "Shem'hima vun."_ Become short life._ But it also could mean _become short sun_ or _light._

Understanding at last dawned in Solas' eyes. _"I have never had an illness such as this before," _he told her, his voice scratchy. _"But I am…"_ He scowled and gave his head a small shake, only to stop and hold himself motionless, as if he deeply regretted the head movement. Still, he repeated her earlier phrasing. "Shem'hima vun." Licking his lips, he added, "The Quickening?"

Rosa nodded. "Yes. That's what I meant."

His shoulders fell slightly though a weary, wan smile tugged at his lips and she saw tenderness in his eyes. "You…worry that you Quickened me. You have not." He swallowed, wincing. "This is…my first…cold?"

Rosa dared laugh now but quickly stifled it at the flash of confusion and something like hurt that appeared over his features. "Solas," she said, "most people don't pass out at a tavern and attack the barkeeper in a feverish haze when they have a cold. They're not as serious as this usually." She leaned forward, reaching for his head and he flinched back slightly but didn't fight her as she laid the outside of her palm over his brow. He still felt scaldingly hot, as he had when she hauled him off the tavern floor. "You _did_ eat the elfroot, right?" she asked him again.

He blinked at her as she withdrew her hand. "Yes." Switching to elven again—it seemed common was just too much of an effort to maintain through the addling of the fever—he asked, _"How long does this condition last?"_

"Normally it's a week. The cough takes longer than that to go away." She eyed him with concern. "But I'm a bit worried because it's hit you so hard. The legends talk about a lot of sickness. I don't know exactly how bad, but bad enough they remembered."

"_They would remember as they had never experienced it before,"_ Solas told her as he lowered himself back into a prone position. Exhaustion weighed down his features and his eyes drifted shut.

The realization of _that_ was just beginning to hit her anew. No illness. No disease. It must have been a paradise. And it was no wonder it had hit Solas hard, then. He had never been sick before.

She sighed. _"It's unfortunate timing. Leliana wants me to go into the Dales and I'd hate to go without you."_

Solas made a dry humming noise in the back of his throat—a sound of agreement. He seemed to be too tired to muster up much more than that.

Rosa smiled weakly, worry still tugging at her. Rising from her spot she laid a hand over his cheek, smiling affectionately though Solas didn't respond except to crack open his eyes slightly for an instant before letting them close again. "Get well soon, _vhenan."_

* * *

Despite Rosa's best efforts—and those of Mother Giselle and the crabby herbalist Adan—Solas did not recover quickly. A week passed, during which he was often feverish and incoherent, reduced to speaking only elven so that either Rosa or Tal had to be there to provide translation if one of the healers wanted to visit and treat Solas. On one occasion Leliana, who'd made a study of as much elven literature as was available in Orlais, had tried to sit in as "translator" but had to give up and went to fetch Rosa.

"I told you to find me or Tal," Rosa scolded the spymaster, trying to hide the cold frisson of fear that ran down her spine. _Of course_ Leliana hadn't been able to do it. Solas spoke the same elven as Felassan, more ancient and unchanged than anything that Leliana could have studied—and it _had_ to draw Leliana's interest. In fact, Rosa knew her and Tal's previous casual usage of what should have been a dead language must have intrigued the spymaster to no end.

"I understand that, Inquisitor," Leliana said, a note of irritation in her voice. "But you were unavailable in your lesson and Talassan is not here at present."

"Where _is_ Tal?" Rosa asked, then winced at how snappish she sounded.

"He is out with my scouting group," Leliana answered, turning to follow Rosa as she dashed for the stairs leading out of her bedroom. "I saw no reason that I could not at least _try_ to—"

"Because I don't want him lashing out at you. He isn't in his right mind when he's like this." It was a good lie, fast and believable, but Rosa suspected Leliana didn't buy it. Her lips were pressed tight together and her blue eyes narrowed slightly as Rosa started down her stairs, hoping the spymaster wouldn't stop her or question her further.

No such luck, however, as Leliana called, "Inquisitor?"

Rosa stopped, already halfway down the flight of stairs, and turned at the waist to stare up at her spymaster. "What is it? I need to—"

"Just an observation, if you'll forgive me." The redhead dipped her head a moment in a little motion of respect. "My understanding was always that the elven language is incomplete and mostly lost to time." Her brow was furrowed. "I did not realize it had survived among the Dalish so completely."

"Only among a few clans," Rosa said and shrugged. "Now, I really need to go."

"Of course," Leliana said, smiling. It was that same damnable smugly knowing look she flashed to Cullen when he made some sort of false or naive assumption in their war council meetings. Rosa knew the spymaster would be investigating this privately.

_Nosy _shemlen.

Still, Rosa had a lot more to worry about just now—like ensuring the relatively unfamiliar faces of his healers didn't spook Solas in his fevered confusion into attacking them. The mess of his initial attack against the barkeeper was _still_ causing her grief even a full week later as snooty Orlesian nobles visiting Skyhold grumbled and complained about "undisciplined, wild mages." Rosa had little doubt that Vivienne was using the incident to her advantage, advocating behind Rosa's back for increased restraints on mages everywhere.

Ugh. Just another day with more of the same nugshit at Skyhold.

* * *

It was late at night, past midnight in fact when Tal returned from scouting with the rest of Leliana's people. His cloak was much softer now, quieter with the creases he'd broken into it with continued use. Solas probably had Rosa to help him just now as she usually covered his "night shift" anyway. If anyone had had any doubt previously that the Inquisitor had a special soft spot for the strange Fade expert and apostate mage they had to see it now.

So, rather than check on the Elvhen man and his ongoing fever dream, Tal ventured in to the tavern. It was becoming his habit now, as he knew Dorian, Solas, and Rosa were unlikely to be there and those were the three people he had been avoiding.

His pack and staff thumping on his back as he stepped in and smelled the acrid scent of alcohol and the sweet smell of someone's tobacco-elfroot smoke. The tavern was quiet this late as most of the revelers had passed out or given up for the night. Even Varric was back in his room or in the main hall and Iron Bull was probably holed up with whatever latest redhead he'd been able to entice into his bed.

Even the barkeeper was bleary-eyed as Tal sat down and called for ale. He'd been drinking less since the Arlathvhen, but the habit had been increasing again since returning to Skyhold. The weight of his pack on his shoulders didn't leave him even when he took it off with a grunt and set it beside his stool.

Raselan had been in his dreams the night before. He was never surprised when the demon visited him these days, but it did make him feel less keen on sleeping. He could sense himself sliding into a sort of uneasy acquaintance with the demon where he'd grown accustomed to the other being. He'd begun to feel less afraid of it and more familiar. Raselan seemed less and less a terrible demon and more like some untrustworthy advisor—the kind that _might_ be after what you had and _might_ be conspiring and misleading you to try and take it from you. Or it might just be amusing itself with their relationship. Hard to tell.

The night before Raselan had cautioned him yet again not to let Rosa or Solas know what he was up to. He couldn't trust them. They wouldn't approve. Tal couldn't let them stop him.

Sometimes Raselan sounded like a Chantry Sister repeating herself. _We are all the Maker's children. Sing the Chant. Pray to the Maker and Andraste every day and night. Don't tell your sister or her lover about any of this. Be good and do what I say or I'll have to hurt someone you love. _

The ale arrived with a clank on the wood bar and Tal smiled at the barkeeper. "Healed up?" he asked. "You took a lot of lightning from that egghead I heard."

The barkeeper snorted, smirking. "Takes more than some lightning to do in a dwarf, kid."

"Yeah, you're telling me," Tal said, lifting his mug in salute. The ale tasted like piss, as it usually did. He smacked his lips and grimaced. "Remind me to buy some good wine next time we're out," he muttered to himself as the dwarf was already across the way, tending to dirty glasses.

"Okay," a familiar voice piped up from next to him.

Tal tensed—but only a moment before he saw Cole at his left. "Ah, good to see you."

"Yes?" Cole asked, phrasing it as a question.

"It is," Tal told him and motioned with his mug again. "You're way better company than this mug or the piss inside it." Setting the drink down, Tal called to the barkeep. "Hey, can you bring my friend here a mug too?"

The dwarf turned and glanced at Cole and then away again, frowning. "What are you on about, Treeface?"

Tal snorted. "You've been listening to Sera too much, I can see."

"Hard not to," the dwarf replied with a shrug. "She kinda lives here." Then, sighing, he frowned at Tal once more. "I know a lot of weird shit goes down round here. Sera and the Bull like to say there's a spirit that lives here. Pulls pranks. Takes things. I haven't noticed. Fade shit usually goes right over our heads. Dwarves, I mean."

"And not because you're short," Tal said, winking. "Sorry. Forget I asked. I was just fucking with you." He smiled as genuinely as he could, realizing too late that Cole was invisible to the barkeeper. As far as the dwarf was concerned, Tal was sitting there at the bar drinking alone. "I'll take another ale if you have one, though."

"This is a tavern," the dwarf mock-scolded, grinning. "Of course I have another ale."

"He can't see me," Cole said unnecessarily. "A lot of people can't. You and most of the others do." He smiled. "I like that."

"Me too," Tal said, sipping. The dwarf slid another mug to him down the length of the bar, shooting him a _look_ as he did so. After all, Tal was talking to himself in his eyes.

"It pulls on you," Cole said, switching to his breathy ramble. "Even when it's not on you, like now. It's still there. You can't stop feeling it."

"Yep," Tal agreed without looking directly at the spirit boy. He swirled the ale in its mug idly. "Sucks to be me." He kept his volume low to avoid freaking the barkeep out.

"Weight spread over two people is always lighter," Cole said earnestly. "Tell her."

"I can't," Tal muttered, still staring into the mug. The liquid inside slowed now that he wasn't sloshing it. A faint reflection of his face began to take shape. Tal resisted the desire to swirl it again to keep from seeing it.

"You can," Cole insisted and then, softening his voice, he added, "Awww, little brother. _Ar lath ma, bellanaris!"_

Tal chuckled, recognizing the quote as Rosa's, from when they looked at their tombstones, etched with their greatest fears while they walked physically in the Fade. He also recalled how he'd replied to her and muttered it aloud now. _"Bellanaris din'an him."_

"You didn't mean it badly," Cole said, reading his mind.

"Of course not," Tal agreed and then sighed, rubbing his face with one hand as he saw his dark brown eyes reflecting as though they were black from the amber colored ale.

"The demon doesn't care about her. Or you. It only wants blood."

"I know," Tal agreed. He clenched his jaw.

"Why can't things go back to the way they were?" Cole asked, but Tal knew he was only giving voice to the thoughts inside Tal's own mind. "But they can." Then, deepening and roughening his voice, Cole said: "I know that when she was a girl and we banished her heretic father she leapt to the bastard boy's defense over her own mother's counsel. She has already chosen her bastard brother over her own people and her own mother."

Blinking, Tal turned and stared at Cole. "What?"

"She loves you," Cole said, not answering the question.

_What in the Void was he quoting just now?_ He wondered. But the barkeep was shooting him suspicious, anxious looks again so he bit his tongue and instead drank noisily from his mug. Still, the words hung in his head with great weight, just like the Crown. Rosa _had_ gone to great lengths to befriend him. She had always been lofty and on a pedestal in Tal's eyes when they were children. She was a beloved First, blossoming into a powerful mage and competent leader. She was a Dreamer like their father, while Tal was not. Tal was _not_ in a lot of ways compared to Rosa.

But she had loved him anyway. She had risen to his defense when he was defenseless. She had been there to comfort him in dreams when she wasn't there in person. She had laughed with him in those dreams, listening as he told her about how he pranked Sahren to get revenge. She would even add her own ideas. She was there when their father wasn't and when his mother couldn't be because Sahren had her firmly crushed under his heel.

"Yes," Cole said, nodding with a tender smile. "She was there to fight for you. She was—"

"I can't tell her about this," Tal interrupted, scowling. His hands shook as he reached for his mug again, taking a long swig.

"She wants to know. She thinks she already does. But not _why._"

Tal swallowed. "She'll be royally pissed. And then she'll tell Solas and he will probably run me through with his staff. They wanted to kill him. Sahren, I mean." He scoffed at himself. "Why am I telling you that? You already know that."

"I do?" Cole asked, sounding confused.

"Never mind."

"You should tell her," Cole insisted again. "Things _can_ go back to the way they were, you just have to let them."

"_Fenedhis,"_ Tal grumbled. "I'll do it, if just to get you off my back." He tossed back the remainder of the mug and grabbed the next one, drinking quickly from it and burping aloud.

"You should tell Solas, too."

Tal spluttered on his drink, spilling some of it on the bar. He glowered at Cole. "No. Absolutely not. I can't trust him."

"He needs to know. If he knows, he will—"

"Fuck off," Tal snapped. "I've had enough."

"I'll say," the barkeeper called, snorting. "You must be drunk as a skunk or possessed. I might be tough, but I think I need you to leave if you're going to go whacko like the other fellow."

Tal gulped the rest of his drink before the barkeep had even finished drinking and slammed the mug down on the counter. "Ahhh." He let out a breath in a sound of satisfaction and then, seeing Cole had vanished, he grinned at the dwarf. "Sorry to freak you out. Didn't mean to. Just chatting with the resident ghost you mentioned."

The dwarf scowled and made a dismissive gesture. "Off with you. No more. I'm cutting you off."

"That's fine," Tal said, still grinning but harder now. "Tastes like piss anyway."

"Yeah, yeah. Tell that to the miserly acquisitions lady," the barkeeper retorted tersely.

"Will do," Tal said and clicked his tongue as he got up from his stool and mock saluted. "May tomorrow be filled with a hundred percent fewer whacko mages. Have a good night."

The barkeeper snorted as Tal left.

* * *

It was shortly after the translator incident when Solas' fevers began to abate and Rosa decided to begin planning the expedition to the Dales. Preparations would take about a week to do and by then Solas would be mostly recovered for sure…except as the second week dragged on it became clear he would not rebound from the illness quickly. Although he was of sound mind, the cough that had set in was vicious and he was too exhausted to complete a full day working in the rotunda. Adan had to keep a constant stock of cough-soothing herbs ready to apply or be consumed. And, to add further insult to injury, Solas lost his voice. He looked wretched whenever Rosa saw him. Worst of all, apparently, he wasn't sleeping well or at all. Coughing and congestion kept him awake.

So it was that Rosa eventually decided it made no sense to try and travel with him and selected a team to go to the Dales that didn't include him. On Cullen and Leliana's counsel, Rosa selected Varric, Cassandra, and Blackwall to accompany her. Both her advisors had suggested a warrior-heavy band to increase protection and Rosa agreed with their precautions. She planned to leave Tal behind to watch over Solas, in case he relapsed and required a translator again, but two days before they planned to leave her brother ambushed her.

She was just finishing a meeting with Cullen when she strode out of his office and nearly collided with Tal. Gasping, she shook her head as her brother grinned at her. "How's it going, _asamalin?"_

"It'd be better if you weren't sneaking up on me," she said and then laughed, her tension fading. "How have you been lately? I haven't seen you around much."

"I've been good," he answered, giving a little half-shrug. "Getting sick of everyone giving me stink-eye around here because they think I was engaged to Dorian or something but broke it off."

Rosa eyed him for a moment, sensing guilt. "Are they really giving you the stink eye or are you just feeling like you led the poor guy on?"

Tal frowned at her. "I…" He sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy black curls. "Okay, maybe I did? But it wasn't malicious. I thought I'd screwed up so badly with my clan that I wouldn't be able to go back. But now…" His shoulders slumped and he turned obliquely to her to rest his elbows on the stone railing to overlook the courtyard below, bustling as it was with people. "I miss having Dorian as a friend. He hasn't talked to me for more than a few minutes since I got back. And it was _icy, _if you know what I mean_._"

Rosa moved to mirror his body language, placing her elbows on the stone and leaning her weight into it. "You've been avoiding him probably as much as he is avoiding you. And you're also avoiding me, I think."

Tal shot her a sidelong look and then snorted. "If I'm avoiding _you_ I'm doing a piss-poor job of it, I should think." He turned to face her, moving one elbow off the stone and positioning his hip into the stone instead. "Especially because the reason I came here was to ask you to take me with you out to the Dales."

Rosa arched a brow. "Why are you so keen on going? Itching to get away from Dorian? Wouldn't it be better if you stayed here and tried to make peace with him? Clear the air?"

Tal grimaced. "Yes, but I can't face him just yet. I need to go with you."

Shifting to leave the stone wall, Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and drew up her coy smile as she summoned forth her meager truthsaying talent. "The last time I took you out to the Dales you stole a relic from our people and disrupted the entire Arlathvhen, _da'isamalin._ And _then_ Solas was nearly killed by your old Keeper who—"

Tal thrust one hand palm out to her in a _stop_ motion. "Seriously? You're going to pin that on me?" He scoffed, bristling. "It's bad enough Solas tried to pin it on me _and_ Sahren did too, but now you?"

Cursing her fickle talent, Rosa sighed. "The evidence is pretty damning and you know it. Someone drugged all of us that night. With mushrooms, which I know you know a lot of tricks with them yourself from your mother. And, even worse, the thing that was stolen _mamae_ told me was a relic of Falon'Din's that gives off a nasty sensation to most mages. Somehow, though, I think _you_ and maybe me, wouldn't feel it because it sounds like the same magic we found at Solasan."

"That's all circumstantial and you know it," Tal returned, glowering.

Rosa stared at him, her heart pounding and the cold wind blowing off the glaciers and mountain peaks around them settling deep into her bones—hard edged with fear. More than that, though, was the pang of loss aching inside her chest. Where was the little brother who had confided in her, seeking her advice for his first crushes and all his struggles to survive under his evil Keeper's thumb? Where was the boy who had made her laugh so easily and had laughed with her?

_He's still in there,_ she thought—or maybe it was Cole? Sometimes the spirit boy had a way of sneaking into her thoughts without her realizing. Maybe her time with Rogathe, a spirit of bravery, had left her somewhat numb and blind to Compassion and so she sometimes missed Cole while others like Tal and Solas and Varric didn't.

But the voice was right, whoever it was. She was certain of it.

Letting that thought soothe the pain, she eased her body language and pulled completely away from the stone wall to start walking along the path toward the keep. Tal lunged after her. "Hey, stop. Are you going to take me to the Dales with you or not?"

She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. "I rather hoped you'd stay here and talk to Dorian and make sure Solas is taken care of if his fevers return."

Tal shook his head. "Dorian and I can clear things out when I get back. And Solas will be fine here. He hasn't had a fever in nearly a week, he's just too sick to travel." He shrugged and then, almost bashful, scuffed at the stone beneath their feet with his heel. "I just…I figured I should start with you. On the clearing the air…thing."

Now the pain in her chest flared bittersweet. This was a tacit confession. He was trying to be alone with her for an extended period of time by going to the Dales.

…Or was he? She'd thought he'd wanted to reconnect with Manaria and Ghilath clans when he asked to attend the Arlathvhen, but instead he'd apparently stolen the circlet.

_He's like _lenalin,she thought and saw again the echo of their father in his profile when he gazed off at the courtyard, avoiding her gaze. _Something drives him. Something I don't know about. _

Everyone who'd had some secret like this that stemmed from the past somehow—Felassan, Solas, Rogathe—they'd all left her at some point. Her father had died in whatever quest he was on. Solas had abandoned her and inadvertently caused her to lose so much. Rogathe had died for her, at her father's behest. The memories still felt like knives in her ribs, burning and aching. The idea that her brother might now be among them made her feel sick.

Turning to face him, Rosa closed the gap between them to be so close to Tal that he stiffened and took a small step backward. Staring at him, she clenched her jaw to keep herself from revealing how frightened she was, how worried. "Just promise me you'll _trust_ me again if I let you go."

"Me trust you?" Tal asked and let out a tight, nervous laugh. "Of course I trust _you. _It's you who doesn't trust me."

"You're wrong," Rosa said, firm and even. "And I think you know that. I thought you wanted to go to the Arlathvhen to reconnect with your family and your Keeper, but you had some other plans that you won't tell me about or admit to."

Tal scoffed. "That's nugshit. I _did_ want to reconnect with _mamae _and Nola. I did that. I _didn't_ steal this Cr—relic thing that everyone keeps saying I did."

The slip of the tongue he'd made when he referred to the circlet immediately made Rosa tense, but she pushed the reaction away. Further solidifying it was the buzz in her mind as her fickle talent chose that moment to tell her he'd lied somewhere in there. She swallowed the sudden lump forming in her throat and the burning behind her eyes.

"I'll take you with me to the Dales," she said, nodding. "But I expect you to start acting like _Talassan_ again, not like _Felassan._"

His mouth opened and he shook his head. "I'm not acting like—"

"Stop lying to me, okay?" she interrupted him, turning away. "Or I'll change my mind." She strode down the walkway, her spine as hard as steel and her skin burning. She half dreaded, half hoped Tal would call out to her and ask to speak somewhere quietly where he could confess it all and explain himself.

But that didn't happen. Tal stayed where he was on the wall, overlooking the courtyard and Rosa, pausing only a moment to look back at her brother from the doorway to the rotunda, tried not to feel the ache in her heart at how much he looked like a darker reflection of their father. Felassan had been fair-haired and violet eyed, but Tal otherwise was growing more and more to resemble him in both physical appearance and behavior.

What if it got him killed just as it had their father?

_I won't let it happen,_ she vowed. _I won't. _

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Inquisitor," Cassandra said in a note of warning as she glared over her shoulder with disapproval.

"Inquisitor?" Rosselin asked, brows lifting and then drawing down with hostility. "You have come to side with Empress Celene, is that it? The Grand Duke always said she had an infatuation with the elves." He spat the last word, as though it was a curse.

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Well, it's good to know _some_ people still see my ears and vallaslin, I guess." Glancing to Cassandra, she nodded. "Let's show the Corporal why we've really come, shall we?"

* * *


	43. The Arcane Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa takes on some undead-infested ramparts in the Exalted Plains, only to find herself in over her head. Help comes from a certain plucky half-brother of the Herald.

By the time Rosa actually reached the Dales—the Exalted Plains, as the Orlesians had annoyingly dubbed this particular stretch—she had decided _not_ taking Tal had been a heinous idea that she was happy she'd not followed through on. Varric and Tal got on so well that they always drew out the somber Cassandra and the currently dour Blackwall, lightening their journey out of the Frostbacks with cheerful banter.

It was no secret that Cassandra wasn't usually a giggling bundle of laughter and delight, but Blackwall's withdrawn mood for this journey took Rosa by surprise. The Warden seemed unwilling to chat the way he usually did as they marched into Orlai. He responded with monosyllables and grunts until inevitably Varric and Tal worked their social magic over him and brightened his mood—for a few minutes at least.

In the evenings Rosa and Blackwall joined Tal and Varric in cards and, near the end of the journey, even managed to draw Cassandra into it. The Seeker lost everything she bet, unfortunately, having forgotten how to play the game, apparently. Varric and Tal both decided that all bets were off as everyone else had an unfair advantage over the Seeker. Rosa and Blackwall agreed.

The very next morning they reached the Inquisition's main camp and received reports on the area from scout Harding—and they were not good.

"Undead?" Rosa asked the scout, both brows arched. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," the redheaded dwarf replied with a wry smile. "Kinda hard to misidentify a walking skeleton holding a bow. Both Gaspard's camp and Celene's have gone silent. We don't have eyes on Celene's people—they're across the river there and the bridge is out—but best we can tell looking at Gaspard's camps…well…" She grimaced.

"Undead?" Tal asked, sounding bright and cheery.

Blackwall snorted. "She says walking corpses are on the loose and you're excited?"

"Yeah," Tal replied, grinning. "I mean, it's like you and Darkspawn. You get excited about putting them down. I get excited about corpses." He motioned at himself. "Necromancer, remember?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes and made her trademark disgusted noise. She and Varric were sitting nearby, working over their weapons in preparation for the combat that was sure to come. Diplomacy might work with other foes, from Avvar thugs even to some desperate and scared Venatori, but it would never work on the undead. Rosa fought off the desire to give her own stave another once over, recalling the nastier encounters they'd had with the undead. Revenants, in particular. That thought made her stomach twist with apprehension. Solas was their strongest mage and healer—though she guessed both Vivienne and Dorian would both dispute her assessment of that. But none of them were here and without Solas if they met up with another revenant and someone took a nasty blade to the gut…

Pushing that thought aside, Rosa nodded to Harding. "Anything else?"

"There's a Dalish clan nearby, according to my scouts. They're avoiding the battle between Celene and Gaspard's forces…_and_ the undead by hanging around on the plains." She motioned toward the copse of trees off to the left of camp.

"Which clan?" Rosa asked immediately, hoping to puzzle out whether they'd be friendly or hostile after what she'd said and done at the Arlathvhen. If it was Ghilath…

Harding shrugged. "I'm sorry, they didn't talk to my scouts. It was mostly a bit of friendly waves from a distance. Or…somewhat friendly. I guess the elves didn't fire on us, so I call that friendly."

"Friendly enough," Blackwall agreed.

"I'll worry about the clan later," Rosa said. "Let's go kill some undead first." She hesitated a moment, staring ahead through the thick air, buzzing with flies and rife with pollen. The sun colored it golden now, not the faint greenish tinge it'd had a few weeks back during the Arlathvhen. It was deep summer now so the plains were drying out. "What about rifts through here?"

"A few," Harding said. "The Orlesians, both sides I mean, have left them alone and gave up weeks ago trying to kill the demons pouring through. They figured out if they stay away from it nothing comes through." Harding's brows furrowed. "Why is that, anyway?"

"The spirits go where there's something to watch through the Veil," Rosa said. "At least, that's my guess. So when we draw near they're following us and fall through."

"Ripped through," Tal corrected her. "Actually."

Rosa nodded to him. "Ripped through, yes. That's why they become demons. Of course, sometimes, it actually _is_ a demon, I think. The pride ones, for example."

"Chuckles would be so proud if he was here," Varric quipped as he got to his feet and holstered Bianca onto his back. "So, when do we start?"

"Right now," Rosa said and nodded to Harding. 'Thank you for the report. Please send some troops into the ramparts further afield. We'll handle the one nearby."

"Your worship," Harding said with a small motion that was part bow, part nod.

They set off through the pale stone arches stretching overhead. Cicadas shrilled and grass rustled and whispered. The air smelled of smoke and something…foul. Decay. At least it wasn't the full reek of the Fallow Mire or the wet rank of Crestwood. Still, the smell of death and decay lay heavy over this golden land. The Arlathvhen had taken place some distance south, away from the fighting _shemlen_. Those woods and plains had been relatively wild and untouched. Despite hundreds of years the humans had not completely tamed this land. Instead the ghosts of the elven people populated it with pale arches of stone ruins and statues of gods the humans didn't know or care for.

The sight of the arches now sent a chill of both sadness and awe through Rosa. She blew out a breath and let the others take the lead as they continued on the path. Was this ruin from the Dales or Elvhenan? She couldn't tell, but she had close kinship with both. All of the Dalish could trace their lineage back to the Emerald Knights and the royalty of the Dales. Rosa's own birth clan took its name from its founder, the first Keeper, named Naseral. Clan tales recorded him as a Dreamer.

"Demons!" Cassandra shouted from up ahead.

Rosa blinked and snapped to attention as she saw a towering rage demon, its skin fiery orange. Then, hearing a shrill shriek, she saw the loping forms of two fear demons. Their long talons nearly dragged the ground as they walked over the small hill up ahead. The demons had all taken notice of the approaching group and now moved to attack.

Rosa cast barriers over everyone, gritting her teeth as she grabbed out her staff. Her eyes found Tal and saw that, oddly, he hadn't yet taken out his staff. Instead his head turned slightly to the right, staring at the ugly wooden structure off in that direction that must be the _shem_ ramparts. They hadn't heard there would be undead here. Had their presence left him sick and distracted?

Cassandra shouted, "Maker take you!" The sound made Rosa tense and turn her full attention on the fighting. The warriors had closed in on the rage demon, which was closer than the two fear demons. They lifted their shields, covering themselves as it blew fire at them. Then, coordinating their blows, the Warden and the Seeker slashed around their shields with their swords. Their barriers flickered, fading under the strain of the fire.

Varric had taken aim for the fear demons, grunting as Bianca clacked and sent a volley of fiery arrows at the two lithe, twisted figures. Tal, meanwhile, still hadn't reacted beyond grabbing his staff.

Rosa hurled an ice spike at the rage demon, aiming it around both warriors. The rage demon gurgled its pain, collapsing onto itself. One of the fear demons opened a portal beneath itself in hostile green spirit magic. Rosa felt the painful prickle of her skin as the portal appeared at her own feet. Muttering a curse, Rosa Fade-stepped clear and then whipped around the fling fireballs at the demon as it leapt out of the ground.

Tal whipped round now, reacting to the fear demon with a yelp of surprise. He sent fireballs flying at it as he sidestepped and backed away. The fear demon shrieked and lunged for him, talons swinging. Rosa almost shouted her alarm—only to bite her tongue at the last moment as Tal Fade-stepped through the demon, chilling it with a layer of frost over its skin.

The rage demon gave its dying gurgle and slumped over, dissolving into the ground. Blackwall and Cassandra turned as one unit and split. The Seeker rushed to help Varric with the other fear demon while Blackwall charged over to plunge his sword through the fear demon that'd gone after Tal. Having already faced barrages of fire from the Dalish siblings the demon quickly crumpled.

"And down you go!" Blackwall yelled with triumph.

Rosa replenished barriers over everyone and whipped round to confront the last demon only to feel the painful crawling sensation again over her skin. Green glowed under her feet and she saw the fear demon a few meters away diving into the earth, trying to escape Varric's bolts and Cassandra's sword.

"Shit," she cursed and tried to Fade-step clear again but she was too late.

The fear demon leapt out of the portal with a shriek. The force of it knocked Rosa off her feet. Gasping, she rolled onto her back and reached deep for enough mana to fuel an overpowered mindblast. The green spirit magic boomed harshly off the trees, the hill, and the ruined arches. It impacted the fear demon hard enough to make it stumble backward, hissing. Its skin oozed deep green liquid—ether—that kept expanding like a bleed.

Blackwall and Cassandra were already running to finish it off but the fear demon let out a last weak cry and then collapsed, leaving only its green essence behind on the dirt and rocks of the hill. Rosa breathed hard a few moments, feeling her mana pulsating inside, replenishing swiftly. Blackwall was the first to reach her, puffing as he reached one hand down to help her up. "Are you all right, milady?"

His habit of calling her by such a respectful but also distinctly _shemlen_ term made Rosa frown a little. There it was again, that reminder at how the humans were appropriating her. Blackwall wasn't going to be calling any other Dalish she-elves _milady_.

She took his hand and let him help her up anyway, then began dusting herself off. "Thank you," she told him and meant it. Whatever terms he used she knew he had a good heart. _Milady_ was better than _your worship_ any day.

"Free roaming demons," Varric commented, sniffing as he surveyed the hillside and the ramparts ahead. "I don't like it."

"Then that makes all of us, I'm sure," Rosa said with a sigh. "The Veil is thin here." She could feel it in her skin, her blood. Something pressed on her, reached for her soul, incorporeal but undeniable—and it made her mana feel like a child wearing too-small clothes, as if it would burst out of her skin. It was pain and pleasure. Did the humans feel that as well?

Probably not. Certainly Cassandra and Blackwall wouldn't as non-mages. But Vivienne and Dorian?

"All the fighting here, all the death," Cassandra said, shaking her head. "It does not surprise me in the least that the demons have come through here."

Tal chuckled darkly then and they looked to him as one to see that he was fixated again on the ramparts. "Yeah. There's something…_bad_ happening here. I can feel it."

"Define _bad,"_ Cassandra said, sounding a touch irritable at his vagueness.

Rosa frowned, certain she didn't want the Seeker or any of the others to get into details with Tal. Better for them not to know the unusual connection he had with the undead as the great-grandson of Falon'Din. So, before he could answer, she did it for him. "He's a necromancer, remember? Dorian would feel the same if he was here, I'm sure."

Tal shot her a slightly annoyed look and then smirked knowingly. "Yep."

Her truthsaying sense jangled in the back of her head and she resisted the desire to roll her eyes. _Now _it decided to activate? _Now_ when she already knew the lie was for the others? _Fenedhis._

"All right," she said, her staff still clutched firmly in hand. "Let's get into the ramparts, shall we?"

"You got it," Varric said with a dry chuckle as they started off again.

Rosa let Cassandra, Varric, and Blackwall take the lead and deliberately fell back to Tal's side. Quietly, using elven, she asked, _"Are the dead troubling you?"_

He shook his head. _"No. It's something else. I feel something inside the ramparts…I've never felt it before."_

Rosa snorted. "I don't like the sound of that."

"You and me both," Tal told her, his voice somber. "Did the demons bother you?"

She shrugged. "Only a little. Maybe walking in the Fade finally desensitized me the way Solas said Dreamers used to be."

"I hope so," Tal said. "Hard to be Inquisitor if demons constantly make you hurl considering the number of rifts you have to close."

"The demon at rifts have never bothered me that much," she said, shrugging again. "But speaking of that sort of thing, did you remember to cast Solas' spell to keep from losing your lunch?"

Tal hesitated a moment and then nodded. "Yep."

Again her talent buzzed through the back of her mind. _Lie._ Before she could stop herself she revealed her surprise by lifting both brows. Tal grimaced and then frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," she replied automatically. "Nothing…" When he continued staring at her with a skeptical look she rolled her eyes and started to come up with a lie or explanation to get his attention off her—but reality offered a real distraction when they heard shouting and the clang of swords.

Ahead two human men were fighting. One wore Orlesian armor while the other wore only filthy rags over graying skin stretched over bones. Here and there bones actually showed through. _A corpse,_ Rosa realized. It fought the Orlesian soldier surprisingly well in hand to hand combat. When the Orlesian sliced it through the gut pale, bloated coils of intestines fell out of its flaccid belly. The corpse showed no sign of distress as it swung again. The Orlesian had stalled in his attack briefly, having assumed that he'd made a fatal blow, but of course this foe had no concern for his guts. It slashed at him and the Orlesian scrambled to block the blow—but the corpse's blade partly found its mark anyway, slicing across the soldier's arm.

"For the Maker!" Cassandra yelled as she and Blackwall raced into the fray to save the Orlesian. Varric already had Bianca drawn and fired a bolt into the thing's head before the warriors had even reached the narrow bridge the combatants fought on.

The corpse turned its head, showing glowing, dead eyes in sunken orbits, looking at them with all the hate of the spirit dwelling within. It still swung at the Orlesian as well, tireless and fearless as the number of enemies quintupled.

Rosa tossed barriers over everyone. Tal flung a fireball at the corpse just as Blackwall reached it, slamming into it shield first. The corpse groaned and flailed, slashing with its sword despite the flames consuming it—but Blackwall's blow still felled it. The thing collapsed, smoking and letting out a stomach-churning stink of burning hair and decay.

Rosa hurried to meet with the soldier as the man sheathed his sword and began digging at his gauntlets, trying to pull them off to treat the cut on his forearm. Cassandra moved to the edge of the bridge, glaring into the ramparts themselves, eyes narrowed and dangerous as she waited for more undead.

"Here," Blackwall said, sheathing his own blade and holstering his shield. "Let me help with that, soldier."

The soldier nodded to him in respect for the help as Blackwall began winding a bandage about his forearm. "I thank you, Ser Warden." He looked to Cassandra and then to Rosa as she approached. "All of you. If you had not come I'd likely be dead. I came with a small group of men to try and clear the ramparts here." He jerked his chin to indicate the fortified wooden encampment. "But the dead poured out. All of my men fled or fell and I found myself alone." His shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

"Good man," Blackwall said, his tone sympathetic and serious at once. The empathy in his blue eyes made them dark, like the Waking Sea.

"You should have run," Tal put in from where he stood just at the edge of the bridge. He frowned down at the corpses strewn in the trench that'd been dug into the earth around the ramparts, below the wooden pikes mounted on the walls. "Fighting the dead is a fool's errand."

Rosa shot her brother an irritable look and then faced the Orlesian, who now appeared angry. "My apologies," she said, trying to keep her voice from being stilted. "He's a necromancer so fighting the dead is a specialty of his, but for a solider like you it would be dangerous. If you die your body will just be next to rise. It would be better to burn this whole place and bury it than waste more lives trying to reclaim it."

The man sucked in a breath, puffing his chest out as Blackwall finished with bandaging him. "I serve Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, the rightful heir to the throne of Orlais. I am no coward who runs from corpses. I am Corporal Rosselin and even should I fall in battle it is an honor to—"

"That's fine," Rosa interrupted him, holding one palm out to silence him. "You've done well. I just don't think you should waste any other lives trying to take this place."

"Inquisitor," Cassandra said in a note of warning as she glared over her shoulder with disapproval.

"Inquisitor?" Rosselin asked, brows lifting and then drawing down with hostility. "You have come to side with Empress Celene, is that it? The Grand Duke always said she had an infatuation with the elves." He spat the last word, as though it was a curse.

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Well, it's good to know _some_ people still see my ears and vallaslin, I guess." Glancing to Cassandra, she nodded. "Let's show the Corporal why we've really come, shall we?"

Now Cassandra's smile was tight but lit with real warmth. "Of course, your worship."

Marching past Rosselin, Rosa said, "Stay here, Corporal. You've done enough. We will cleanse the ramparts and signal when it's safe. Undead are our specialty."

Rosselin watched her go with narrowed eyes, but as she left the wooden bridge and entered the ramparts proper he called out, "There are bodies in a pit and a magical barrier has prevented us reaching it to burn them. You must burn them to stop more dead rising."

"Good to know," Rosa murmured to herself. Their feet thumped over the wood as they entered the eerily silent ramparts.

Letters and rags and various detritus littered the path. It appeared as though the ramparts had been abandoned in a hurry and no one had had a chance to pack or plan. Rosa wondered how it had come to be. How had the soldiers allowed the bodies into the ramparts to be piled in that pit? Who had piled them there anyway?

"I don't like this," Blackwall grumbled as they walked, following the path around wooden crates and barrels.

"Oh," Varric said with excitement. "This is some fine wine here." He thumped one meaty hand on a wooden barrel they walked past. "Violet," he said to Rosa. "I say we take this as our fee for pest control on this place."

"Oh!" Tal exclaimed, moving to examine the barrel with Varric. "I second that, _asamalin._ This is our payment right here."

Rosa grinned. "Sure. I'll see if Gaspard or Rosselin out there will agree to part with it. But first we have to—"

A groan cut through the air and dirt crackled and shifted. Rosa whipped forward to see two men who were little more than skeletons clawing their way to to their feet. They'd been lying half hidden by the next set of crates ahead. One of them held a bow clutched in skeletal claws. The other had a sword and shield and began tottering, bones creaking, toward them.

Cassandra charged forward, slamming her shield into the corpse before it could even lift its sword to strike. It clattered as it came apart, falling into pieces.

Bianca clacked as Varric fired a bolt into the undead archer. It struck home in the shoulder, knocking the corpse backward and making it loose its arrow without aiming. It thumped into one of the wooden walls and stuck there. Rosa shot a fireball at both corpses, even though the one Cassandra had smashed did not appear to be moving and seemed to have given up the ghost—literally. Blackwall bull rushed the archer before it could fire again, stabbing it with his sword arm and slamming it with his shield with the other. The archer, burning from Rosa's fireball, splintered and fell apart into burning shreds of flesh and bones.

But more undead were shambling from up ahead. Rosa's ears picked out at least three distinctive sets, but her eyes saw far more than that. They appeared from around a bend in the path and up a short stair. Warriors wearing rusted Orlesian armor and shredded, bloodied, and molded leathers. Gaping, leering, lipless smiles and eyelid-less stares found their group, glowing with the simple, brainless hate of the demons that had inhabited the dead flesh.

"Maker," Cassandra said, her voice carrying a tone of prayer. "Protect us. Andraste guide my sword."

Rosa's skin erupted in gooseflesh as she thought _I hope someone hears your prayers, Seeker. _

And then Rosa tossed barriers over them as the first undead archer let loose an arrow from further down the path, where it split. The barrier sizzled as it deflected the arrow. "Take cover," Rosa yelled. "Pace yourselves."

The two warriors moved forward as one to attack the undead armed with swords. Slamming with their shields first and then stabbing forward. They worked well together and Rosa felt a thrill of affection, knowing the two had been training together since before Adamant. Varric timed his shots with them, working Bianca to her fullest extent. Rosa did the same, laying down firetraps and casting winter's grasp to strategically slow down the corpses.

Only Tal seemed to hold back, working only to refresh barriers. When Rosa looked at him, perturbed not to hear fire or lightning crackling in his fists, she saw he had gone pale as snow and sweat coated his forehead. Alarm zinged through her, as though she had struck herself with her own lightning. "Tal," she called, worry making her voice shrill. "What's wrong?"

"I can't…hold them," he told her, his voice strained as though trying to lift something too heavy for him. She realized he was shaking and felt herself go cold with fear.

"What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

Tal's eyes leapt to hers, wide and dark. But before he could do more than part his lips to reply Rosa heard the rustle, clatter, and moan of the dead from behind them. She cursed as she pivoted round and saw more undead had arisen behind them—five corpses, including two archers that had already drawn their bows to fire.

"We've got incoming from both sides, people!" she shouted and then clenched her fist to command a Veilstrike on the three undead warriors. They plunged to the ground, smashed under the weight of her spirit magic. One of them literally fell apart as its bones disarticulated. The other two, however, shook off the blow and started to rise again immediately. The first two arrows from the undead archers behind them whizzed past Rosa's barrier and impacted Tal's with a sizzling noise.

"Shit," Varric cursed and began firing back toward the mages.

Rosa cast freezing spells underfoot of the two surviving corpse warriors, freezing them in place. Tal set both archers aflame with flicks of his free hand, but Rosa could feel the spells lacked their full strength. Tal was either holding back or hobbled somehow. Judging by the paleness of his skin and the sweat beading on his brow she guessed it was the latter. She added her lightning to his fire, frying the undead archers and the warriors in a chain of purple-white energy arcing between them.

Behind her Rosa heard more undead groaning and the clashing of metal on metal as Cassandra and Blackwall took on more corpses wielding swords. Blackwall and Cassandra both grunted and shouted their next moves to one another, coordinating. Their voices were breathy with effort but didn't sound panicked. This wasn't anything they couldn't handle.

And then Varric yelped with surprise—and then pain. There was a thump and then Rosa saw he'd been tossed down off the crates he was standing on to get a better vantage point for firing. He looked dazed, still gripping Bianca but breathless and stunned enough that he wasn't rising at once.

Rosa spun around as she heard a whirring sound and felt her skin prickle painfully. Her mouth fell open as she saw the enrobed figure that had appeared where the path split at the short stairs. The deep purple robes had been slashed and altered but she still recognized the symbols of a Circle mage. Through the slashes she saw the pale gray skin like a worm, stretched taut over bones. The face was mostly in shadow but she made out a lipless grin and eyes that burned with the demon within. It lifted both fists as she gawked and sent a barrage of green spirit magic spiraling out toward Blackwall, forcing him to pivot his shield to block it.

"_Era'harel,"_ Tal spat.

"Arcane horror," she corrected and felt suddenly nauseous.

"Same difference," Tal shot back. _"That_ is what I was feeling."

The undead were corpses possessed by minor demons, simple and predictable and slow. The arcane horror was a dead mage possessed by a demon, giving the demon the power of a body that could channel magic from the Fade. They could also control the undead around them.

"We walked into an ambush," Rosa growled, gripping her staff with sweaty palms. She replenished the group's barriers and scrambled to help Varric up even as more undead rose behind them, groaning and creaking. Additional corpses came shambling around the arcane horror as well, all leering mouths, rusty swords, and decaying gray flesh.

"Get up, Varric," Rosa shouted, tugging on the dwarf's beefy arm.

He grunted with effort, shaking his head, but managed to get up and crank Bianca. "What the shit is that?" he asked as he registered the arcane horror and then shook his head. "Oh, wait. I remember these assholes." Bianca thwacked as she fired, landing a bolt in the demon's thigh. It hissed and lifted its palms for another barrage of spirit energy. Varric ducked behind the crates.

Rosa spun her staff to summon winter's grasp and then followed it with chain lightning to catch all of the corpses. Her spells didn't seem to want to lock on to the horror. The lightning almost glanced off it completely. She gritted her teeth with more concentration as she hurled a Fade rock at it. The green stone shattered, knocking the horror back against the wooden wall. "Got you, fucker."

But it wasn't dead yet and Tal shouted to her, his voice pained. Rosa turned and saw that a warrior corpse had closed in on Tal and now swung its blade at him. His barrier rebuffed it but already a second corpse had joined its partner and started to slash for the young elf, too. More came behind it and three archers were drawing their bows down the path, taking aim.

Rosa clenched her fist and yanked down, casting another Veilstrike on the corpses assaulting Tal. They slammed into the dirt and again one of them disarticulated, dying for real this time. But the other rose and still another had joined it, missed just slightly by Rosa's Veilstrike. Tal unleashed a mindblast with a shout, the sound booming in the narrow confines of the rampart path. Both corpses fell back and Rosa hurled fireballs at them.

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra shouted, her voice alarmed.

Rosa whipped about to see that the corpses that'd arrived with the arcane horror had surrounded her and Blackwall. Their barriers were fading fast and the corpses continued stabbing and slashing. Cassandra had turned to cover Blackwall's back as he continued trying to put down the undead in front of them at the base of the stairs, but there were simply too many of them.

Rosa replenished their barriers and laid firetraps beneath the corpses that'd encircled Cassandra and Blackwall, but right as the spell went off the arcane horror reappeared. Green spirit magic spiraled for her, Varric, and Tal. It cut through the dwarf's barrier on contact and he cried out, flinging himself down behind the crates and did not move again, going unconscious. The spirit magic also cut through Rosa and Tal's barriers, but a fraction of a second before it hit, Rosa felt the distinctiveness of it and countered with an archaic spell Felassan had taught her to block it. Tal did the same, having learnt the spell from Rosa.

The arcane horror made a dry gurgling noise that Rosa realized with a jolt was _laughter._ A moment later she heard its voice, hissing like a smoldering fire when water is poured over it. She grimaced, the sound seeming to scrape the inside of her skull with its sharp shrillness.

_So you know that spell, do you?_ It asked, taunting. _How clever you are. When you are dead your bodies will be hosts for my brethren. The other three will make fine corpses for my legion. _

"There are too many of them," Cassandra shouted.

Rosa launched Fade rock at the arcane horror and then pivoted to cast another Veilstrike at the corpses surrounding Blackwall and Cassandra. But then, from just behind her, she heard Tal cry out and spun around to help him—only to see that he wasn't hurt and instead stood with one hand held palm out toward the undead, as though he could simply tell them to halt and they would.

And that was _exactly_ what had happened. Two archers stood a few paces down the path, frozen in place and staring while three warriors stood motionless within sword-reach of Tal but made no move. Tal grinned at them, teeth gritted together and skin drenched in sweat as his brow furrowed with effort.

The arcane horror screeched shrilly then and Rosa felt its voice clawing at her mind anew, but now it was tinged with something like fear. _No! I _know_ you now!_

Blackwall cried out and Rosa jerked to face forward again just in time to see the Warden collapse. Cassandra called out to him with concern, but she could not break away and corpses lunged at her from all sides. Rosa saw one of them swing and bring the hilt of its sword down on her temple. The Seeker fell limp to the dirt.

"Cassandra! Blackwall!" Rosa shouted. She erected barriers over everyone again, hoping to protect them just long enough for…for what? Her mind raced and her eyes flicked about, taking everything in anew. There were about twenty corpses now, between the ones shambling from around the arcane horror to circle Cassandra and Blackwall and the undead frozen with Tal. Blackwall might be dead or dying, run through with a rusty blade. Cassandra was unconscious and so was Varric.

The selfish, cowardly voice inside her that called for self-preservation said _run. _She could flee with Tal and leave the others to die but…

_No._ The place inside her that had always been fearless and stubborn—brave to the point of recklessness—hardened now. She faced the arcane horror and lifted her left hand high. "Hey asshole," she shouted. "Do you know what this is? How'd you like to go home to the Fade by force?"

The ramparts had gone eerily silent once Cassandra and Blackwall went down. The arcane horror froze in place, staring at her with lidless eyes. The undead stood motionless as well, watching and waiting. But for what?

_You cannot win, but I have no desire to kill you,_ it said in its screeching voice inside her skull. _I will spare your companions if you agree to leave this place at once. _

Rosa lifted both brows with surprise—but only for a heartbeat before her talent whispered in the back of her mind: _lies. _The horror was afraid and it was lying to her. But…why? There were so many dead it couldn't possibly have any reason to show mercy. Or fear. And mercy wasn't something she guessed it really possessed. But it could _affect_ it, _pretending_ in order to trick her. Yet that made no sense, why wouldn't it just—

"Hold them off," Tal yelled suddenly and dropped to one knee. His staff clattered to the ground as he shrugged off his pack and opened it, digging.

The corpses lurched forward, as though some spell had broken. They lunged at him with their swords. Rosa cast barriers with one hand and spun her staff with the other, unleashing the chain lightning. The arcane horror shrieked and sent out a barrage of spirit energy, again cutting through her barrier. Rosa deflected it thoughtlessly, and then flung Fade rock at the horror. It squealed and shifting sideways, floating on invisible magic and air currents. Her rock missed it, clattering and breaking apart into shrapnel, useless.

"_I will kill them,"_ the horror threatened and Rosa saw the corpses around Cassandra and Blackwall lifting their swords as one, synchronized and ready to obey their commander.

"Ignore it!" Tal shouted, tearing things out of his pack in a frenzy: spare clothing, salted meat rations in bags, parchment and a closed inkwell.

Rosa flung fireballs at the corpses nearing her brother to stop them and the arcane horror shrieked again. A whirring sound filled the air as more green energy sliced through the space toward her. Rosa ducked and spun about, avoiding it as she gnashed her teeth and cast a Veilstrike on the corpses around Cassandra and Blackwall, smashing all of them into the earth.

"Got you," Tal said then and she saw a flash of metal, pale but with patches of bronze. It glinted in the golden sun as he gripped it at the sides. Then it glittered, colors shining from the metal in fractured patterns and a rainbow of colors, like the sun through stained glass. It changed shape from a simple circlet into something more like…a crown? It took only a blink of the eye and then Tal placed it on his head.

_Damn you,_ the arcane horror screeched with rage, but Rosa could sense its defeat. It knew the jig was up.

The corpses surrounding Cassandra and Blackwall had gotten up and now scrambled in their awkward, undead gait, desperately shambling up the stairs for her and Tal. The corpses in front of him were smoldering, burning and dead, but the archers further back lifted their bows and took aim. The arrows bounced harmlessly from their barriers and Rosa refreshed them automatically. She hurled fire and Fade rocks at the horde closing in on her from the short stair and sent a few of them careening for the arcane horror—only to duck once more to avoid its barrage of spiraling spirit energy.

And then, suddenly, the corpses all fell simultaneously. They collapsed into piles of bones and half-decayed, desiccated skin. Swords clanked onto the wood and rocks underfoot. Bows bounced and arrows clattered. The wind seemed to sigh and Rosa felt her skin flush cold as she sensed the Veil thinning as countless demons reentered the Fade.

The arcane horror screamed and then it too fell with a rustle and dry thump as the dead mage the demon had possessed became nothing but robes, limp flesh, and bone. Rosa stared, openmouthed, at the empty ramparts around her, deathly silent except for the slight whisper of the wind.

Slowly she turned back to her brother and saw he was pallid and sweat-soaked but wore a tight smile over his lips of what she could only describe as satisfaction—and no small amount of relief. Atop his head sat a crown in silver and bronze. The front had an extension of intricate metalwork in the shape of Falon'Din's vallaslin. A red stone had been set into the circular shape created by the vallaslin in the center of the forehead, between and just above Tal's brows. It was lit from within with a faint light.

The sight of it was like a cold hand clasping her throat, choking her. The memory image of Tal from the dark future in Redcliffe sprang into her mind, so startling and painful that it seemed to cut like a blade.

"Take it off," she said, her voice small and tinny.

Tal stared at her, his expression falling. He dropped his gaze to the ground with what she was certain was shame. "Rosa…"

"I said take it off," Rosa repeated, more forcefully this time. Her hands curled into fists at her side as she managed to push fear aside in favor of anger.

"I just saved our lives," Tal told her, defensive even though she had said nothing in reprimand except to ask him to remove the offensive circlet. "You should be thanking me."

"Take. It. Off." She strode closer, mana bubbling inside her with her mounting rage.

Tal glared at her and then, slowly, lifted his hands to his head to grasp the circlet reverently. He lifted it from his head and held it in front of himself gingerly. His dark brown eyes flicked between her and the circlet, waiting tensely for her next move.

Rosa grabbed the circlet—which really did look like a crown currently—only to hiss with surprise as the metal felt as though it scalded her. She let it go on instinct, recoiling. Tal scrambled to catch it and then pulled it back to himself protectively.

Nostrils flaring, Rosa glowered. "What in the Void is that _thing?"_

"The Crown of Falon'Din," Tal told her, thrusting his chin out. "It can only be used by someone with the blood."

"With the blood," she repeated and then scoffed. "Is that why you stole it from our people?"

Tal drew closer to her, his voice dropping into a lower tone. "They had it tucked away in a box. They couldn't use it, even if they knew what it could do. _We_ are as much Elvhen as we are Dalish, _asamalin._ It's _ours,_ more than it ever was theirs."

"It burned me," Rosa snarled. "How do you know it isn't evil? How do you know it isn't some relic from the Forgotten Ones meant to be used against our people?"

Tal's lips quirked, as if he wanted to laugh at her. He held the circlet out to her again. "Take a good look at it, Rosa, and tell me just who _you_ think it belonged to."

Rosa frowned, biting her lips to keep from conceding the point. The metalwork on the circlet-crown thing was an exact match for Falon'Din's vallaslin at the forehead. Instead of admit that she blustered, "You almost got Solas and Sera killed for what you did. And you forced me to look like a huge ass in front of _all_ the clans to cover for you. How could you do that?" She shook her head. "_Why_ would you do that?"

"I—" Tal broke off then and looked behind her as they both heard a groan from where Varric lay behind the crates. "It doesn't matter right now," Tal told her. "We can talk about this later." As he spoke Rosa shivered, seeing the crown shrink until it was nothing but a circlet again.

"Fine," Rosa growled. "But you and I _will_ be talking about this later, mark my words."

"Why do you think I came out here?" Tal shot back to her, snorting. "I wanted to tell you and I had to get you away from—" He cut himself off, biting his lips.

"Away from what? Skyhold? You think you can't talk to me when we're at Skyhold?" Rosa asked, though she immediately knew by his clouded expression that that wasn't it. But already she felt her stomach tightening with the certainty that she already knew the answer. It was _Solas_ he was avoiding. _Why?_

"We'll talk after we've made sure everyone's okay," Tal said, using the same authoritative tone Rosa knew she so often used.

She scowled at him but didn't fight him as she pointed toward Varric. "You help Varric. I will check on Cassandra and Blackwall."

Tal had knelt down and started shoving his belongings—and the circlet—back into his pack. "You got it."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Tal groaned, averting his gaze again. "All right. You want to know the truth?" he growled. "Fine. You won't like it and you won't understand, but here it is." Turning his head once more Tal met her eye, solemn and stern. "The demon told me I can summon _babae's_ soul."

Rosa's moth fell open but she was silent, staring. _That's impossible,_ she thought, but Tal's abilities were so unfamiliar and strange and frightening…did she _really_ know that? Everyone had said walking physically in the Fade was impossible too, but Rosa had done it twice now.

"I can summon his soul, _asamalin,"_ Tal repeated, softer now. "It told me I'm the only one who can, because I have the blood. It told me about the Crown. It told me what I need to do and the Crown was part of it."

* * *

So, the Crown made its appearance on the battlefield. I get the impression, looking at the necromancer tree in DA:I that necromancers in this universe don't really control the dead. They manipulate spirits. It's not like the Arcane Horror, as far as I can tell. There must be spells like that where the necromancer is using spirits rather than demons to control bodies, but Tal's talent is way more useful than that. He basically aims at a corpse and goes, "Fuck off," and the corpse collapses. The Crown amplified that here, but I plan on it having additional skills Tal can utilize, too.

Does anyone else have trouble aiming at those damned arcane horrors? Ugh. This whole chapter was based off an Inquisitor I sent into the Exalted Plains before she was ready and went into the ramparts and suddenly found myself swamped. I was like OMG! I had to retreat. Fortunately for Rosa, she has a secret weapon in Tal. 


	44. Tal Stole the Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and Tal sit down to have a much needed heart to heart about Solas, their father, the Formless One, and the Crown. Unfortunately, they aren't the only ones eager for a chat.

That evening they made camp in the golden fields near enough to the Enavuris river that Rosa could hear the occasional fish leaping out and splashing. A few of the scouts who'd accompanied them from the Inquisition's first camp in the area and had spent much of the day fighting through the dead on the eastern ramparts. Now they were on patrol for the free-ranging demons that seemed to stalk the entire Exalted Plains. Elven ruins of white stone that appeared to have been cut in half and had then sunken into the earth were within sight of camp. Rosa decided she would drag Tal by the ear to those ruins to speak with him in private as soon as the sun set.

As mad as she was for his actions in the Arlathvhen, she had to admit that the…"Crown" had saved their lives that day. Blackwall had been wounded but Rosa managed to heal him up. Cassandra escaped with a bump on the head and Varric was only exhausted from the barrage of caustic spirit magic. All in all, it was a close shave and without Tal's new weapon the arcane horror would have been able to kill everyone.

But that didn't make her feel any better about it.

Tal seemed to have been right when he said only he could use the damned thing. Rosa's fingers still smarted from touching it, though there was no sign of an actual burn. _Spirit magic_, she thought. Or maybe blood magic. A deep and ancient ward that activated whenever someone who didn't possess Falon'Din's gift dared touch it. Rosa had thought perhaps it would still recognize her for shared blood…but apparently not. She had too much Dirthamen inside her.

The others were confused as to how Rosa and Tal had gotten out of the fight with the arcane horror unscathed. Rosa feigned nonchalance as she let Tal take the credit. Her magic had merely helped after all; it was his necromancy that had really rescued them. Tal's smile was tight as he nodded to the others' perplexed stares.

"Yeah," he said with a half-shrug. "I just had to figure out which spell types would work on these corpses. The arcane horror had control over them and I've never had to take one on before." That was likely true—Rosa had definitely seen the way Tal held some of the corpses at bay with seemingly nothing but willpower alone. The others seemed to sense that as well.

"I'm just glad it ended when it did," Blackwall said, grimacing as he motioned down to his side. He'd taken a stab through the side that was deep but not immediately fatal. He'd have died a slow lingering death of blood poisoning sepsis from the gut wound if Rosa hadn't healed it. Even so, Blackwall knew better than to assume he'd make it through without a fever or a slight infection. He was pale and sitting in a reclining position that wasn't normal for him as he kept his injured side up. He drank a tea brewed with elfroot for its healing and fever fighting properties.

"Any longer and you'd have been a goner," Varric agreed with a dark chuckle.

"Yeah," Blackwall agreed, his smile still more of a grimace.

"We should send for more troops from Skyhold," Cassandra suggested. "And perhaps the Iron Bull. His extra muscle and reach could have benefitted us today."

"Then that's what we'll do," Rosa agreed.

"Maybe Sparkler too?" Varric suggested, shooting Tal a questioning look. "I mean if one necromancer is good, two is better. Right?"

"I don't think he uses the same spells as me," Tal said, his tone cautious. "But sure. The more the merrier." He glanced sidelong at Rosa and then grabbed up a stick to poke at the fire. "Whatever Rosa wants to do."

"It's a good idea," Rosa said. She didn't want to raise the others' suspicions by dismissing the idea. If they realized Tal's power was…_different_ they might not trust him. The thought made her frown. _Do _I_ trust him? _Should_ I trust him?_

The answer reverberating inside her was a resounding _yes._ Her cheeks felt hot just at the thought that she had considered _not_ trusting him. Doing that was as good as pushing him away and if she did that she'd be losing him.

Lifting her head, she saw the sun had sunk low on the western horizon, casting long shadows and glinting harshly off the Enavuris river. It was time, then.

"Tal?" she asked, turning her head to look at him directly.

He lifted both brows and made a humming noise to acknowledge her. "Yes?"

"I have a hankering for some august ram. Do you think we could find one and bring it down?"

"You don't want the snoufleur the scouts caught?" he asked, smirking as he gestured to the river where a few scouts were cleaning the carcass to bring it to one of the other fires to roast.

"To be honest I miss hunting for myself, don't you?" she asked, letting an edge enter her voice she hoped communicated clearly her unspoken command: _don't resist. _

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "You're right. I could use the exercise anyway. Plus it's always good to keep your stealth up."

"I've never been good at hunting but I bet Bianca would come in handy," Varric suggested, motioning to where he still had the automatic crossbow strapped to his back.

"No need," Rosa said as she got to her feet and looked to Tal, waiting for him to do the same. He did, appearing surprisingly genial, as if they really were going to go for a casual hunt, but Rosa didn't miss the tension in his stance. He took up his staff and the pack with him, which Rosa had noticed he'd been doing a lot lately. She'd suspected she knew why but hadn't been completely certain until today. And now that she'd seen it once, even if it had burned her, she found herself wanting to hold it or just see it again.

"Well," Varric called after them as they headed off toward the nearby ruins. "Be careful out there!"

"You're worse than my own _mamae,_ Varric!" Tal called over his shoulder, teasingly.

The dwarf laughed, his chuckles rolling over the hills. "In that case, remember to bathe and brush your teeth too, Stoic!"

Rosa took the lead, walking over the small rise to reach the white stone arches of the ruins. Passing beneath it and into the deep shadows cast by the setting sun, she stared at the aging stone and wondered which ancestors had made this. A half-wall of miniature columns formed a rectangle around a set of stairs that sank into the ground, as though the rest of the structure extended belowground. Rosa had seen many such ruins—there were plenty within the Brecilian Forest—but she wondered how they'd come to be that way. Had the ravages of time filled in the lower level? Or worn it away? Had an earthquake opened the earth to make it sink into the ground like quicksand?

"Place gives me the creeps," Tal commented behind her, steps rustling through the grass.

"I always wonder what's hidden belowground," Rosa murmured, laying her hand on the half-wall and gazing down into the grass where the stairs would have descended but now just disappeared into the earth.

Tal grunted and said nothing, merely stayed standing in the archway.

"I met Fear and Deceit in a dream inside a temple that was half ruined like this," she commented, smiling slightly. "Better preserved than this one and still somewhat whole."

"Yeah," Tal said, his tone a touch wary. "This one looks like a giant came by and sawed it neatly off."

Rosa nodded to herself. She had noticed that about so many ruins, too. Patting the stone, she sighed, feeling a faint echo of the ancient magic inside it. That settled it, then. This was ancient—from Elvhenan. And speaking of that…

"So," she said, drawing in a breath and twisting in her spot on the half-wall. Her armor screeched on the stone. Staring at Tal through the gathering gloom, she tried to smile but her lips twitched as if they didn't want to obey. She made them anyway. "Tell me about the…Crown. Why did you take it?"

Tal fidgeted, wringing his hands together. His gaze dropped to the ground as he let out a long breath. "I'm going to tell you, but you have to promise not to get mad."

Rosa laughed before she could stop herself, then pinched her lips together, knowing that wasn't the reaction Tal wanted. "I can't really make that promise since I don't know what you're going to tell me." At his frown she licked her lips and hurried to reassure him. "But I _can_ promise whatever you tell me, I'm not going to leave or send you away."

Tal snorted and shot her an anxious look. Then, sucking in a deep breath, he said, "All right. Well, here goes." Then, swinging his arms about in a motion to relieve his anxiety, he blurted, "But you _can't _tell Solas. We can't trust him."

Now Rosa blinked. "What? Why not?"

Tal frowned at her, shaking his head. "Why? Because he's hiding something. You know that. I know you know that, even if you're in denial about it because you're in love with him and fucking and all that."

Rosa felt her cheeks burning and fought off the desire to frown or lash out. She schooled her expression and forced herself to speak with a calmness she didn't quite feel. "Tal, maybe you've forgotten this already, but _you _have been hiding things, too. I must be the only one of the three of us without any real secrets right now."

"Yeah," Tal said, grumbling as he admitted it. "But my secret isn't like his. I can feel it in my guts." Lifting his head now Tal made eye contact with her, somber and dark. "He lies about what he knows about the past. And what he knows is something huge. I can feel it."

"You're paranoid," Rosa said, trying to dismiss his claims even as her heart tightened with dread. She'd been content to let Solas be silent, but she _did_ know he knew something he wasn't telling her. Just like Felassan, Solas had ties to the old world that wouldn't release him.

"And you're in denial," Tal rejoined, but without heat. "But I think you know it."

Rosa huffed. "Okay. So, tell me why you're so sure he's hiding something. And not just a little something but a huge one. What did he do or say?"

Tal's lips pinched tightly together in the gloom. "I asked him about why magic weakened. I…had it on good authority that if he told me that magic simply weakened or if he said the Veil strengthened over time it was a lie."

"And that's what he told you," Rosa said. "So he was lying."

"Yes," Tal said, a note of insistence in his voice. He was willing her to believe.

"But _who_ told you that would be a lie?" she asked, her heart suddenly pounding madly in her chest. She watched Tal, her stomach twisting itself in knots. He maintained eye contact for a moment and then jerked his head away to stare down at the grass. That was not the reaction she wanted. Her heart crawled into her throat. "Who told you?" she asked once more, letting her voice drop an octave with warning. "Tell me who told you."

"It doesn't matter," Tal muttered, almost too quiet for her to hear.

"It does," Rosa snapped. "And you know it does. I need to know how reliable your source is. But you're trying to hide it." She clenched her jaw, swallowing at the flip-flopping her stomach was doing with her mounting dread. "It was Raselan, wasn't it?"

"No," Tal grumbled. "No."

"It was the demon," she repeated. "That's the only source you'd have that'd know about Elvhenan that could tell you Solas was lying about something."

"Fine," Tal bit out, glowering down at the grass. "It was the demon, yeah." He lifted his head, looking at her with a hard stare. "And it warned me I couldn't trust Solas. Or _you._ But here I am." He spread his arms wide, as if asking for a hug. "Because I _trust_ you won't betray me to Solas."

"You don't have to be afraid of Solas knowing about this," Rosa said, keeping her voice soft rather than exasperated as much as possible. "Solas isn't going to turn around and hurt us the way Raselan will. You can't trust the demon." She almost choked on the words, feeling her eyes burning though she blinked the emotion back. "Why would you start listening and trusting the demon at all? You know it wants our blood. You know it probably killed _lenalin."_

"No," Tal said, shaking his head firmly. "I don't think so. If it had killed _babae _it wouldn't have come after me like this."

"It wants our blood," Rosa reminded him in a low voice. "It wants to hurt us. You made a mistake doing anything it asked of you."

"It threatened Nola," Tal blurted, glaring at her. "It told me it would basically hunt her down in her dreams and drive her mad. I had to do what it told me."

Rosa shook her head. "I don't even need my talent to tell me you're lying now. Maybe not to me but to yourself, at least. You know I know how to ward my dreams to keep demons away. You could have come to me the second you woke and told me about it and I would have made sure Nola was safe." She laid a hand on her chest. "I have that power. So does Solas. We would have kept her safe and screw Raselan's threats."

Tal groaned, averting his gaze again. "All right. You want to know the truth?" he growled. "Fine. You won't like it and you won't understand, but here it is." Turning his head once more Tal met her eye, solemn and stern. "The demon told me I can summon _babae's_ soul."

Rosa's moth fell open but she was silent, staring. _That's impossible,_ she thought, but Tal's abilities were so unfamiliar and strange and frightening…did she _really_ know that? Everyone had said walking physically in the Fade was impossible too, but Rosa had done it twice now.

"I can summon his soul, _asamalin,"_ Tal repeated, softer now. "It told me I'm the only one who can, because I have the blood. It told me what I need to do and the Crown was part of it."

Rosa shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling cold. She broke eye contact and stared at the ghostly white arches of the ruin. "Did you ever stop to wonder if maybe summoning his soul is a bad idea? What could you hope to accomplish? He's gone, Tal. He won't be coming back."

"You could say goodbye, for one thing," Tal told her.

Rosa closed her eyes, feeling them grow hot with tears at the reminder of exactly what she hadn't wanted to think about. "Yes," she admitted, swallowing the press of the lump in her throat. "But we're not meant to see the Beyond before our time. We're not meant to cross—"

"We won't be," Tal interrupted. He stepped forward through the grass, rustling it until he sat at her side. "It's _babae_ who will do the crossing. The demon says the longer a person lives the longer it takes them to fully cross over. _Babae_ was _thousands_ of years old. His soul will still be in the ether and I can draw it into a special eluvian so we can speak with him for a while."

"Eluvian?" Rosa asked, still staring at the white stones. She'd heard vaguely of the decorative mirrors from Felassan and knew they had once been doorways before the magic died and Elvhenan with it.

"Yes," Tal said, reaching out and grasping her arm to squeeze. "The mirrors. Dirthamen and Falon'Din used to perform this ritual with the eluvians and the Crown thousands of years ago to learn secrets from beyond the grave. That's why they were remembered as brothers, twins. They had to work together to do it."

Rosa nodded to herself, remembering that Solas had told her _lenalin_ had been born when the two Creators decided to further their alliance through marriage. Falon'Din's favorite daughter had bonded with Dirthamen. It was as if the two Creators were like Keepers for two clans and had hoped to breed the perfect First in Felassan. The power of both talents in one person…

Glancing to her brother, Rosa swallowed again hard at the ache of loss and fear there. In a way, Falon'Din and Dirthamen had succeeded in that goal; it'd just taken a few thousand years before they'd gotten Rosa and Tal. Brother and sister, two sides of the same coin and each an heir of two very ancient bloodlines. With the secrets of the past through a being like Raselan—or Solas if he was willing—at their full disposal, Rosa and Tal could be a frighteningly powerful duo.

The thought made her shiver—not in awe or desire, but fear. No one should have such power. For all its beauty and all the wonder of Elvhenan, Rosa found the more she glimpsed of it the less she admired it.

"Give this up, _da'isamalin,"_ she murmured, reaching out to grasp his hand in her own. "Please. Solas and I can protect Nola from the Formless One. We can keep you safe too and—"

"No," Tal said, shaking his head. He jerked his hand out of hers. "You don't understand. Raselan told me _babae_ was murdered."

"Murdered," Rosa repeated blankly. She had already known, but hearing it spoken aloud...the words echoed, heavy with impact. No ordinary threat could have killed _lenalin._ He was too crafty and too powerful. He had the invisibility spell, too.

"Yes," Tal hissed. "And this is the only way to find out who killed him. This is the only way to avenge him."

Rosa clenched her jaw. "I think I already know who killed him so there's really no need to carry on with the demon's charade."

"I'm telling you," Tal insisted. "It wasn't the Formless One."

Rosa met his eye. "It was Mythal, then. Rogathe told me _lenalin_ lived his life in servitude. And it makes sense. A horrible sense. The reason he was never with us and always off adventuring after tombs and relics while we waited for him and missed him back in our clans." She sighed, closing her eyes again to suppress the threat of tears. "He begged me not to walk the path of vengeance before he sacrificed himself to the nightmare at Adamant."

"You really believe that?" Tal asked her critically. "Because I don't. Mythal was like his mother. What kind of mother kills her son when he doesn't do as he's told?"

"The kind who thinks she's a goddess," Rosa snarled.

"But _how_ would she kill him? She's dead herself," Tal protested, shaking his head fervently. "No. It's all-wrong. Mythal didn't do it. But even if she did, _babae_ would be able to tell us how to strike back at her." He squeezed her bicep once more. "We have to avenge him, _asamalin."_

"Tal," she said, her voice thick with the emotion strangling her. "He kept this from us to keep us safe. He wouldn't want us to chase after him like this."

"But Solas has some kind of connection to the past just like _babae_ did and you know it," Tal reminded her. "Are you just going to sit back and take that attitude with _him?_ Because he _will_ leave again."

Rosa frowned now. "You don't know that."

"I know he left once and he's _just like babae._ I wanted to trust him, too, _asamalin._ I really did—because he reminds me of _babae._ But what if he's a slave too? Just like _babae._ What if he can't get away from it without our help and won't tell us about it for the same nugshit reason?" He gave her a little shake where he still held her by the bicep. "I have to do this, Rosa. I have to do it for _babae._ For you. For myself. Even for that son of a bitch Solas."

Rosa grimaced, shaking her head as her mind spun and her emotions frayed like the worn edge of a tapestry coming unraveled. "I—"

Something landed on the stone a few paces away and split open, issuing up a cloud of dust. Rosa shot to her feet and tossed a barrier over herself and Tal, cursing under her breath as she caught whiff of the scent of a knockout bomb. Her head swam and she staggered, reaching for the white stone arch nearby. Tal coughed behind her and Rosa twisted to see that another bomb had landed with a splat on the ground near him.

"Run," she shouted at him and pivoted to Fade-step into him—but the spell was unfocused and clumsy with her own increasing dizziness. She slammed into Tal rather than slipping alongside him and snatching up his hand. They fell together in a heap, right into the dust.

It was hard, almost impossible to lift her head after the fall, but she did it anyway. Summoning a mindblast with a sharp boom that echoed through the archways and the halfway buried stairs, Rosa forced some of the dust cloud away. Coughing and with her eyes stinging and watering, she grabbed at Tal's shoulder and arm. "Come on," she pleaded with him. "Get up!"

But Tal was limp—unconscious. The world swirled, colors and shapes blurring as Rosa tried to drag him and reached for mana inside her to fight the shadowy shapes she saw closing in. But her mana was as sluggish as her body. Even the curses and shouts for help she wanted to give voice to were too weak and feeble to do any good.

Panic made her heart feel as though it would explode, but she could do nothing as her senses and her body failed her. Rosa closed her eyes and fell headlong into the blackness just as she heard booted feet thumping over the stone and swishing through the grasses, coming for her and her little brother.

* * *

Solas could not stop remembering how weak and miserable the illness had made him. During the daytime he kept himself occupied, soldiering through the occasional fit of coughing that still wracked him. He aided Leliana by helping transcribe ancient Tevene manuscripts into common to stay busy. He blocked out his next panel in the fresco on the rotunda walls, painting the howling wolves to commemorate the foundation of the Inquisition. It was a risky move but he had gone this long undetected…why not?

It was all enough that he could forget his alter-ego and its responsibilities and grave fears, a small mercy. But at night, when he tried to shut his eyes and slip into the Fade to meet with his agents in Orlais and Tevinter, he found himself too distracted to do it with ease. The tickle in his throat and the remaining sludge he still had to cough up were constant reminders that, had he not had the most excellent care that this age could provide through the Inquisition, he probably would have died. Mother Giselle had sugarcoated it to him but Adan wasn't as sweet.

"Don't stop with the elfroot. Twice a day and once at night or you'll get pneumonia. Surprised you didn't get it already," the crotchety herbalist had said.

Whatever the illness was Solas couldn't be sure, but he suspected he'd been as ill as he was because his now mortal body had never been sick before. It harkened his mind back to the terrible hours he'd spent too weak to walk when he'd woken from uthenera in his chambers alone. With no attendants and no magic, Solas had been doomed. It was then, lying awake and so weak it was an effort to breathe let alone move, he had developed his deep fear of dying alone. In the dark, unfulfilled.

The illness had brought that fear screaming back. It had slapped him in the face as he lay shivering and coughing or snorting, trying to breathe through a plugged nose and a chest full of phlegm. His mind had fallen back to the past, reliving his mistakes and his many losses. The lack of lucidity left him unable to comprehend the Fade when he did fall into it and demons harassed him. Despair demons took the shape of his mother and father, crying and cursing him for causing the slave rebellions that had killed them. Then it would be Mythal, staring at him in silent reprimand and he would hear her voice echo through his skull: _Why didn't you save me, Solas?_

Then the desire demons came, always wearing Rosa's shape as they flirted with him and then would try to trick him by saying he could have her forever if he just let her inside himself. It was an attempt at possession, of course, and Solas was addled enough that he had almost fallen for it more than once before he'd realize "Rosa" shouldn't have felt like a demon when he concentrated.

It was the fear demons who were worst, though. They appeared as everyone he'd known, pre and post Veil, and Solas saw them tortured and dying. He saw demons tearing apart Cassandra, Darkspawn ripping off Blackwall's head, wild animals devouring Sera and Varric. He saw pride demons twisting Cole until he had lost himself entirely and forgotten Compassion. He saw Rosa and Tal snarling at him with hatred, cursing him for everything he had done. His pleading fell on deaf ears. He saw the Evanuris awaken and found himself as helpless as a babe when they came for him—and for the rest of Thedas. He Watched Corypheus tear Rosa and Tal limb from limb and heard the Darkspawn magister's laughter as he thanked Solas for giving him the chance to achieve the godhood he deserved.

The only respite was when Cole visited. The boy's presence kept the demons at bay and left Solas lucid enough to ward himself the same way he had taught Rosa to get some respite. It was poor comfort, however, as he knew his agents were out there waiting for his instruction and he was not well enough to guide them.

Although that struggle had passed, Solas still found sleeping difficult for the first time in his long life. He summoned his agents as he could, ignoring the concern or confusion he saw in Lyris and Mathrel's gaze. But Zevanni, as was typical of her, didn't ask silently with her eyes.

"Where were you, _hahren?"_ She shook her head, mouth twisting down in a frown. "It's been more than three weeks since we last spoke. I touched the Fade looking for you but I couldn't feel you."

"I was indisposed," Solas admitted with a slight nod to her.

Now Zevanni's eyes narrowed. "I think I know what you mean. It's the second Quickening."

Solas paused, unable to stop the frown from taking shape on his lips. He had told Rosa there was no such thing but… "Second Quickening?" he asked.

Zevanni nodded, clucking her tongue. "That's what Var and I call it. We're all mortal because of the Veil once we wake up, but it's like something hangs on from before for a while. Var and I got sick around the same time about six months after we woke up." She curled her lips with derision. "Fucking sucks. Felt like we both almost died."

"I see," Solas said, also frowning. "I had a similar experience and it was indeed most unpleasant."

"To put it mildly," she agreed. "This mortality thing needs to end." Her eyes glittered. "When do we take down the Veil, _hahren?"_

"There is still work to be done," Solas told her cagily. "I cannot place a date on it."

"But soon?" she pressed.

"Soon," Solas agreed.

The following day he pored himself into his fresco and translation work, hoping to keep his thoughts from drifting to the troubling idea of the inevitable moment when he wouldn't be able to stall any longer. The day (or night) when he would have to tell Rosa who and what he truly was. He played out how she might react repeatedly and it was always a bad ending where they became bitter enemies.

Despite his increasing fatigue—frequent coughing fits still made his chest ache and his throat feel raw—he stayed up later than usual trying to finish his next panel. He was in the middle of mixing colors on his palette when he felt a tug in the back of his mind. His gaze blurred as he focused inward, trying to find the source. A strong agent liker Zevanni or, before his death, Felassan, could tug on him using the Fade even when Solas was still awake. The will of the other Dreamer seeking him would be enough that the Fade would reverberate with it and affect him.

The sensation came again, insistent and tainted with an emotion like panic. His body flushed cold with fear, leaking from the Fade. Frowning, Solas returned to his desk in the center of the rotunda and set his palette down. He walked over to the couch he kept covered with a white sheet to prevent paint staining it and tore it off. With a cough he muffled using the inside of his elbow, Solas laid down on the couch and closed his eyes. The Fade was near with his fatigue and slipping into it was easy.

Immediately he found himself in a hazy plain of the raw Fade. Ether lay heavy over the green-gray rock. Sitting a few paces away on a boulder coated in slime, Solas saw Rosa with her arms wrapped around herself. Her expression was glassy-eyed but pallid with fear.

"Rosa?" Solas asked, hurrying over to kneel before her. He took her hand in his, squeezing. "_Vhenan?"_ he tried again when she didn't respond.

She blinked then and focused on him. "Solas," she said, breathing his name as relief washed over her features. "Thank the Creators."

He grimaced before he could stop himself, knowing _they_ deserved no thanks for his response. Rosa didn't seem to notice or care at his reaction as she squeezed his hand in her own and said, "I'm in trouble. We're in the Dales, the Exalted Plains. I was talking with Tal and someone lobbed knockout bombs at us."

Solas' stomach lurched into his throat. _"Fenedhis,"_ he cursed. "Who attacked you?"

She shook her head, messy hair strands flopping with the movement. "I didn't see them." She laughed bitterly. "It could be Dalish for all I know." She sucked in a breath, as though she was about to sob and met his eye gravely. "Tal did steal the Crown. I know that for sure now."

Solas frowned and reached out to cup her cheek with one hand. "That does not matter now. You must wake and survive, _vhenan._" His brow furrowed and his jaw clenched as he focused on the Fade, connecting with it and willing it to give him Rosa's real-world location. The sense solidified in his mind as the knowledge flowed to him, dreamlike and certain. "I will come for you," he promised.

Rosa's features creased with confusion. "You can't get here in time."

He pulled her close, kissing her fiercely for a moment. She was right that reaching her swiftly should be impossible, but Solas had means Rosa didn't understand—net yet, anyway. He broke the kiss a moment later and pressed his forehead close to hers. "I will be there as quickly as I can. Reach for me in the Fade again, even if you cannot feel me."

Her expression showed she didn't understand but she nodded anyway. "All right."

He tore himself from the Fade then, jerking upright on the couch and swaying with the suddenness of his exit. Shaking his head to clear it, Solas marched for the door to the rotunda. It was late, after dark now, but Varric was still at his writing desk and Orlesian and Ferelden visitors continued loitering about hoping for an audience with Leliana, Vivienne, Cassandra, or Josephine. None of them stopped Solas as he hurried out and into the chilled air of the courtyard. The cold air made his lungs seize and he had to stop at the foot of the stairs to cough until it passed. He would have to chew elfroot to ease the remaining cough.

Jogging for the main gate, heedless of his missing staff or armor, Solas rushed for the glacial valley far below. At the base of Skyhold he knew there were ruins, cemented over by the humans who had later discovered it and appropriated it for themselves by building the fort overtop. Solas had opened it surreptitiously months ago while he was supposedly out hunting for the Inquisition right after they had taken possession of Skyhold. With a mixture of magic and mundane tools, Solas had pried away the blocks and stones the humans used to cover over the ruins and design a more elevated base for Skyhold's foundation. Inside, past the cobwebs and dust and mildew, Solas had found the eluvian he'd known waited there, silent and dark, and reactivated it in anticipation of just this sort of emergency.

Now he just had to use it without running across Briala's agents, who still controlled a large network of mirrors. With luck there was a mirror nearby Rosa's location that he could open or borrow for a time.

_I am coming, _vhenan,he thought at her. S_tay alive until then, please._

* * *

An acrid stink hit Rosa's nose like a slap to the face. She grimaced, groaning, and jerked her head backward away from it. Blinking, she saw she was sitting with her back propped to a tree and a leather thong wound around her hands and feet. Just ahead of her she saw a human man wearing leathers and furs that looked well-made and clean. He affected an air of authority but also nonchalance, standing with one leg propped out and a smirk over his thin lips. A lean man in well-worn armor was on Rosa's other side, withdrawing from her and tucking what must have been a small bottle of smelling salts into his coat. On his forehead Rosa saw a faint silvered line like a scar.

The twist of Rosa's stomach and then the painful prickle at her neck told her immediately that someone very close by was _not_ human.

Heart pounding with fear for her brother, Rosa searched around the area for any sign of him until she saw him slumped against a tree across the glade she'd woken in. It was dark, still nighttime. Based on her dreams Rosa guessed not much time had passed since they'd been ambushed. Solas had promised to reach her, save her, but how could he possibly get here in time?

"Welcome back," the man wearing furs said, still smirking as though she was funny to look at. He motioned toward the man who'd had the smelling salts. "Light up a torch, will you Willem? That's a good lad. I want to have a better look at our dear Inquisitor here—not that the moonlight doesn't flatter her a great deal."

Rosa snarled up at him, feeling her mana churning and her skin crawling with instinctive revulsion. But when she reached for fire to burn through the leathers nothing happened—except that her bindings suddenly glowed with reddish writing she hadn't been able to see previously in the gloom. She stared down at it, failing to recognize the characters as readable.

"Isn't that useful?" the man asked, grinning as he motioned at the leather bindings. "An old rune even your beloved Pride might not know. You should be impressed. Feel free to try your spell again so you can see the characters and recreate them later. You won't manage it, of course, but it's entertaining for me to imagine you trying."

The smelling salts man, Willem, had finished preparing a torch and now extended it out to the other man—the leader here, Rosa guessed. He took it with a slimy smile aimed at _Willem. _"Thank you for that." He took a step closer to Rosa and lowered the torch down so the heat of it lapped at Rosa's face. She recoiled, trying to erect a barrier over herself and finding again that nothing happened except the writing illuminated red around her wrists and ankles.

"Ah," the man said, grinning. "I see you're brandishing your grandfather's tattoos. How ironic, you Dalish idiots running around proclaiming you're the last free elves all the while wearing slave markings." He chuckled and Rosa could almost feel the grease in it. "Hilarious, but also fortuitous for me."

Rosa sneered at him, even as her heart thundered in her ears with fear. This had to be the demon. Her stomach was hot with acid and her skin stung with a thousand needlepoints. It wasn't as terrible as when she'd encountered the envy demon masquerading as the Lord Seeker, but this had to be a powerful demon to cause her such grief after mere seconds since she'd gradually begun to grow a thicker skin to them.

"What do you want, demon?" she asked, growling.

The man drew back from her slightly, laughing deep from his belly. "Actually, doll, that's _my_ question. I'm Imshael, a choice spirit. You might have heard of me. My…_associate_ the Formless One has been hassling you lately."

"What do you want?" Rosa asked again, her mind chugging away with the mention of his name. What did she know about this demon? _A Forbidden One,_ Solas had told her. This was one of the Forgotten Ones' generals. They'd naturally despise Solas because he had helped lock their masters away. Fear and Deceit were some of its brethren too. All of these powerful demons had it out for her and Tal because of their shared blood with Dirthamen.

"I just want to have a little fun," Imshael said, grinning. "Why is everyone always so hostile to me for that?" He looked over to the man named Willem as though he expected a response and then waved his free hand dismissively, as if he knew Willem's answer would be wrong or not worth his time. "Forget it. We should get down to business before one of your friends comes barreling in here looking for a fight."

He moved the torch away from her, leaving Rosa's cheeks suddenly cool even as her body still flushed hot with the painful heat the demon's presence induced. Rosa squirmed, writhing against her leather bindings and cringing backward as Imshael drew closer, extending his empty hand out to her. When his palm touched her temple Rosa cried out as pain streaked through her head. Light flashed bright on her eyelids and the meadow vanished.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"I've been wanting to meet you for some time," Imshael said from in front of her. "I've heard _so_ much about you. Imagine my delight when one of my servants whispered to me from the Fade to tell me it'd been forcibly returned to the other side of the Veil by a boy wearing the thrice-damned crown of Falon'Din! Here you both were, so close. I just couldn't pass up the chance to meet."

* * *


	45. Rosa's Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and Tal come face to face with Imshael, the desire demon with a hard-on for choices. And for Rosa, Imshael has a nasty challenge: What lengths would you go to in order to save your family?

Rosa opened her eyes to see pine trees around her. Ferns grew on the hillside she stood upon, dipping in the gentle breeze. Mist clung to the ground like a fluffy, wet blanket and wound round the boughs of the pines, white on black needles. The scent of cedar tickled her nose and sent a wave of nostalgia through her, heady and thick. This was the Brecilian, the forest of her birth.

Ahead of her Rosa could see a clearing and heard the sigh of fast-moving water. Taking a few tentative steps forward she made out the red of clan Naseral's aravel sails. Cold dread gripped her stomach and surged into her throat as she heard a shout of alarm echo through the trees. Shadow shapes appeared, running past her and down to the clearing below, dodging and weaving through the trees.

"We're under attack!" Halesta shouted. "Hunters, on me! We must take them out!"

"_Mamae!"_ Rosa called and instinctively reached for the stave on her back—but her hand closed over empty air. Helplessness stabbed at her chest. The attackers would overwhelm the clan's defenses without her help!

"Do you want to save them?" a voice asked from behind her.

The sound of it sent a ripple of revulsion over her. Whipping around, Rosa saw a _shemlen_ wearing rich furs. Memory struck her suddenly and she snarled. "Imshael." This wasn't real—but it also didn't feel like the Fade.

"You have such power," Imshael said, his voice sultry and seductive in a deeper register. "I can feel that spot hollowed out inside you where your spirit friend lived for so long. I know you were more powerful with it there." His brows rose. "_You_ know you were more powerful with it inside you. Do you miss it?" He clucked his tongue and smiled. "Of course you do."

"Release me," Rosa growled. "I won't cooperate."

Imshael ignored her as he strode forward, circling her like a shark or a vulture. "You could have that power back and more, you know. You think you're powerful enough to defeat Corypheus? You think you're smart enough to take on the Formless One to save your brother? You think you could even handle the bandits here?"

Rosa curled her hands into fists and glowered at him until Imshael had circled around behind her, out of sight. "I won't cooperate," she repeated.

"Oh," Imshael said, his voice shuddering as though with pleasure. "I like your fire, doll, but I know what you're really feeling." His voice dropped into a near-whisper and he drew closer behind her, almost breathing the words into her ear. "You're afraid you'll fail. You're afraid Tal will die because you couldn't protect him. Or, and maybe this is worse, you're afraid of what he might _become_ because you couldn't protect him from himself. You're afraid Solas will leave, or die, just like your father."

"If you could really read my thoughts you'd know I was thinking about whether or not I can gut you," Rosa snarled, curling her lips as she glared over her shoulder at the demon. But those _were_ all things she had considered with fear before. They were things she'd wanted to prevent. Because Imshael was a demon and it preyed on desires of all types, it must see those things on her as clearly as words on a page. She growled, "Desire demon."

Imshael chuckled and withdrew a few steps, circling around in front of her again. "Everyone has desires and fears, but not everyone will choose to act on them. I'm a _choice_ _spirit._ I can give you what you most want." He gestured toward the clearing where the attack still took place, shadow-figures on top of shadows. The screams were tinny and distant now that Rosa knew it wasn't real. "The power to protect your loved ones."

"By possessing me," Rosa said. It wasn't a question.

Imshael cocked his head and let out a halfway exasperated sigh. "_Possession_ is such an unpleasant term for it—and so inaccurate. I won't take control of you, Inquisitor. I will simply…share your body. In exchange you will have all my knowledge and strength. You'd be strong enough to take on even Pride."

"Why in the great beyond would you offer me _that_ as a temptation?" Rosa asked, snarling. "Do you think I truly care if someone I love is a more powerful mage than me?" She snorted, shaking her head in disgust. "You're so far off the mark it's funny, demon."

"But what if that brother of yours is correct?" Imshael asked, quirking one brow. "What if you _can't_ trust that lover of yours, hmm?" He leaned closer, a dangerous and frightening gleam of amusement twinkling in his eyes. "You remember that dark future you saw in Redcliffe? Oh, yes, of course you do. And you remember the way all the others wanted you to kill that other Tal. What if it happens again? What happens if you have to fight the ones you love to protect another you love? You'll need to be strong enough to fight them all and you know you're not as you are."

The demon withdrew a slight step, smirking as he regarded Rosa again. "And all that nonsense you mages are terrified of, what with _abominations_ and all—" He snorted derisively. "I am not some petty demon. I am _Imshael,_ not a demon at all. Choice. Spirit. No one would know…"

Rosa felt the lie in her head and sneered. "Fuck off."

Imshael smirked. "Ah, I see Dirthamen's talent lives on. How…serendipitous."

Rosa stiffened, her skin flushing cold now. Had she made a mistake? She hadn't explicitly revealed she'd sensed his lie, but it seemed Imshael had felt it nonetheless. Clenching her jaw, Rosa concentrated on the surroundings around them and willed herself to connect with it, to gain control over it. This didn't feel like the Fade, but…she closed her eyes and felt the world wavering as it responded to her will.

The demon chuckled. "Not yet, Rosa. Not just yet."

A wave of dizziness crashed into her and Rosa grimaced, shaking her head. When she opened her eyes she saw her surroundings had changed. She no longer saw the Brecilian Forest or the aravels under attack. Instead she found herself standing in the center of a circle a little too reminiscent of the one the Templars had formed around her during her Harrowing in the Hasmal Circle.

Rosa spun on her heel, taking in the shapes standing around her. There were nine of them and each wore a different mask in gold, silver, or bronze. They wore gossamer robes and armor, resplendent in colors that made her eyes water with their beauty. Pointed ears stuck out around their masks and she saw eyes behind them, hidden but clear enough that she made out flashes of color—blue, gold, violet, green, and brown.

_The Creators. _

One of them moved abruptly and Rosa whipped around to face the threat, reaching for mana, but the masked figure—a man with a bronzed mask and wearing red and black robes—thrust out his hand toward her and Rosa felt her face burn along the lines of her vallaslin. She hissed, dropping to her knees and whimpering as pain like knives cut through her skull and a worming sensation erupted over her body wide, like maggots crawling through her skin. Her thoughts fuzzed out of existence and she felt her muscles lock, rigid and immobile. Her mana core convulsed, shriveling and locking up. Even if she could have reached for the magic she knew it would not respond.

"_Slave," _the man said, using elven. His palm glowed red as he drew nearer to her. _"You are nothing, but your worthless life is mine."_

With an upward jerk of his hand and arm Rosa felt the horrible spell he used rip her onto her feet. She breathed too fast, her head spinning with pain whenever she tried to resist. Trembling on her feet now, Rosa stared at the masked man and, now that he was closer, she saw the black portions of his robe had been made of raven feathers. Her vallaslin burned as though the sun itself had been trapped beneath. She gritted her teeth, trying not to cry out even though she knew she wouldn't have been able to even if she wanted to.

"_You see that you are powerless?"_ he asked as he closed in on her, laying a palm over her cheek. _"You and your brother and all the Dalish are but slaves to me. Meat to the slaughter that the People must lay upon my altar..."_

She struggled against the hold on her, magic and physical both as the man—Dirthamen, she realized—dropped his hand to her throat. Her fighting succeeded in nothing except fatiguing her. Soon Rosa was slack, slumping into the magic for support even as she cringed away from it.

The man spoke again then but he used common now and she recognized the voice as Imshael's. "I could force you, Inquisitor, but that would remove the choice. So, I give you a choice in what happens now and in the war to come."

The magic gripping her released. The agonizing burning in her face faded and left Rosa gasping for breath and shaking. Imshael still held her by the throat but it wasn't tight enough to cut off her breathing and she was too weak to fight.

"Did you enjoy the blood spell? I haven't had a chance to use it in years. Quite delectable, even if it is detestable. Ah, but where were we?"

Rosa managed to pry her eyes open enough to see the demon and now she gasped anew as she saw he wore Felassan's face. Shock reverberated through her as she took in the same shape of his lips, the point of his ears like her and Tal's, and the proud cheekbones and long Elvhen face that must have been so common in the People in those ancient days. His eyes were the wrong color—dark gold, like rich honey—and his hair wasn't her father's pale blond but deep black. But, in the flickering ambient light from some unseen fire Rosa caught the flecks of red in the demon's hair.

"Surprised?" Imshael asked her and grinned. "You shouldn't be, _asavarlin._" _Cousin._

"No," she croaked out and found enough strength to grasp at his wrist, clawing frantically.

Imshael laughed maliciously. "Oh, yes, doll. Did you think Dirthamen was the only well-known son of Elgar'nan and Mythal? Hasn't that lover of yours told you they had dozens of blood children?"

"No," Rosa repeated, gagging as his grip tightened, threatening to crush her airway. She summoned mana but the fire she called to her hands went out as soon as it touched the demon's arm.

Imshael laughed again. "Denial is such a funny mortal reaction. But such a waste of time, too. I still need you to make a choice, little cousin."

He let go of her and Rosa fell onto her knees, grabbing at her neck and gasping. She scrambled backward in an awkward three-limbed crabwalk, trying to get out of his range—but her back collided with a wall. Turning to look, Rosa saw it was a fresco with gold-green tiles that glowed brilliantly in the vermillion light of this strange pseudo-dreamscape. Rosa recognized the image as Dirthamen.

"I've been wanting to meet you for some time," Imshael said from in front of her. "I've heard _so_ much about you. Imagine my delight when one of my servants whispered to me from the Fade to tell me it'd been forcibly returned to the other side of the Veil by a boy wearing the thrice-damned crown of Falon'Din! Here you both were, so close. I just couldn't pass up the chance to meet."

Rosa twisted back round to glare at him, summoning more fire to her palms though the effort was hard—like trying to move huge boulders with raw spirit magic. She saw she was now inside a golden cage with the fresco behind her. Imshael stood outside it and clutched in one arm he held Tal by the throat, his body limp.

Rosa screamed and lunged at the bars. "Let him go! Tal! Tal!" She collided with the golden bars of her gilded cage and rattled them, heedless of the pain from the impact. "Tal!" She reached out to her brother, frantic to get to him even with Imshael still standing there, close enough he could grab her with his other hand.

"Here is your choice, Inquisitor," Imshael said, leering with a sickening glee. He shook Tal's body, flopping it like a ragdoll. Every limp movement from Tal made Rosa's heart constrict with a stab of pain and horror. "Do you choose to refuse me or do you sacrifice your brother? How precious is blood to you?"

"No," Rosa shouted and drew back, gritting her teeth as she formed a fireball and hurled it at the demon. The fireball smashed against the bars of her cage with a flicker of blue and she realized it was warded with a barrier. "No," she roared again. Fade stone formed in her hands next and she tossed it at the bars. It clunked and splintered, showering her with green shards. "No! Let him go! This is no choice!"

"No?" Imshael asked, smirking at her. Tal's face was fast turning blue.

"No," she said, breathing hard and closing her eyes as she tried to concentrate through the terror and emotional pain of seeing her brother in danger. "No…this is a trick. This is an illusion." They weren't in the Fade but…

She remembered Tal sitting slumped against a tree across from her in the dark meadow. "This isn't really happening," she whispered. She kept her eyes shut, refusing to let Imshael goad her with the sight of Tal slowly suffocating in his grip. "This isn't really happening."

A frustrated growl cut through the air then and the light went dark. Rosa stumbled, feeling her mana bubbling violently. Dizziness swarmed through her until she felt as though she would vomit and then—

She opened her eyes, gasping, and blinked out at the dark meadow. Imshael had stumbled away from her, cursing in elven. Tal was across the meadow, slumped against a tree and bound with leather strips just as she was. The other men, Freemen of the Dales she realized, were scattered about the clearing and beneath the trees at the edge of the small meadow. The man who'd originally woken her with smelling salts, Willem, waited nearby. His eyes were dull when he glanced at Rosa, as though he was Tranquil or half-asleep.

"Fine," Imshael spat, recapturing her attention. "I didn't want to do this, but since you insisted…" He pulled a dagger from his belt and spun on one heel, marching across the meadow toward where Tal still lay unconscious.

"What are you doing?" Rosa shouted at him, heart pounding. "Please, stop! Don't hurt Tal."

Imshael ignored her as he reached Tal's spot. Her brother was still secured to a tree and slumped over, shaggy black hair hiding his face. Rosa could see his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. She gritted her teeth and summoned Fade stone—but of course nothing happened. Her leather bindings glowed with red-tinted characters, wholly unfamiliar to her and ugly in their harsh slashes and sharp edges.

"Don't you touch him!" she screamed, desperation taking over. She reached again and again for mana until the leather bindings had begun to burn against her wrists and ankles. She stretched, gritting her teeth through the mounting discomfort.

Across the meadow Imshael knelt at Tal's side and reached one hand for him. The demon grabbed Tal's curly black hair and pulled back his head, exposing his pale-skinned throat. Did he intend to kill Tal if she didn't cooperate?

Panic exploded inside her at the thought. She screamed and shrieked, her voice so shrill she barely recognized it. "Get away from him! Tal! _Da'isamalin,_ wake up!"

Imshael paused, turning his head and looking back at her with an irritable expression. "Willem?" he called, motioning with his knife hand in Rosa's direction. "Would you mind gagging the Inquisitor as it seems she's not going to cooperate after all. Such a shame."

Willem moved toward her, holding out another strip of leather. The sight of it had Rosa squirming, her stomach clenching and bile rising in her throat. "No," she begged, her eyes burning with emotion. "No—stop, don't do this…"

Willem ignored her as he stepped close and tried to slide the leather into her mouth. Rosa thrashed, turning her head right and then left to evade it. Then, as she saw Imshael press the blade to Tal's throat across the meadow she shouted, "I'll do anything you want, demon! Please! Just stop. Let him live! Please!"

Imshael froze. The knife against Tal's skin didn't move for an agonizing second and, in that moment, Willem pushed the leather into Rosa's mouth. She tried to spit it out, thrashing her head until Willem's fingers slipped, releasing the pressure. Rosa spit out the gag and shouted, "Are you listening, Imshael? I'll…" She breathed hard, feeling something twisting inside her, buzzing the same way her truthsaying talent would in her head when she felt a lie, but this was something different…something else…

"What do you want from me?" she blurted, her voice grating and hard.

Imshael pulled the knife back from Tal's neck and released his hair, letting the young man's head fall forward limply again. He faced Rosa, his brow furrowed and his lips pinched, as though straining against something. But his eyes were still full of amusement.

"What do you _really_ want from me?" Rosa repeated, feeling that _something_ still twining inside.

Imshael shook his head once and then blurted, "I want your blood. Or the boy's. I wanted to meet Dirthamen's only living heir and test her mettle. I wanted to taste her spirit and I have. I wanted to remind her what a foolish danger those precious vallaslin are in the wrong hands, and I have." He took a step closer to her across the field, motioning at Willem to step back. He was grinning. "Ask me again, _asavarlin._ Ask me again."

Rosa's breaths came too fast now. Her heart hammered in her chest and she could feel hot sweat beading on her brow, mixing with the cold of horror from moments ago. Something had happened here. Something had _changed._ Her vallaslin felt hot, but not burning the way they had been when Imshael used whatever cruel blood spell earlier.

"What is this?" she snarled.

Imshael clucked his tongue. "That's not the right question. You did it before. I know you can do it again, doll. Use the magic inside you, the gift that made all those silly elves worship your grandfather—_my brother—_as a god." Imshael had crossed the meadow as he spoke, still grinning savagely. "Show me the power the Slow Arrow always denied and hid away."

Gritting her teeth, Rosa refused to obey, instead grasping at the strange sensation inside, separate from her core but still _magic,_ and demanded, "Why are you telling me this? What power are you talking about?"

Imshael grimaced, as though the words pained him, and blurted, "Because you will need it to face your enemies. The power is Dirthamen's, my brother's. With it, you can command others to reveal their secrets against their will."

_Dirthamen,_ Rosa thought, _God of secrets. _

Imshael grinned again as the grip of whatever magic Rosa had only halfway knowingly used against him diminished. "I felt it within you, little cousin. Just had to knock it loose. Of course, it's as dilute as a drunk's piss." He was close enough now that he reached out and patted her head like a patronizing _hahren_. Rosa sneered at him as the demon winked at her. "Save it for when you _really_ need it." He lifted the knife up then, glinting in the moonlight peeking in through the canopy. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, I remember. You were willing to work with me to save Tal's life. What are you offering?"

"You want my blood," Rosa snarled. "You already told me that. You're not going to kill Tal."

"No?" Imshael asked, lifting both eyebrows. "Why don't you ask me if I will? Ask me in that special way."

"Fine," Rosa snapped. She'd have to play his game just long enough to stall him until she could find a way out of this mess or Solas or one of her other companions came for her. Finding that other magic deep inside, already growing sluggish, Rosa asked, "Are you going to kill my brother if I don't cooperate?"

Imshael's brow furrowed with discomfort for a brief instant before he said, "Yes, I _will_ slice his throat. I am not leaving without blood from one of you and if you don't cooperate I _will_ kill him. And then _he _will have a choice of his own: let the Formless One possess him to save himself, or die. Tal is in the dreaming now, watching all this with his good friend Raselan. Isn't this game fun?"

"You never wanted to possess me," Rosa spat, her body trembling at the savage glee she saw in the demon's eyes—which were still the Elvhen gold she'd seen in the strange pseudo-dream.

Imshael shrugged. "I knew you'd never agree, but it was fun to play." He knelt next to her, lifting the knife. "Now, how about we get back to my purpose here. You have a choice to make, Inquisitor. Your blood or Tal's life." He smirked. "He's never been a very good brother, has he? Always causing trouble. Never grateful for all the things you sacrificed for him—your time, your confidence, your trust."

"Fuck you," Rosa growled. "You aren't going to make me turn against him." Her eyes flicked to the knife. "Will you kill me for my blood?"

Imshael reached out to her, grabbing her messy bun with one fist. Rosa hissed as he pulled her hair, forcing her to tilt her head back, exposing her throat. His breath puffed against her neck and chin as the demon laughed. "I do need quite a lot of it because Dirthamen's blood is so thin inside you. If I could have taken the Slow Arrow's, that would have been _so _much better. But sadly for us both, he's dead. By the time I found his body the blood was stale and useless."

Rosa swallowed, feeling the bob in her throat move. Her chest had gone tight and her skin prickled with revulsion and terror with how close the demon was. The strange other magic still curled inside her, weak now but present. "Answer my question," she growled, not using the magic. Imshael's advice, sound despite what a monster he was, struck her anew. _Save it. _

"I'll not kill you," Imshael said. "On my honor, little cousin. As much as I hate Dirthamen for helping kill Mythal, you're too valuable to kill. But it will hardly be pleasant." He licked his lips, as if he planned to drink her blood.

The thought made Rosa's stomach churn with nausea.

But she hadn't felt a lie when he'd spoken and repeatedly she'd found her encounters with these demons proved that they saw some strange value in her. Solas had said they'd kill her and Tal and himself, but apparently not. Yet, just a few moments ago Imshael had told her he _would_ kill Tal. So it clearly did not see _his_ value as much.

"Set Tal free," Rosa growled. "I need to see he's safe first."

Imshael chuckled again. "You're stalling, doll. We don't have much time."

"You want Dirthamen's blood," Rosa snarled, making a wager. "Tal's isn't ideal, is it?" She saw Imshael's grin warp into a sneer and knew she'd guessed correctly. "You don't really want Tal's blood as much as you want mine. That's why _I _am the one you're giving this choice to and that's why you have the Formless One waiting to save Tal if you did have to slit his throat. You don't really want either of us dead." She pulled against his hold on her hair, glowering out her challenge. "So, if you want me to cooperate, you'll do as I ask. _Now."_

Imshael's sneer intensified but he didn't waste time arguing. "Willem," he yelled, flecks of spittle landing on Rosa's cheek. "Go cut the boy's bonds. Now."

Willem's feet swished over the grass as he hurried over to Tal, drawing out a small blade. He knelt and methodically sliced through the leather bonds on Tal's wrists and ankles. Then, gently, Willem grabbed Tal's shoulders and dragged him away from the tree, laying him out on his back. When he'd finished he rose to his feet and jogged back toward Imshael.

"Good lad," Imshael said and chuckled. "You can't see it, Inquisitor," he murmured quietly, smirking. "But all of these men here made a choice to serve me. The scar on his forehead makes him _mine._ The same way those precious vallaslin on your face make you _Dirthamen's._"

"You made them your slaves?" Rosa snarled.

"Made them?" Imshael asked and grinned as he shook his head. "Oh no, of course not! They _chose_ it. I fulfilled their desires—health, wealth, or saving loved ones—and they paid me with servitude." He tugged harder on her hair, jerking her head back and Rosa sucked in an involuntary breath as she felt the cold blade touch her throat. "It is always a _choice_ with me, doll. And you have made yours. Tal is free and he'll wake up as soon as my men and I have gone. So, little cousin, do you choose to give me your blood?" The blade pressed on her neck, bitingly sharp. "You know the consequences if you choose another way…"

Rosa swallowed, her muscles taut and trembling. Her mana bubbled and frothed, impotent and useless. She squeezed her eyes shut. "I choose to give you my blood for Tal's life."

Imshael chuckled gleefully. "Excellent. Willem?"

Rosa sensed movement and opened her eyes in time to see the enslaved human walk round Imshael with a large vase. It was golden, decorated with black and gold-green tiles with the same image Rosa had seen in her dream of Dirthamen on her gilded cage. She squirmed, fear getting the better of her as her chest heaved and her guts tied themselves in knots. The vase was _huge_. Did they plan to fill it with her blood? She couldn't possibly survive losing so much…

"No," she said, scrabbling with her bound feet. "You can't take that much. I'll die."

"Nonsense," Imshael said, grinning as he jerked on her hair again. "You'll survive because Tal will save you." Then he shrugged. "Probably." He pulled her toward the open mouth of the vase, overpowering her struggles with ease when she felt her vallaslin burning with the first touch of the blood spell again, sapping all her strength away. She whimpered as Imshael held her by the hair, gloating as he flicked the knife in a small, precise motion over her neck on one side. It was a faint sensation, burning and hardly painful, but Rosa immediately felt the hot wetness of blood flowing, heard it pattering into the dark mouth of the vase below her.

Imshael sucked in a deep breath, sounding as if he was smelling a fabulous dinner. "Ah, little cousin, that's right. Remember, you chose this. Tal is safe."

She shivered, her ears filling with the dribbling sound from the vase. Imshael held her head up, craned back, which didn't let her see how much or how fast the blood flowed. There was only the sound, the awful, sick _drip _and _splatter._ She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness passed through her. She felt hot tears leak from her eyes against her will. She fought numbed lips to speak, "Please…"

Imshael sniffed then and Rosa felt his fist holding her bun jerk slightly, as if her speaking had startled him. As if in response to it the demon said, "All right, start moving. Off with you. Willem," he called and the man appeared just in the corner of Rosa's sight. "Cut her bindings and then take the vase. We need to move."

Rosa heard more than felt or saw as Willem moved around her and did as his master commanded. Her wrists separated, limp and hanging so that her fingers brushed the grass. The tension keeping her ankles together vanished. Yet, Rosa didn't have the strength to move. The burning on her face kept her still. Or was the lassitude and weakness from loss of blood? She couldn't tell and tried not to think about it. She'd wagered that Imshael wanted her alive, but she should have known the demon would toy with her. It wanted her fear as much as anything else, it required it the way a starving man needs a feast. Imshael might ensure she _survived_ this, but he had no intention of making it _easy._

And then the splatter of her blood into the vase vanished and Rosa instead felt it dribbling onto herself, hot and sticky. She heard it patter the grass like rain. Willem grunted as he hefted up the vase and hurried from the clearing. The burning in her vallaslin eased and Rosa sucked in a frantic breath as some of her strength returned. She clutched at her neck with both hands, stomach lurching with horror as she felt the wetness coating her skin and clinging to her armor.

"That's right, pressure on the wound, Inquisitor," Imshael said, laughing triumphantly. "And remember what I taught you about my brother's gift."

He released her and Rosa flinched, tensing as she tried to keep herself upright, but her body trembled and had flushed suddenly cold. She glowered at Imshael as he rose to his feet and started walking at a jog toward the edge of the clearing, intent on disappearing into the shadows with the rest of his men. "Good luck, little cousin," he called out over his shoulder in one last taunt.

Gasping and shaking, Rosa clutched at the continuous dribble of blood from her neck and looked to where Tal still lay on his back, unconscious. "Tal," she called, croaking. She felt inside herself for her mana core but it was out of reach, distant and intangible. It was as if she was still dreaming and her core had been locked away. Imshael's magic might have done this to her, or it might simply be that her body was too weak. Either way, she had no choice now.

She started clawing at the grass with one hand, eyes tearing up as she saw the red-black stains her hands left on the grass. Her legs were heavy as stone, hard to move at all. She gritted her teeth and forced them to work.

"Tal," she called again as she crawled toward him, focusing everything on her brother even as her vision started to waver. Black shadows grew in her peripheral vision and closed in. She saw Tal twitch in the grass and heard him inhale sharply, like a man startled out of a deep sleep. "Tal," she cried, heart hammering with hope—but Tal didn't rise. "Please…"

A wave of dizziness swarmed through her head and she felt her control over her body slip away. The darkness closed in. Dimly, with the last vestige of awareness fleeing for the Fade, she felt her body thump limply to the grass.

And as the Fade began to open to her, green-black mist with craggy rocks appearing as silhouettes and shadows, Rosa felt her skin crawl anew. _A demon._

"Hello, _da'len,"_ a familiar voice said from behind her.

Rosa whipped around and saw _lenalin_ staring at her, smiling. He wore a hood that covered most of his face, but Rosa could still see the dark lines of his vallaslin on his cheeks, chin, and forehead. Violet eyes glinted from the shadow of his hood. But this wasn't Felassan.

"Raselan," Rosa spat, hands curling into fists. "What do you want?"

The demon's smile using her father's lips intensified, showing white teeth that looked sharper than the ones she remembered. "I'm here to save your life, if you'll allow me."

* * *

Solas had been both lucky and unlucky. Rosa's presence in the real world had been very close to an eluvian he knew he could reactivate in the Dales. It was tucked deep inside ruins that Empress Celene's troops had used during their civil war.

Briala had reactivated the mirror to use it to steal from Celene's troops and to attack them periodically, sowing chaos in a way Solas would have approved of had _he_ been the one in charge of the operation. But he wasn't and that made it a hassle, a hurdle he needed to overcome. While Briala held control of the mirrors she could turn them on and off at will across a sizable network.

True, Solas could activate and deactivate whatever mirror he wished as no other could because he was an Evanuris. The mirrors were designed to acquiesce to the "gods" after all, but without the crystal Briala had acquired from Imshael—and that Felassan had refused to take from her—Solas would have to take over each mirror _individually._ It had to be done physically from wherever the mirror was or from the Crossroads. It was too time consuming for him to do while posing as an Inquisition "Fade expert." His agents Lyris and Mathrel were fast working on gaining Briala's trust to let him take over the network around the time the Inquisitor attended the Empress' ball at the Winter Palace. But in the meantime Solas had to reactivate the mirror in the ruins personally.

He'd lost precious minutes getting to the mirror in Skyhold and then trekking through the Crossroads to find a mirror capable of linking to the one in the Dales. Using both magic and his own senses as a Dreamer, Solas had felt out the right mirror and willed it to activate and connect to this one in the Crossroads. It had acquiesced and flared with blue-purple light as the connection formed. Solas drew mana up in preparation for a fight if Celene had mounted a guard around the mirror and then stepped through…

And into complete darkness. Only the blue ripple of the mirror lit the space. Solas made out pale stones, the same color and design that countless Dreamers had shaped in Elvhenan with their will alone straight from Fade ether. With a slight wave of one hand Solas summoned Veilfire in an orb and with the other he shut down the mirror to keep any snoopy humans from going through it. The green light illuminated the space and Solas cursed as he saw reddish bricks over the doorway.

Celene's people had closed off this space rather than waste men guarding it or destroy it. Celene knew the value of the mirrors and wouldn't smash them. A small mercy. Still, the bricks were an annoying barrier when Solas did _not_ have time to spare. Rosa could already be dead or dying.

Drawing mana for a mindblast, Solas aimed it at the bricks and unleashed the force with an ear-splitting _boom _that echoed about the room. The bricks clattered and dust flew. Somewhere, distant, Solas heard shouts in common, accented by an Orlesian accent. The bricks had partly given way but not enough to let him through.

Snarling to himself with impatience, Solas let out another mindblast and this time the bricks tumbled and splintered apart. Some of them even puffed into dust, red-brown like blood. The dust lingered as a haze, an ugly brown in the greenish light of the Veilfire orb overhead. Solas waved a hand and doused the Veilfire orb, plunging the room into darkness. Outside, footsteps thumped and armor clattered as soldiers rushed toward the bricked off room.

Solas drew on the invisibility spell and stepped through the rubble-strewn doorway. He saw torches along a wall and armored figures with feathered helmets rushing down a stairway to his left. Solas stepped clear of the doorway and then watched, hands opening and closing with his mounting frustration. This was all taking too long, but he had to let the soldiers pass him to get by.

One of the men shuffled by a little too close for comfort, forcing Solas to back up and, idly, he laid a palm on the stones in the wall to his right—and felt ancient Elvhen magic stirring. It reacted to him, caressing him. This had been one of the Evanuris' shared outposts during the fight with Falon'Din and then the Forgotten Ones. Elgar'nan had armed it with a searing, powerful mage fire. It had been Mythal's outpost in times of peace and she had let Solas' rebels and freed slaves use it as a hub. The eluvian Solas had just come through, in fact, had been linked previously to one of his safe havens. As a result of this past Solas felt the magic here _remember_ him. It was like a faithful old hound recognizing a long absent master and rolling over to show its belly in the hopes of a scratch.

This place would _bend_ to his will. The magic had survived the breach and the fall of Elvhenan remarkably well. Solas could feel its defenses—Elgar'nan's mage fire—reaching out to touch him.

_Good,_ he thought and smiled to himself. A distraction would be good right now. He willed the defenses to activate and felt the magic shiver with enjoyment at having purpose again.

The ruins shuddered around them. Dust rained down on the soldiers and Solas alike, making another haze in the air and the uneven, flickering torchlight. A ringing noise cut through the air that then grew into a roar. The ruins shuddered again and screams of alarm rent the air from somewhere up above.

The soldiers stopped, staring in confusion—although Solas couldn't see their expressions through the ridiculous Orlesian masks they wore, their body language seemed to shout their bemusement. "There's no one here," one man called from inside the room with the eluvian. Another, close to Solas in the hall, yelled, "Do you hear that? What's happening up there?"

"More undead? Do you think?"

"Undead do not make such racket!"

"Go," another man said, pushing at his nearest comrade and turning round to rush for the stairs. "Let's see what's happening." With a clatter of armor and the pounding of footsteps, the Orlesians hurried up the stairwell.

Solas followed on swift, silent feet.

Chaos had erupted in the courtyard. It seemed these troops had been facing off with endless hordes of undead. Now a beam of yellow-orange fire streaked down from the high tower of the ruins, burning anything and anyone in its wake. Smoke filled the air, acrid in Solas' nose and throat. His eyes watered but he didn't hesitate as he ran fro the gate to escape the courtyard.

The beam struck out at anything not elven in its confused, leaderless state. It preferred to mow down corpses and did so almost merrily, streaking through the courtyard to ignite the shambling archers and warriors, gray and skeletal. But whenever it ran out of undead to fry the beam switched direction and found the Orlesians. They did not have elven blood. The magic did not know them.

Once, as Solas darted into the open space of the courtyard, an Orlesian collided with him. The soldier had sprung from the cover of some crates, trying to shelter himself from the beam of light and the undead. Now he had collided, seemingly, with thin air. The man cried out, one hand out as though to ward away the invisible thing he had collided with, but the other held a sword and swung out instinctively to mow down the unseen threat.

Solas reacted without thinking by petrifying the soldier. His eyes flashed and the soldier froze as he transformed into stone. The sword was less than a meter from hitting Solas' shoulder. Breathing hard, Solas stumbled, woozy from the sudden drain of mana. The invisibility spell had failed immediately upon him casting the stone spell and now he fell back on the crates the soldier had been hiding behind. Panting, he wiped at the grit over his face and grimaced, trying to power through the pain of mana burnout. The stone spell was still just a little much for him.

The beam of fire roared as it cut through the courtyard nearby. More Orlesians ran for cover. Two of them darted by Solas and the new statue of their comrade without a second thought, but the third was a commander, marked by his fancy armor and extra feathers on his helmet. The commander slid to a stop and thrust his sword out toward Solas. "You! Who _are _you?" His masked head swiveled slightly as he apparently registered his soldier who was now a stone statue. "Francis?"

The beam shook the courtyard, roaring as it spun, drawing nearer. There were no corpses to burn now, just Orlesians. Thinking quickly, Solas lunged for the armored commander, knocking him toward the beam and then ducking and rolling away to give the beam enough space to ignite the commander and not _him._ He heard the Orlesian shout with alarm, scrambling to get away with panic. Then he heard the beam sing louder as it caught the man. Solas blocked out the sound of the man's screams as he bolted for the gate.

The ramparts outside the fort reeked of decay. Undead corpses shambled about and Solas felt his skin prickling with more than just mana burnout. There were demons here, powerful ones. He gritted his teeth and felt over his mana, finding it weak and puny, aching from the stone spell. There just wasn't enough to take on invisibility yet and he didn't have time to wait.

Solas had never been much of an athlete, but he had always prided himself on staying fit. He drew a deep breath in and sprinted into the ramparts. The undead reacted to his fast movement. Warriors lifted swords and charged for him, awkward and slower than himself with their locked up, creaking bones and joints. Archers lifted their bows, arrows nocked, and took aim. Solas ran in a weaving pattern, evading arrows as they rained down around him.

He sensed arcane horrors deeper in the ramparts and deliberately avoided them, rushing for the exit. When he rounded a corner and found himself facing three undead warriors with swords raised to strike, Solas let out a mindblast without thinking. The corpses flew backward and did not rise again, but Solas swayed on his feet, head pounding.

"_Fenedhis,"_ he cursed and, gritting his teeth, forced himself to start sprinting once more even though the pain in his core made him want to double over as though he'd been kicked in the testicles.

It was something of a miracle that he escaped the ramparts and reached the sluggish Enavuris river. Its tea colored water was cool and comforting as he splashed into it. Had he possessed the mana Solas would have flash frozen its surface to walk across, but as weak as his magic was now he couldn't even draw up a decent barrier.

How was he going to save Rosa in this sorry state?

He pushed that thought aside and started to swim for the far shore. Rosa was somewhere in the forests beyond those plains, a few miles away at best. If he'd been at his pre-Veil strength he could have teleported over the entire distance. If the physical world had been one with the Fade still he could _feel_ Rosa as if they shared a dream and just teleport to her if she was within a few miles.

As things were, he'd just have to hope he had regained enough of his mana by the time that he reached her that he could save her.

* * *

Tal woke from the Fade with a gasp, vaguely aware that some time had passed. The Formless One had been with him, showing him a scene that he hadn't been certain was real. Rosa had been bound and a human man he knew was actually a demon named Imshael had been speaking with her, taunting her. He'd seen the demon use some kind of magic on her, making her vallaslin glow red. It was the same as he'd seen back when she'd closed the breach, before Corypheus destroyed Haven.

And then the demon had slit her throat. The Formless One had almost seemed disappointed when it happened, as if it had rooted secretly for the siblings. Tal wasn't about to believe Raselan cared about them but the demon's pseudo-sympathy kept his rage in check so that he didn't attack it even as he'd screamed and railed and paced. Tal watched helplessly from the Fade as Imshael bled Rosa like a hare he'd caught in a trap, catching the blood in a vase. No matter how hard Tal tried to force himself awake, the Fade held him tightly, a prisoner in his own dreams.

And then, finally, Raselan had cut off the image. "You're free, boy. Go to her." The demon still wore Felassan's face. Normally that disarmed Tal but now it just made him shake with rage. Their father never would have sat idly by as Rosa was tortured and bled like an animal.

"Fuck off," he snarled and hurled a fireball at the demon—but already the features of the Fade had grown translucent and gray. The Formless One dissolved in front of him and everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes, Tal saw stars shining down from a black sky. Gray-green leaves shimmered and sighed in a gentle breeze high up in the canopy, in the peripheral of his vision.

And Tal smelled blood.

Grunting, Tal rolled onto his side and forced sluggish muscles to work. He shook off the dizziness of sleep and ignored the painful ache in his throat from the knockout bomb smoke that must have burned him. Through sleep-blurred eyes he saw Rosa laying motionless in the grass a few meters from him, one arm outstretched toward him.

"Rosa," he croaked. Panic and dread gave him strength and he leapt to his feet, rushing to grab her up. She was limp as he turned her over in his arms and saw the slice on her neck, still oozing a sluggish flow of red blood. Tal laid trembling hands over her neck and channeled mana into her. His hands flushed warm and he gritted his teeth at the stickiness of drying blood. The Formless One had been slow to release him from the Fade.

_If she dies,_ Tal thought, snarling, _I will spend the rest of my life finding both Imshael and Raselan and killing them. I don't care if I have to ally with Corypheus himself to do it…_

Beneath his fingers, Tal felt the wound close. Rosa's feathery pulse flickered against his skin. Her eyes moved beneath closed lids. She was pale as snow, grayish with the blood loss, but Tal could feel the magic sinking into her, revitalizing her. She would live.

Tal felt tears welling up and spilling out of his eyes. The jeweled droplets dripped onto Rosa's cheek, illuminated gold with his healing magic. Relief made his chest ache and his throat hurt with emotion now more than the burns from the knockout bomb. His diaphragm convulsed and he realized dimly that he was sobbing.

He didn't care.

Tal pulled Rosa close to himself, touching his forehead to hers as he rocked back and forth. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry, _asamalin._ I'll be better. I promise. I love you."

When she made a small noise, a little gasp, Tal held his breath and pulled back enough to see her face. Her eyes were moist and she blinked a few times, as though having trouble focusing, but then she smiled. "Tal…"

"Rosa." He hugged her close again, still sobbing into the crook of her neck, and shuddered as she lifted one arm to wrap around his shoulders. "I'm so sorry. For everything."

"This…" she croaked and Tal pulled back again to stare at her, chin trembling. "…is why you don't talk to demons."

Tal laughed, thin and breathy, pulling her into another hug. He supported her upper body with his arms, holding her close, ignoring the hideous scent of the blood that drenched her. "Never again," he promised her through his tears. "Never, _ever_ again."

"I'd do it again," Rosa murmured. "I'll always choose to save you."

"Save me?" he asked, blubbering.

"That was the choice Imshael gave me," she said, her brow furrowing. "I had to give my blood or he'd kill you to take your blood." She swallowed and it sounded painfully dry. "And then the Formless One would try to possess you to save your life."

Now rage broiled Tal's blood. "That fucking piece of nug shit, cocksucking…"

Rosa smirked at his cursing, but her eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. "It tried to possess me, too. Just now." Her smirk softened, becoming a tired smile. "But I knew you'd save me, _da'isamalin."_

Tal's anger broke as he sobbed again, burying his face into her shoulder. "I won't lie," he promised her. "I won't keep anything secret. Never again."

She sighed, heavy with fatigue. "Good."

And then a rustling sound reached his ears, coming from the opposite direction from where Imshael and his Freemen goons had run. Tal tensed, sniffing as he lifted his head and cast barriers over them both. "Whoever that is, he's fucking _dead_ if he tries to hurt you."

But as Tal's keen eyes made out a dark shape, his tension faded. The figure was lean and with a rounded head too smooth to have hair. Distinctive pointed ears stuck out.

"Solas," Rosa said from his arms, though her eyes were barely open now and she had slumped completely where she laid half in Tal's lap and half sprawled on the grass. Tal noticed that her left hand, resting limp in her lap, glowed a faint Fade-green. The Anchor had activated, either because Solas had done something to it or because it responded to the Elvhen man's nearness. Tal felt a frisson of unease at the reminder of Solas' unsettling power and connection to Rosa's previous and ongoing suffering.

As much as he hated the Formless One and Imshael in this moment, Tal still couldn't dismiss the wisdom in their warnings about "Pride." That seed of mistrust wasn't going to go away. Tal wanted to whisper a warning to Rosa, to plead with her not to reveal what had happened earlier that day when he had used the Crown, but he held the desire in check. Rosa had said he hadn't trusted her and it was true. He'd been wrong not to. He wouldn't make the same mistake again. If Rosa told Solas, than Tal would come to terms with it. In the meantime, he had to _trust_ Rosa's decisions.

_I'll always choose to save you,_ her words repeated in his head and brought more burning tears to his eyes that he didn't bother to hide as Solas finally came through the foliage at the edge of the clearing and burst into the meadow.

And the look on the Elvhen man's face as he took in the scene made Tal's heart twist with recognition and shared sympathy—because he knew how they must look. Rosa was bloodied and limp, pallid as death itself. And Tal was holding her half in his lap, supporting her, and sobbing. More than that, Tal could feel the stickiness of his sister's blood all over his hands, and on his nose and lips from when he'd cried on her shoulder. It must look as though Tal was mourning her with so much blood and tears.

And for an instant Tal could see the raw emotion on Solas and knew that whatever other motives he had, whatever secrets he kept, Solas loved Rosa.

Then Rosa moved, shifting slightly, and the relief that crashed over Solas was visible in its intensity. Again, Tal could commiserate. Any hostility or suspicion he felt washed away as Solas ran for them, healing magic already glowing in his fists.

"_Fenedhis," _he cried. "Rosa!"

Tal lifted a hand to try and pacify the Elvhen man. "She's fine. I've healed her. She's just weak from the blood loss."

"Let me help," Solas said, his tone insistent.

Tal nodded and shifted, letting the other man take Rosa, cupping one cheek in his golden glowing hand. The air sang with a gentle tinkling like chimes and Tal's skin tingled with the unfamiliar magic. He didn't question Solas, merely stared at the older man's back as he wondered: _How did you get here so quickly? What are you hiding? _

But in that moment it didn't matter. He knew Solas was as relieved and desperate as he had been. He swallowed those questions and his doubts, and simply smiled as he watched the healing magic—a spell he didn't know—return Rosa's strength in seconds. Whatever Solas was hiding, he was truly worth his weight in gold for useful, powerful, forgotten magic.

As Rosa started to get to her feet, accepting Solas' proffered hand as he helped her up, the Elvhen man asked, "What happened here?" His voice was breathy, still strained from emotion as he looked from Tal to Rosa again.

"Later," Rosa told him, clearing her throat and grimacing as she brushed fingers across the sticky, clotted blood at her throat. "First, let's find the river. I need to wash up."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"I can't let this happen again," Rosa whispered into his chest. "I can't…I _won't_ be a slave. I'm _not_ a slave."

"I can take the vallaslin," Solas murmured, stroking her bare back. "You'll be safe. The Dalish will not understand, but that does not matter. Only your safety matters, _vhenan."_


	46. Agent of the Dread Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW!
> 
> Rosa confides in Solas about what she went through when she and Tal were captured by Imshael. She makes a vital decision to safeguard herself in the future and allows Solas to take her vallaslin. Seeing an opportunity, Solas begins a slow plan to educate and recruit the siblings into his cause.

Tal kept watch while Solas helped Rosa wash up and cleanse her armor in the Enavuris river, which was only a short hike from where the siblings had endured their encounter with Imshael, of all creatures. Solas had listened as brother and sister described their detainment and end result during their trip to the river. The cold pit of dread in his stomach refused to ease even with the constant reminder that Rosa had survived.

She'd given her blood to the demon. Imshael could do _horrible_ things with it, but Solas knew what he'd use it for, ultimately—freeing Fear and Deceit. If Rosa's blood was strong enough with Dirthamen's essence it might release the demons. If not…Imshael would need more of it and probably Tal's blood, too. The Formless One in the Fade had been a minor threat, comparatively, but Imshael was dangerous because he could ambush the Inquisitor and her people. He could set up his _choices _outside of the Fade.

He needed to be dealt with. Quickly.

While Rosa bathed in the river, Solas scrubbed at her armor, methodically and thoroughly cleaning the chainmail mesh. Her blood had gotten into every tiny metal ringlet, drying there and crusting like rust. Solas dug at it with blunt fingernails and then used anything nearby and on-hand: twigs, leaves, moss.

After a few minutes Rosa finished washing and waded back out of the deeper river to the bank. She shivered, arms tucked close to her sides and brown hair dripping where it fell over her skin. The moonlight made her look pale, though Solas knew his spell had restored her vitality. She still seemed to glow in the moonlight and her nakedness stirred desire faintly in the back of Solas' mind but he quashed the reaction as she finger combed her hair and whipped it up into a bun, still sopping wet. Then she moved to her smallclothes that'd been relatively unsoiled by blood and shimmied into the breeches. She grabbed up the breast band but paused, not putting it on just yet.

Solas watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to be respectful of her privacy by not openly staring. He continued to work out the blood on her armor even as he realized she had turned toward him. It was only when she spoke that he stopped his work to look to her.

"Do you…do you remember when you told me about the vallaslin?" she asked. She stood in the shadow of the white stone walls of the ancient, ruined baths. The walls extended far enough out into the river that they provided some semblance of privacy from curious eyes up and downriver. Now Rosa had one arm over her breasts while the other held her band. Such modesty was hardly necessary between them, but her body language suggested she felt vulnerable.

"After you closed the breach," Solas said, nodding. "Yes. The tattoos are slave markings, blood writing. A form of blood magic."

"Yeah," Rosa agreed, speaking through gritted teeth. "I felt something when I closed the breach. Saw something…" She shuddered. "Imshael used it against me—my vallaslin. Just like..._them..._"

Solas pinched his lips together, frowning. That…surprised him. The demon enjoyed _choice_, not coercion. Rosa's story of her encounter had been entirely what he expected from the demon…until this.

"He also told me he's the son of Mythal and Elgar'nan," Rosa snarled. "Dirthamen was his _brother._" She made a sort of gagging noise. "I guess that makes him my…great uncle?"

"Perhaps," Solas hedged, still frowning as he tried to puzzle out Imshael's motives.

"Perhaps?" Rosa repeated, narrowing her eyes at him. "Are you saying you don't know? Could he have been lying? I thought he was a _demon,_ not…" She broke off, looking away and groaning.

Solas swallowed and pulled the bit of chainmail he'd been working on from the river, shaking it out with a metallic tinkling to clear it of excess water. As he stood up he said, "Imshael _is _Mythal and Elgar'nan's son. I did not know him when he still had permanent physical form. He is…older than I." That was true. "He was dispossessed of Elvhenan, choosing the company of spirits and demons over the Elvhen. There were punishments for those who gave up physical form."

"So he's the opposite of Cole?" Rosa asked.

"Yes," he answered, nodding as he turned to her. "There was a time when he was Dirthamen's brother. That is how he knew the blood spell to use the vallaslin against you."

He didn't tell her how out of character it was, or that other demons knew the spell simply by virtue of their extreme age but would never use it. Imshael had sided with the Forgotten Ones out of a similar sort of disgust toward Elvhenan as Solas. He enjoyed free will and free choice, so the vallaslin blood spell was directly against his nature. He'd wanted to curtail the Evanuris' power and to end the magic-based slavery, economy, and society. Those goals were similar enough that it had let Solas and Imshael bond after a fashion. Solas had been neutral in the war with the Forgotten Ones, refusing to fight for either side though he _had _wound up fighting for both sides on occasion. By the time Solas had known Imshael, the creature was more demon than man, but still capable of manifesting a body, as he apparently was doing now outside of the Fade.

"Back in Haven," she said, starting quickly and sounding shaky. "You told me you could remove the vallaslin."

Solas lifted his head, making eye contact with her and holding it. "Yes. I can."

Her expression warped with emotion, clearly torn and aggrieved. "I…want to keep them. But, now both Imshael and those things in the breach have used the same spell against me…" She blew out a breath and squeezed her eyes shut, shivering where she stood still mostly naked and vulnerable. The sight made Solas step forward, hoping to comfort her on instinct. She lifted her face to him as he drew near, embracing her. She shivered in his arms and Solas felt her wind one arm around his waist. Her head rested on his chest against his own clothes that were still damp from when he'd swam across the Enavuris, trying to reach her.

"I can't let this happen again," Rosa whispered into his chest. "I can't…I _won't_ be a slave. I'm _not_ a slave."

"I can take the vallaslin," Solas murmured, stroking her bare back. "You'll be safe. The Dalish will not understand, but that does not matter. Only your safety matters, _vhenan."_

She sniffled and then seemed to tense, pushing him back slightly. Her violet eyes glimmered, dark with pupils blown wide as she stared at him. "Take the vallaslin," she said, the whisper less a request and more a soft command, as if she had to issue the order as the Inquisitor, not as Rosa the Dalish woman. "I'll try to convince Tal to give up his, too."

Almost holding his own breath, Solas took a half-step back from her, still staring her firmly in the eye. "Are you certain?"

She closed her eyes, shoulders slumping as she let out a breath. "Yes. Absolutely."

Solas nodded, even though she wouldn't see it, and lifted his hands. He summoned mana and shaped the spell from long memory. His palms glowed blue as he lifted them to her face. Rosa stayed motionless, waiting, as Solas passed his palms over her, moving from the chin slowly up past her cheeks, nose, eyes, and finally her forehead. As the magic glided over her skin it illuminated the vallaslin, gleaming and brilliant, the same as they would be when one of the Evanuris used the binding spell to compel a slave. But the color now was pure, white and glimmering as it burned the marks away, leaving Rosa's clear, unblemished skin in its wake.

The spell finished and the blue-green glow of the spell died from Solas' palms. He stared, frozen, at her unmarked face, marveling at how beautiful she was without the marks. He had learned to see past them long ago but now…

As she slowly opened her eyes, looking to him questioningly, Solas gave in to desire and pressed forward to kiss her. Rosa drew close to him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist. Her breathing was rough and fast. Solas let his hands fall on either side of her jaw, thumbs brushing her cheeks. She opened her mouth to him and Solas slipped his tongue in to taste her. It'd been weeks since they'd enjoyed each other and he found his body tingling and coiling with lust and longing and relief. He had almost lost her tonight. To hold her now, to taste her and feel her pressed to him when she could have bled out or been possessed…

"_Vhenan,"_ he whispered when the kiss broke.

Her lips were parted and slightly swollen as she stared up at him. Her pupils were dilated, the violet irises dark and as beautiful as anything he'd ever seen in Elvhenan. She was brave, selfless, intelligent, compassionate…everything he had ever admired in others—like Mythal.

She kissed him again, leaning into him and tugging at his breeches with sudden passion and insistence. Perhaps her brush with death and his own prolonged illness had ensured they would be this desperate at the first opportunity, but Solas was quick to respond as he loosened the lacings on his breeches with one hand while the other fumbled for hers in turn.

They turned as one, entwined with arms and lips. Soft gasps and sighs and shuffling feet marked their progress as Solas backed her to the white stones of the ruin wall behind her. She shimmied and kicked as she stepped out of her breeches and hooked one leg around his hips. Solas caught it with one hand while the other freed his erection. Rosa arched her back, already trying to grind her hips over him.

Solas gripped her hips with one hand, moving with her body as his lips moved with her mouth too, continuing the long kiss. Experience over the months since they'd resumed a physical relationship had taught Solas just how she liked to be touched and where to use his magic to pleasure her. He broke the kiss now to nip and caress her neck with his lips. She shuddered and turned her head, moaning her appreciation. Her hands dug under his tunic at the hips, tracing up his sides under the fabric and then clawing down. Solas' skin dimpled with gooseflesh and a pleasurable shudder raced through him.

When Solas released her hip and laid his palm right over the mound of her sex instead, channeling magic into her, Rosa gasped and shifted her head to take his ear in her mouth. The hot press of her tongue made him shudder anew. The pleasure-pain as her teeth nipped him set his heart pounding. He'd always found this irritating the next day because she was marking him, leaving proof of the encounter for all to see. But in the moment it thrilled him.

He angled his hips, moving to enter her and Rosa arched to meet him. They both gasped as he slid home. The heat of her around him robbed him of all thought and breath. He grunted and moaned as he began to thrust, slow at first and over his whole length. Her arms wrapped tighter around him and her one leg still hooked over him curled more, clamping down.

Solas kept the magic flowing, feeling it work through her, hot and coiling. The ache and the pleasurable heat built inside him, ready to burst with shameful speed. His mortal body had such annoying limitations and seemed to get rusty after any break in sexual activity. He gritted his teeth, trying to slow down, to stave off the threat of orgasm.

But Rosa, as if she could sense how close he was—and she probably could—only worked harder against him. Her hips glided over him, her back arching, and the points of her nipples brushing over his chest, sharp even through his tunic. Her arms clung tight around his neck and shoulders now, her breaths panting and her skin hot and slick under his hands. The flicker of moonlight glinting off the river showed her bare face, reminding him anew of Elvhenan, of the potential she and all the surviving elves had to reclaim the past, to rediscover magic and retake Thedas as their rightful birthright.

As her eyes fluttered with pleasure and her lips parted, Solas remembered again her message from his other self in the dark future from Redcliffe. _You were wrong. Let it go._

He'd always been so sure that message from himself meant that he was wrong to try and return the People to their glory by tearing down the Veil. His other self wanted him to let go of the past, to let go of Fen'Harel. But what if it didn't mean that? What if it meant he was wrong to fear Rosa's reaction to the truth? What if it meant he had to let go of his fear and embrace her as what he already called her—_vhenan. _

He had never felt this way about another in Elvhenan, but he knew that if he had, he would have bonded with her. Such a thing seemed impossible now, an unrealistic fantasy. _Let it go,_ he heard some other version of himself whisper.

He could never let go of his goals, never desert the elven people to extinction because of his own actions. But perhaps it would not be a _din'anshiral_ if he had Rosa at his side.

And then Rosa gasped, the motions of her hips jerking as pleasure swept her away. A strangled cry wrenched its way out of her lips and the sight and sound of her sent Solas over the edge too. He grunted, his head falling to the crook of her neck as he moaned. Waves of pleasure crashed over and washed through him and he thrust long and deep, riding it out. Rosa clung to him, matching his motions with her own, grinding on him and panting as her own climax concluded.

In the aftermath, both their breaths puffing fast and loud, Solas kissed her again, slow and sensual. She hummed with satisfaction and nipped at his lower lip when he withdrew. He released her leg wrapped about his hips and she chuckled huskily, grinning at him as she sagged back against the white stones behind her. "I'm going to have to wash again," she murmured playfully.

Solas chuckled. "And I will have to join you."

"Ready for more so fast?" she asked, winking.

He smirked, liking the idea even as he dismissed it. "I doubt Tal has that kind of patience. We have taken entirely too long as it is."

"Yeah," she agreed, sighing even as she kept smiling. "Worth it. Plus, I'm sure he heard us."

Solas tried and failed to fight a blush, realizing that they'd grown accustomed to privacy because their lovemaking usually took place in her chambers in Skyhold now. As a result neither of them had remembered to use the sound barrier. They hadn't been especially noisy this time but Tal was on sentry duty just outside of the ruin. It was close enough he was certain to have heard _something_ and since he hadn't run to them in concern it seemed he'd puzzled out just what it was they were doing.

Rosa sidestepped, moving around him and trailing her fingers over his chest and then down to his waist as she moved. "Time to wash up," she said, smirking.

Solas moved with her, as though her gentle touch was more like a leash, dragging him toward the water. He started to shed his clothing properly as his eyes skimmed over Rosa, admiring her figure anew even as his mind turned toward the inevitable moment when he would have to leave her and return through the eluvian beneath the ruins Celene's army currently occupied.

And as Rosa splashed into the water, an idea struck him. Nervousness fluttered in his stomach, but Solas quashed it. Now was the perfect time to give her the truth…or _some_ of it, anyway, to start bringing her and Tal into his plans.

Because it was true, he could never let the elves go extinct and, more than that, Rosa and Tal deserved an immortal life. The long lives _he_ had stolen from them ages ago.

"Rosa," he called, his voice a little hoarse and gravelly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression dazzling him anew with the absence of her vallaslin. She _belonged_ in Elvhenan, immortal, and recognized as the resplendent magical being, the _spirit_ she truly was. He had to give her that, no matter what she thought of it or _him_ in the end. He owed it to her, to Tal, and especially Felassan.

"Yes, flat-ear?" she asked, laughing playfully. The teasing, and sometimes provoking nickname had new, startling meaning now that she was as barefaced as he.

"After we've bathed, I must show you—and Tal—something."

She sobered, realizing he had grown serious. "Tal, too?"

"Yes," Solas said, nodding. "I suspect you are both wondering how I made the journey here so quickly." He smiled. "It's time I showed you."

Rosa returned his smile. "Then count us both in." She paused a moment and then said, _"Vhenan."_

The endearment, used so rarely by her, made Solas flush with warmth and suffused him with courage and peace of mind. Yes, this was the right thing to do.

* * *

They swam across the river to the far bank where Celene's forces were encamped and, just as Solas had said, they found it crawling with undead. They took on invisibility and slipped into the ramparts. The dead sensed them and shifted about, agitated, searching. The demons, deeper into the ramparts, did as well. Rosa could feel the weight of more powerful demons—arcane horrors and maybe something else. They hissed and snarled amongst themselves, clearly frustrated as the three elves, invisible and under cover of darkness, slipped into the ruins.

The fiery beam Solas had said he activated was silent now, but Rosa could see something glowing golden high above. _Elgar'nan's fire,_ she thought and shivered. Had the humans turned it off or was the beam just recharging? Or did it only activate when there were enemies? Rosa didn't dare slow their progress to ask.

They held hands to stay together while invisible. Solas led the way, bringing them to a half-collapsed stairwell that they had to pick their way down. In the dark hallway, lit by only a few torches on one wall, Rosa saw a rubble pile of red bricks cluttering an entranceway. Solas led them into the dark room. His hand was sweaty and hot where it clasped hers. _He's nervous,_ she thought. Was it just the fear of being caught?

Inside a rectangular room of white stones, typical of the usual Elvhenan ruins Rosa had seen in the Dales and throughout much of Thedas since traveling, Solas stopped and became visible again. Rosa and Tal followed suit, letting go of one another's hands at the same time they released the invisibility spell. The room smelled old and musty, as if the air circulation here was terrible. Dust tickled Rosa's nose and she rubbed at it, trying to stop or bring forth a sneeze. She wasn't sure which.

Solas waved one hand and Rosa sensed the sound dampening spell spreading over them, muffling and cutting off the crackle of torches from the hallway and the distant clatter of the rare Orlesian daring to patrol the fort despite Elgar'nan's fire and the undead. A second later Solas cast a greenish orb over their heads, casting enough light that Rosa made out another figure standing in the room. She started, tensing before she could stop herself as the delayed realization hit her that it was a reflection of Solas, not another person. The glass mirror stood large and proud, dominating the room. The gold trim over its sides glinted in the green light of the Veilfire.

"An eluvian," she said, recognizing it from various ones she'd seen shattered and intact alike in other ruins in the Brecilian. She knew from _lenalin_ that they weren't mirrors really, but doorways. Portals. But she'd never seen one work. They always looked like nothing more than mirrors.

"Yes," Solas said. "Dormant. I activated it to travel here." He lifted one hand palm out to it, glowing with bluish magic. The mirror glimmered, responding. Its surface rippled like water and then turned an iridescent blue.

Tal whistled with appreciation. "Nice trick." He hopped a little, hiking his pack higher on his back. Rosa shot him a look, knowing _exactly _what was inside that pack and that Tal must be anxious about it. He must have noticed Rosa's stare as a second later he shot her a knowing look that then warped with surprise. "What happened to your face?" he blurted.

"What?" Rosa asked, frowning. She lifted one hand to her cheek and then memory dawned. "Oh—you mean my vallaslin." She shrugged and shot Solas a knowing look that, oddly, he didn't return and almost seemed to avoid her gaze, as though sheepish. "I'll explain later."

"All right," Tal said, chuckling. "But I'll hold you to that because you look so weird without it."

"Thanks," she grumbled with mock irritation.

"You're welcome," he replied, cheerily, then focused on Solas again. "So _this _is how you got here so fast."

"Indeed," Solas said, smiling as he looked over his shoulder at Tal. "Would you care to learn?"

Tal snorted. "Is the Divine Andrastian?"

Rosa chuckled. "I think the answer for both of us is _yes._" Her eyes skimmed over the mirror, admiring how beautiful it was…and how _valuable. _"These things…if we had more of them we could use…"

"Holy shit," Tal said, grasping her thoughts in the same instant. He grinned. "If Nola had one and if Skyhold had one…" His eyes widened. "Wait, there _is_ one at Skyhold already. There has to be. Otherwise you'd have never gotten here."

Solas smiled, clearly pleased Tal had worked it out. "Yes. There is one beneath Skyhold." He turned his back on the mirror, his blue-eyed gaze shifting between them. "Not all eluvians are as simple to activate as this one. Some are locked, much like doors, and require a key." His lips pinched together as his gaze settled on Rosa. "Many require blood to unlock."

Rosa frowned. "Well, I hope Fear and Deceit aren't locked behind a mirror like this that was sealed with Dirthamen's blood."

"No," Solas said, shaking his head. "They are not imprisoned, save to the blood binding Dirthamen placed on them." Sighing, he motioned to the mirror with one hand. "But that is not what I wished to discuss with you both." A muscle worked in his jaw, flickering. "I…am taking part in an extensive plan to retake a network of eluvians."

Rosa lifted her brows as surprise sparked through her. "What _extensive plan_ is this?" she asked, edging closer and lowering her voice slightly with the mounting tension coiling in her gut. Tal at her side was motionless, frozen as he stared at Solas, waiting and unreadable. Without any reaction or questions from her brother, Rosa asked another of her own: "Does this have to do with your plans to fight demons like the Formless One?"

Solas nodded, his expression somber. "Yes, but it is in addition to it." He held his hands in front of himself, just shy of fidgeting, and looked down to where he clasped together as he spoke again. "I have been unforgivably…vague. My apologies. I wish to rectify that now, in part at least." His lips twitched with a darkly humorous expression. "And I believe you may both understand why I was…reluctant to reveal this before now."

"We'll see," Tal said, crossing his arms over his chest in a clearly defensive posture.

Solas shot Tal a brief glance and then drew in a small breath. "What if I told you that I—and others like myself who survived the fall of our people—believe we could return magic to this world as it once was? And, further, that in doing so, it would save the People from annihilation?"

Rosa and Tal stared at him in silence for a few heartbeats. Then, giving in to temptation, Rosa looked to Tal, trying to read him—only to see him staring back at her, having apparently given into the same impulse. He smirked at her and chuckled, facing Solas again as he said, "I'd say sounds great! But what's the catch? There's always a catch."

Nodding in agreement, Rosa bit her lips to say nothing. Tal was right. It was better to let Solas keep talking and explain himself. She drew her truthsaying talent forward and again felt the twist of that other magic, hidden away until Imshael had apparently stirred it inside her. She swallowed, suddenly nervous at the reminder of her encounter with the demon. This night had not been full of pleasant experiences. What if Solas was only going to add to the trauma?

Solas' expression was tight with anxiety, but his eyes were oddly sad. "There are a great many unknowns and drawbacks," he revealed, his words halting and cautious. "And…I am not at liberty to speak of what I _do_ know, only that—"

"You're not at liberty to speak of it?" Tal interrupted, scowling. "Nugshit."

Rosa frowned, frustrated at Tal's interruption because it disrupted her concentration on her truthsaying talent. Had Solas been lying? She couldn't be certain now. Not that with her fickle talent's silence she could _ever _be certain, but Tal's question _was_ a very good one and it sparked a dangerous rage inside Rosa. She snarled as she said, "Solas, you told me you didn't serve _her._"

"You mean Mythal?" Tal asked and then snorted. "Of course he served her. He was her general."

"I don't mean in the past," Rosa snapped, slashing a hand at Tal, trying to silence him as she glared at Solas. "I mean now." Her hands curled into fists as she saw Solas evade her eye, his features troubled. "Mythal killed _lenalin._"

"She didn't," Tal insisted. "She was like his mother. He never spoke badly of her. I'm telling you, it wasn't—"

"I do not serve Mythal," Solas interjected. The words were somber, firm but quiet. Even so, the pronouncement gripped Rosa and Tal, making them both stare at him. "There is…another of your so-called Creators free."

Rosa waited, her heart pounding in her ribcage, as the silence dragged on. Ten seconds, a minute, more...and still Solas did not speak. After a time he lifted his head, staring at Rosa as though he expected she would strike him or spit in his face and he was ready to cringe back from it. The misery of his expression distracted Rosa, leaving her frowning in confusion. It was Tal who finally broke the silence.

"_Fenedhis,"_ Tal said, breathing out the curse on a wavering exhale. He grinned and then let out a fast, hard laugh before he stifled it as Rosa and Solas both stared at him—one with bemusement and the other with something akin to dread. "It's not Mythal," he said, gawking as he looked at Rosa.

The realization struck Rosa then like a blow. She inhaled sharply and her eyes darted back to Solas to see him staring gravely at her, waiting. "There's another," she said, her voice distant and tinny to her own ears. "Another Creator."

"The motherfucking Dread Wolf," Tal said and then laughed again, giggling anxiously. "Seriously?"

Now Solas' expression darkened with a different kind of stormy stillness. "This is why I did not reveal it," he muttered, his voice low. "The Dalish do not remember him kindly—or with any accuracy." His blue eyes were dark as they leapt between Rosa and Tal. Rosa could almost _feel_ him silently imploring them not to make him regret exposing the truth.

Tal's continued nervous twittering grated on Rosa's nerves. She shot her brother a glare and hissed at him to shush. "Enough, _da'isamalin._" Looking to Solas again, she narrowed her eyes, trying not to feel queasy as she absorbed this new revelation. Questions bounced about her skull, each fighting for precedence. At the same time she felt this news fitting into the world with perfect sense, like a dagger sliding home into its sheath. This was a missing piece of the puzzle, a new doorway that would lead her to the truth she had long yearned for and always been denied.

It was Solas who spoke before she could settle on a question or a reaction. His shoulders slumped and he took a step closer to her, extending one hand out to touch her. _"Vhenan,"_ he said, softly. She raised her head, eyes following him as he drew nearer. She didn't back away and felt some of her tension melt as he laid a hand on her cheek. "_Ir abelas,"_ he apologized. "I should have trusted you with this long ago, but I…could not predict how you would react."

"If you two are going to make out I'd like a little warning so I can leave," Tal complained, snorting.

Feeling a blush spread over her cheeks, Rosa cleared her throat and withdrew a step backward. Solas followed suit, tucking his hands behind his back as though he could not quite trust himself not to impulsively reach out and touch her again.

Tal went on, apparently intent on embarrassing them. "I mean, it was bad enough I had to sit and listen to you two banging in the ruins at the bath, but…"

"Okay," Rosa scolded him. "Enough, Tal. I think we have more important things to talk about just now."

"Yeah," Tal said, screwing up his face. "I think you're right about that." Clapping his hands, he smiled dryly at Solas. "So, you serve the great trickster himself?" His voice dropped into a quieter, conspiratorial tone. "What's he like?"

Solas frowned, shaking his head. "That is not important, currently." He huffed. "What _is_ important is that you both understand he is nothing like the so-called god remembered in Dalish legend."

"So, he _didn't_ lock away the Creators and then sit back cackling to himself for the next few thousand years?" Tal quipped, grinning.

Solas' glare was withering. "No."

"He _didn't_ lock away the Creators?" Rosa asked, dumbfounded. That couldn't be right.

Solas grimaced. "He did, but it was not done out of love of trickery, as the Dalish say." Irritation flashed through his eyes. "Have you paid no attention to what I have told you of your so-called Creators? The Evanuris, save Mythal, were vain, petty, and cruel. They enslaved the People and declared themselves gods. Their wars killed hundreds of thousands. They would have destroyed the world had they not been stopped."

The passion Rosa glimpsed in his voice and in his expression shouted that this was the truth, at least as Solas had known it. She still tried to summon up her truthsaying talent; smiling slightly in the hope he would continue explaining himself and his nefarious…or _possibly_ misunderstood master. His passion also made her suspect Solas was not some recent convert to the Dread Wolf's cause. He had served _before_ his long sleep and, upon waking, remained devoted to the cause.

"Okay," Tal said, shrugging and edging back a step, as if he worried Solas would strike him in frustration. "Excuse us if it's a little hard for us to forget everything we were taught and think about Fen'Harel as the good guy—but, let me play contrarian here for a second." He stopped and cleared his throat, as though about to make an important announcement. "Isn't it a bit of a coincidence that as soon as the Dread Wolf locked away the Creators everything went to shit? You're telling me it would have been worse if they were free, but that's kind of hard to swallow. I mean, the People lost _everything._ We did lose the whole world. We ruled the world in Elvhenan and after the great betrayal…_poof!"_ He motioned with his hands, miming an explosion. "Whole world, for elves, is gone."

Rosa swallowed down her nervousness and kept her eyes locked on Solas, her talent as active and receptive as she could make it. Tal had an _excellent_ point. Solas seemed to know it, too, as his features drooped with misery.

"It is no coincidence," he murmured, gaze dropping to the floor. "But I can assure you that had the Evanuris not been stopped things _would_ be worse. None of us would be here, now." He drew in a short breath and then looked up at Tal. "You recall what I told you about Blight?"

Tal blinked. "Uhhh…"

"You had asked if you could control Blight, much as Corypheus does as a Darkspawn. The answer is no, you cannot control the Blight because the kind that he wields is not the strain appropriated by Dirthamen. _That _strain you could conceivably gain control of as his descendant. But…" He clenched his jaw, anger flashing. "That magic must not be rediscovered. It was Blight that would have destroyed the world in the hands of the Evanuris as they fought the Forgotten Ones. It was that cataclysm Fen'Harel averted when he locked both away."

Rosa gazed at her brother, her chest tight. She remembered all _too_ well the dark future when Tal _had_ controlled something—their red lyrium infected companions. He'd not been able to control Leliana, who had actual Blight, however. Two strains, she thought and shivered.

"I believe you," Rosa murmured then, looking to her lover. Solas shifted, staring at her with emotion she couldn't quite read. Hope? Tenderness? Gratitude? Perhaps it was all of those things. It hardly mattered. This made _sense._ If Solas served the supposed dark god of the Dalish and claimed he was misrepresented and smeared in their legends and was actually a hero who'd saved the world…she _believed_ him.

"Thank you," he said, almost whispering. "And…I am sorry. I should not have kept this from you…"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I understand why you did. How many times have Tal and I or other Dalish cursed Fen'Harel?" She recalled his reaction during the Arlathvhen when he'd recoiled with horror when she suggested he reveal himself as Elvhen in front of the Keepers. Now she understood why he'd resisted. He'd feared their reprisal if they learned his association with Fen'Harel.

"Maybe I'm just a cynic," Tal said then, "but I'm still skeptical. If the Dread Wolf is actually some kind of tragic hero who saved the world…why in the Void hasn't he come forward to the People trying to save us before now?" Tal's expression thickened with anger. "I mean, _how_ long have we been out here enslaved, beaten down, and suffering? Where was he when Tevinter destroyed Arlathan? Where was he when the Exalted March conquered the Dales?"

"Sleeping within uthenera," Solas answered curtly. "As were his agents, myself included." He averted his eyes again, lips twisting with bitterness. "Locking away the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones nearly killed him. He has not yet recovered."

"Then how does he give you orders?" Tal challenged.

Solas glared back at him. "In the dreaming. But it is rare. I have not received instruction in some months."

"And what instructions were those?" Tal asked, cocking his head. "Join the Inquisition? Or was it 'G_ive that nasty orb to the Elder One'_? You know, so I can blow up the Conclave and just fuck with everyone in Thedas, just because? Love of trickery and all that."

Solas had gone red faced. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

"Tal," Rosa said, her tone one of reprimand even though her heart pounded inside her at this awful new connection. She'd had questions and suspicions about Solas' loss of the orb and now…she felt nauseous realizing she couldn't be sure Solas _hadn't_ done everything purposefully. But _why_ would Fen'Harel want to kill thousands of people with an explosion that pierced the Veil? And even if he cared little for physical beings on this side of the Veil—legends said he was fonder of spirits, after all, something Solas seemed to share with his master—the breach had harmed countless spirits, too. How many had been pulled through it and all of the resulting rifts scattered over Thedas?

"Why would Fen'Harel want to blow up the Conclave?" Rosa blurted, scowling. "It doesn't make any sense, Tal." She looked to Solas, trying to read him, her stomach cinching tight inside her.

"I was to reclaim the orb," Solas bit out, glaring at Tal. "After it fell out of my control. It is required in future plans."

"And that's why you're really here," Tal muttered. "Always has been." He looked to Rosa, his eyes both sad and angry. "Is he lying?"

She hadn't felt a lie and shook her head. "No." Solas stare was somber and sad as he looked at her. "It doesn't make sense. The Dread Wolf wouldn't destroy the Conclave, Tal."

Tal blew out a breath. "Okay." His shoulders slumped, losing some of their tension. A smile leapt to his lips. "So, you work for the Dread Wolf and he's not the bad guy we were taught." He nodded. "When do we get to meet him?"

Solas was silent a heartbeat and then said, "It is not so simple as that. I cannot tell you more of his plans and I cannot make introductions."

"Why not?" Tal retorted, snorting. Gesturing to himself and then to Rosa he said, "You're trying to recruit us now, aren't you?"

Solas recoiled, as if Tal's comment had been a slap to the face. He withdrew back a step as he said, "No. I am merely seeking your help…and you deserve as much of the truth as I can spare." Turning slightly, he laid a hand to the watery surface of the eluvian behind him. "I hope to retake the network when we attend the Empress's ball in the Winter Palace." He fell silent a moment and then, glancing back at them, smiled wanly. "I have told you all that I can _without_, as you put it, _recruiting _you both." His jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. "Serving Fen'Harel is not something one does lightly."

"But the old wolf _is_ recruiting, isn't he?" Tal asked, smirking.

Rosa stayed silent, her heart still pounding with a quiet horror she couldn't explain. Her mind spun as she tried to make sense of everything Solas had said. The idea that he and his master might have _deliberately caused_ the Conclave explosion remained a terrifying possibility she just couldn't dismiss entirely. She hadn't felt a lie, but her talent was notoriously unreliable.

Tal's question seemed to make Solas uncomfortable. He fidgeted with his hands and then brushed at his breeches, scattering imaginary lint bunnies. Finally he said, "I suppose so, yes."

"Are we not good enough for him?" Tal asked, chuckling. The question seemed too jovial to Rosa. She shot her brother a sidelong look, trying to puzzle out how he really felt about all this.

Solas frowned and shifted his attention to Rosa, as if he'd lost all patience with Tal. "I am not asking either of you to join the cause, merely to aid me in achieving it. Should you wish to understand more, I am happy to help. I have not _recruited_ anyone in thousands of years and that is not my goal now. My apologies."

"He's recruiting us," Tal quipped to Rosa. "But he's _pretending_ he's not. Great strategy, _hahren."_

Solas huffed with irritation, red faced all the way to his ears. When he didn't say anything readily, Rosa asked, "Let me just get one thing straight. The Dread Wolf wants to save the People? He wants to restore magic?"

Now Solas' expression eased. "Yes, and the eluvians are required for that."

"Does the Dread Wolf care if we borrow them a little? Just from time to time?" Rosa grinned, trying to dispel some of her own tension and Solas'.

It worked as he smiled slightly. "I suspect not. He…he allied with Mythal, long ago. Perhaps now he may ally with you and the Inquisition."

"And you'll be the ambassador," Tal said, chuckling dryly. "Right?" Then he narrowed his eyes. "Until you leave again."

Rosa shot Tal a glare. "Tal, please."

"What?" He spread his hands, exasperated. "I'm sorry, it just slipped out."

"I have told you I will not leave as long as you will have me at your side," Solas told her, ignoring Tal. "That has not changed." He glanced to Tal with annoyance, revealing that her brother's needling definitely _was_ getting under his skin. "I take my responsibilities and my promises seriously. There is no reason I cannot serve you and remain loyal to Fen'Harel when your goals and his are not dissimilar. You wish to see mages freed from their chains in the Circles and the foolish stigma against magic lifted. He is the same. You wish to save the elven people. He does as well."

Rosa nodded. "If those are his goals, then I'd be happy to ally with him."

Solas' smile was tight, but his eyes were satisfied. "That is a great relief, then. I had feared I would be chained for revealing this."

"She can chain you in the bedroom later," Tal said, arms crossing over his chest. "I'm sure."

"Tal," Rosa growled, glaring at him. "Would you—"

He cut her off, staring hard at Solas. "I'm not ready to sign on with the old wolf, yet." He shrugged. "Maybe later." He lifted both brows. "That okay with you, _hahren?"_

"Of course," Solas said, clipped and curt. "However, clearly I must ask that you not reveal this." His eyes darted back to Rosa. "Both of you."

Tal snorted. "No one would believe me if I did tell them—but I won't."

Rosa nodded once. "Your secret is safe with us."

Solas let out a breath in obvious relief and the smile that curved his lips was softer and genuine now. "Thank you." To Tal he said, "If you would prefer, I can never discuss this again. I have no desire to make you uncomfortable, _falon."_

Tal shrugged, flippant. "I just need some time to think on it. How about _I_ come to _you_ next time?"

Solas dipped his chin in acknowledgement. "Agreed." Motioning at the mirror behind him then, he said, "I must return now, before my absence is noted. Can you both reach the Inquisition camp unaided?"

Rosa glanced at Tal and managed a smile. "I think we can. We have the invisibility spell, after all."

"Good. Then I will close the mirror from the other side so the humans may not follow." He hesitated, his gaze on Rosa was tender. "Please. Be careful, _vhenan._"

She nodded, smiling. "I'll see you back at Skyhold."

They stayed together as Solas stepped through the eluvian, vanishing into the watery surface with a thrum. The sound-dampening spell died as he disappeared and the green Veilfire orb winked out as well, plunging the room into darkness. Rosa felt Tal's hand grasp hers, squeezing. It was sticky with sweat.

"_He's a slave too,"_ Tal whispered in the dark, using elven. _"Just like father."_

She swallowed, trying to get rid of the hot lump swelling there. _"You don't know that."_

"_I don't?"_ Tal rejoined, sounding irritable. He tugged on her hand and she moved with him toward the half-bricked up doorway. Tal took on invisibility and she shivered as the magic radiated out to her, caressing her skin. She summoned the spell, too, slipping out into the dim hall beyond. They didn't speak again until they had left the fort, which was still silent as the grave, and passed through the corpse-infested ramparts.

At the banks of the river, Tal let go of invisibility first and Rosa followed suit. They stood side by side, staring at the water rippling at their toes. Crickets chirped and a soft breeze rustled the trees. The water sang in its gentle, gurgling tinkle as it drifted by.

And then Tal whispered, "I told you it wasn't Mythal who killed _babae."_

Rosa closed her eyes, feeling sick. "You don't know that, either."

"Nugshit, I don't," he growled. "How many tales did _babae_ spin about the Dread Wolf? And all of them made the old wolf out to be this clever bastard, not a petty villain like the legends from the elders in our clans. _Babae's_ Dread Wolf wasn't the same one from our clans. He was a trickster, sure, but the kind you're supposed to like—like Sera or Varric, or _me._"

"Solas' version is more of a hero," Rosa countered, staring at her brother and seeing the gravity in his features, knowing it was a reflection of her own, too. "There's a difference. We don't know if _lenalin_ served Fen'Harel. You can't assume. It could have been Mythal and he just knew Fen'Harel, personally, like an uncle." She scoffed, screwing up her face. "For all we know, Fen'Harel actually _is_ our great uncle, just like _fucking_ Imshael."

Now Tal's mouth fell open, gawking. "What? That _demon_ is our uncle?"

"Our great uncle," Rosa clarified with a snarl. "Son of Mythal and Elgar'nan, apparently. He used a blood spell to put a compulsion on me, to control me using the vallaslin."

Understanding made Tal's mouth form an O shape. "That's why you removed the Solas do it?"

She nodded somberly. "Yes, he did and that's exactly why." She nudged him with her elbow. "You should do the same, just to be safe."

"But _babae_ had vallaslin, this same tattoo for Mythal. That's why I chose it." His head drooped as he stared down at the water and wriggled his toes. "It…reminds me of him."

"I know," she murmured sadly. "But it's to keep you safe. Maybe you can have it done later. I'll have to ask Solas what makes the markings hold a compulsion. It could be the sacred ink the Keepers use or it could be the symbols or part of the symbol. There might be a way to have the markings without being vulnerable to the blood spell."

Tal nodded halfheartedly. "I'll have to make up some nugshit reason to explain my bare face to Nola, I guess." He smirked at her suddenly. "And _you_ are going to have to answer _everyone's_ questions starting tonight. Varric is going to badger you unless you explain it. Blackwall and Cassandra are probably going to mention it, too."

Rosa sighed. "I'll come up with something for them. It's not important." She squared her shoulders and took two steps forward into the water, then turned back to Tal and extended her hand. "Are you coming? They're going to be worried."

"Why would they be worried?" Tal quipped, grinning. "We were just out for a long Dalish hunting trip and we turned up shit-all as far as prey. Just demons and an agent of the Dread Wolf." He started walking into the water, splashing her deliberately.

Rosa cringed back from the water and then laughed, lunging for him and unleashing a splash of her own. Tal spit and spluttered and then said, "Race you?"

"You're on."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra called, her voice laced with alarm. "What are you doing? What is going on?"

The sound of the Seeker's voice made Rosa hesitate. She stared at her child, her heart aching, and felt again the prickling of her skin. That…wasn't right. Was it? But Da'assan's frightened blue eyes stared at her, compelling her to reach out for him. Tal extended the child and she took him. His warm little arms wound around her neck and he nestled close to her, nuzzling her.

"Inky?" Sera called, chuckling in a tight, nervous way. "Not gonna lie, freaked out right now."

"Why?" Tal asked, sounding irritated. "It's Da'assan."


	47. The Chateau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen used: Ba'isamalin--uncle
> 
> In the Emerald Graves, Rosa investigates a haunted chateau to appease Tal's ongoing interest in necromancy. But when they encounter a most unusual and rare demon it opens old wounds.

"So…what's up with your face?" Sera asked, wrinkling her nose and curling one lip as she stared at Rosa.

They were bathing in the clear, cool waterfall of a small river that carved its way through the depths of the Emerald Graves. Rosa had deliberately avoided returning to Skyhold, hoping to evade her inevitable culture lessons as long as possible. After cleaning up the Exalted Plains as much as they could for the present, Rosa had happily accepted new tasks further south in the Emerald Graves—where the Freemen of the Dales were apparently most active and tied to the Red Templars and red lyrium.

So, here she was, bathing with Sera, who arrived at camp just the previous night with their usual weekly wagon of provisions and soldiers. Sera was here to replace Varric, who left a week earlier for Kirkwall to settle some business with his publisher. Blackwall left with Varric, too, saying he wanted to help recruit in Ferelden for a few weeks with some visiting Wardens. A raven from Leliana promised Iron Bull would arrive soon to replace the Warden.

There'd be other departures and arrivals, too. Leliana had said Vivienne wanted to join her, and Dorian was feeling cooped up in Skyhold. Solas and Cole had already left the fortress and Rosa knew from touching Solas' dreams the previous night that they were crossing the Dales, currently, so they'd be arriving in just a few days. Solas was her requested replacement for Tal, who planned to leave as soon as the other mage arrived to replace him. Cole was backup for Cassandra, who would be leaving with Tal for Skyhold. Of course Tal wouldn't be staying at Skyhold. He would be setting off north, crossing the Waking Sea to rejoin his clan in the Free Marches for a few weeks.

He was going to bond with Nola before the leaves began to change. He chatted to anyone who would listen about how excited he was for it, but he promised to return before the snows closed the mountain passes to Skyhold. He wanted to attend the Empress' ball at the Winter Palace.

But that wasn't the _whole_ reason for his departure. He meant to go forward with his plan to summon their father's soul and uncover who or what had killed him. Despite Rosa's protests and misgivings, he refused to be swayed.

Pushing aside her concerns for her brother's plot, Rosa heaved a sigh at the elven archer. "I felt that it would be better for me to remove the vallaslin for the upcoming ball. It will be easier for the humans to take me seriously if they don't see me as a savage." That was the story she'd fed everyone so far and everyone seemed to cautiously approve. For Cassandra and Blackwall she had to add a lie as to _how_ she had them removed, but Sera likely wouldn't care for that kind of detail.

Sera smirked. "You gonna snip your ears too?" She giggled as Rosa frowned. From anyone else she knew that comment would have been a reprimand, but from Sera it was something akin to _encouragement,_ maybe even a _suggestion._ Sometimes the archer was…infuriating with how much she denied her own heritage.

"What?" Sera asked at Rosa's displeasure. "I like it. Makes you look fine. Still bonier than a plucked chicken, but better, yeah?"

Rosa sighed and decided to ignore Sera as she sucked in a breath and stepped into the cascade of the Silver Falls. The water was just cool enough to make her shiver, but just warm enough to be pleasant. She massaged her scalp, letting her brown hair free, flowing down her shoulders with the stream.

Sera joined her, spluttering and spitting in the spray of the falls. She pulled back and shook her short bob of blond hair, grinning. "Nice, right?" she asked and then wrinkled her nose, as though thinking better of it. "'Cept fish piss in it. Yuck."

"That just makes it taste better," Rosa replied, laughing as she splashed at Sera.

"Ew," Sera groaned, scrambling backward nimbly over the rocky river bottom, as though the water Rosa splashed at her was dirtier than any other part of the falls.

"Enough," Cassandra scolded them from shore, sounding impatient. "You are supposed to be bathing, not playing like children."

"You don't get to tell Inky what to do," Sera protested and then elbowed Rosa. "Right, yeah? Tell her."

"Honestly," Rosa said, stepping out of the spray. "She's right. The forest is outright infested with those damnable Freemen and I'd rather not have them stumble across us bathing." They'd been bathing in shifts at the falls while they camped nearby, but now with their party down to only four with three of them being women they'd run across some difficulty. Tal had no one to cover for him, except Rosa who didn't mind standing watch with her back turned. But Tal liked to take his baths at night, so Rosa would play lookout for him later that night.

"Ugh," Sera whined as she moved to grab at the towels they brought with them and left at the rocky shore. "What's the point of being the big boss if you can't do what you want? You're boring, Inky."

"I'd rather be boring than dead," Rosa told her as she hurriedly dried off and began donning her armor again. "And that's what we'd be if the Freemen ambushed us naked and vulnerable."

Sera scoffed, hopping awkwardly as she tried to tug on her breeches. "What you whinging bout? You're a bloody mage weirdie, you're _always_ armed."

"Yeah," Rosa said, shrugging. "But not always armored." She knocked on her breastplate for emphasis.

"Whatever," Sera said. "Like you need it."

"I need it," Rosa said, her tone growing irritable enough that she hoped she'd stop more of the increasingly annoying chatter from Sera.

"Cassandra told me you and Treeface somehow flattened a whole frigging army of undead while she and Beardie and Varric were out cold. Thought they were goners, then woke up and wham!" She clapped her hands together, making Rosa wince at the sound. "You and Treeface had it all covered. Like some miracle." She leaned closer to Rosa, narrowing her brown eyes. "How'd you do that shite?"

Rosa smirked and lifted her left hand, wriggling the fingers. "Touched by Andraste, remember?"

"You don't believe in her," Sera said, frowning. This had been a contention between them as Sera, an Andrastian although not exactly devout, challenged Rosa's lack of belief in the faith. Like most of the Inquisition, she seemed to expect Rosa to embrace her supposed-divinity. It was ironic, Rosa thought. If she _had_ embraced the humans' religion chances were high everyone close to her would quietly hate her for it. Certainly Solas would. The others would see it as arrogance or possibly blasphemy. Denying it only seemed to further everyone's certainty that she _was_ holy.

"You're right," Rosa said, shrugging. "I don't. But you wouldn't like the truth."

"Yeah?" Sera challenged.

Rosa leaned closer to the archer and hissed one word: "Magic."

Sera snorted. "Buggering magic weirdies."

* * *

That evening Tal returned with the Inquisition scouts and reported meeting a group of Dalish hunters and warriors accompanying a First. They were seeking out a tomb deep within the Emerald Graves to uncover lost history and relics. Tal had promised he would try and secure the Inquisition's support by asking Rosa to aid them in their dig. Rosa agreed and as she made the trip down to the falls again to stand watch for Tal as he had his nightly bath, she was already plotting out the letter she'd write and send by raven to Leliana and Cullen seeking troops to aid the clan. The fact they were willing to speak to Tal and the Inquisition was a good sign after the fiasco of the Arlathvhen. Rosa wasn't about to squander it.

But Tal had other things on his mind as he splashed about in the falls, washing. After spluttering out some water, he called to her, "There's a chateau on the ridge above the falls that the scouts say is haunted."

"Haunted?" she asked, cocking her head to hear him better.

"Yep," he answered, splashing again. "And I can feel another arcane horror." The excitement lacing his voice made Rosa's stomach cinch. Tal seemed to have an addiction to anything undead now. Weeks ago they'd had to clear out more of the ramparts for both Celene and Gaspard's troops and Tal had made short work of everything they encountered. They'd arranged usually for Rosa and Tal to do the fighting while Varric and their warriors forged ahead on their own to burn the body pits. Tal, being a necromancer, drew the undead and the arcane horrors away from the pits to clear the way. Then, out of sight of the humans, he destroyed them by sending the demons possessing the bodies back to the Fade with but a thought and some help from the Crown. The sight of it still made Rosa's flesh crawl even as she shivered with awe.

"Do you really need more practice with them?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, a touch snappish. "Every time I get better at it. I never want to have to fight for our lives while everyone's waiting for me to figure this shit out."

It was true that Tal saved them during that first fight on the ramparts and his contribution made clearing out the rest of the Exalted Plains far easier. Every time he fought undead he got better and faster, sending more and more at a time through the Veil at will. All of Leliana's reports on the Freemen suggested they were hurting a lot after Rosa's forces swept in and ruined their plans to sow chaos in the Dales. Celene and Gaspard were now in a ceasefire as peace talks loomed in just a few weeks as the weather started to turn chillier. And _both_ of them owed it all almost exclusively to the Inquisition.

Swallowing a sigh, Rosa decided to cave to his unspoken request. "All right. We can arrange an expedition to the chateau, but I don't know how we can make it work this time. Cassandra and Sera are sure to realize something's up."

She could hear the shrug in Tal's words as he answered, "We'll figure something out. Maybe I will wander off while you're not looking and do my spooky necromancer shit before the three of you know I'm even gone."

"Or maybe you will wind up killed with that kind of awful planning," Rosa grumbled as she huffed.

"Don't get mad, _asamalin,"_ he said and resumed his splashing. "I know what this is really about. You don't want me to leave…for the Free Marches." The way he added the last part of that sentence was his not-so-sly way of referencing his ulterior motives for traveling away from the Inquisition. He had stayed true to his promise weeks ago, when she had almost died giving Imshael blood to ensure Tal's safety, and didn't keep anything from her—at least not that Rosa could tell. Sometimes he was a little vague on details and Rosa resisted the desire to use that strange new talent from Dirthamen that Imshael unlocked within her. Better that they should continue on trusting one another, leaving truthsaying and…secret-divination out of it.

Rosa snorted now, turning her head slightly to speak over her shoulder at him. "You think I resent you leaving to bond with your Keeper? Of course not!"

"You know what I mean," Tal said, still splashing. Water sloshed as he walked and she heard the slight scrape of his armor moving on the rocks. He must be finishing up and beginning to dress. He used elven as he spoke again. _"I have to do this. I need to know what happened to father."_

"_Are you still speaking with Raselan?"_ Rosa asked, frowning to herself as she stared down into her lap, hands clenching and unclenching.

"No!" he answered in common, real anger darkening and deepening his voice. "If I ever see that shapeless fucker again I am going to kill him…"

"It," Rosa corrected unthinkingly.

"Whatever," Tal said. "But Imshael is male. We know that."

"Maybe," Rosa said, shrugging to herself. "Maybe not. He's not a physical being anymore."

"_He's still our distant uncle,"_ Tal said, using elven. More scraping sounds came from the stones as he continued dressing. _"And I am still going to gut him if I see him on this side of the Veil again." _

"_Solas is looking for him,"_ Rosa said. _"He has more experience with all of these demons. We should let him take the lead on any gutting we do." _

"_Fuck Solas,"_ Tal said and then laughed. "Oh, wait, you already are."

Rosa groaned and finally lost her patience. Standing up, she pivoted round and saw her brother standing on the rocks, smirking at her with a shit-eating grin. He had donned his smallclothes and some of his armor, but his chest remained bare and his shaggy black hair was dripping. Rosa summoned mana and casually jerked her fist down in a very weak Veilstrike. Tal let out a cry of surprise and then crashed down to the stone with a grunt. His footing gave way and his lower half slid off into the river with a splash.

The green light of Rosa's spell faded almost as fast as it had come and a second later Tal shot to his feet, laughing even as he sneered down at his soggy armor. "Fuck, _asamalin._ That was a real shit thing to do." He slapped at his legs and the material made a wet sopping sound. "Yuck. You know, I have to keep this armor clean! I'm going to be bonded in this Keeper armor."

"_How do you expect to keep that armor clean while you're marching through the temple of Dirthamen?"_ Rosa asked in elven. Then, switching to common, she added, "Give it up, Tal."

"Not a chance," he said, spitting and shaking his head, flinging river water about. "You can dunk me until the halla come home and the owls return to roost. Not going to change my mind." He lifted his head and his eyes glinted in the moonlight peaking through the canopy. "Someday you'll thank me."

"Unlikely," she rejoined.

"Hey, _asamalin,"_ Tal said then, grinning.

Rosa regarded him, stiffening. She knew that expression and she could sense the mana he drew on. "Don't you dare…"

But Tal was already casting, motioning with one hand to freeze the ground around her. Rosa tossed a barrier over herself and used a dispel on instinct, but Tal was too smart to cast directly on her. A second later she yelped as her toes met with the bitingly cold ice and then slid out from under her. "Ow!" she shouted as she fell on her ass.

Tal crowed, slapping his wet thighs. "Creators, that was perfect. That's what you get!"

Most days Rosa thanked heaven—whatever and whoever dwelled there and watched over creation—that her fate included a little brother that she'd had the good fortune of knowing. Other days…

No. There were no other days.

She laughed with him.

* * *

Chateau d'Onterre had once been a pretty place, ornate and gilded in the gaudy way of Orlais that Tal was beginning to realize was a national pastime for these humans. Now it was…creepy. The vestibule was a grand hall, dark and unlit and scattered with papers, books, and other detritus. Rosa and the others walked cautiously through the clutter, feet clattering too loud on the floor. Well, it was Cassandra and Sera who were loud. Tal and Rosa walked with the faint patter of bare feet on stone.

Fine pictures, portraits and landscapes, lined the walls with frames of gold. Rosa casually cast Veilfire, lighting their path as they forded deeper into the chateau. The hall beyond the initial doorway was darker than it should have been considering the large windows running along one wall. Tal paused beside one, staring out into the courtyard with narrowed eyes.

It was sunny outside. Insects buzzed through overgrown grasses. Flowers dipped in a small breeze from where they'd spilled out of upturned flower pots and escaped from planted beds. A rectangular pool with statues and probably fountains at one time stood in the center of the gardens. Tal frowned, his senses heavy with the arcane horror's presence. It was outside somewhere. Dormant. Yet, its presence clearly lingered here.

A gasp made Tal jerk his head away from the window, tensing. He blinked as he saw a candelabra had burst into light. Sera stood by it, eyes wide and lips parted. Cassandra merely glared at it and Rosa barely glanced over her shoulder. "That did _not_ just light up like that," Sera said, fear tingeing her voice.

"It did, actually," Rosa said with a sniff. "This place reeks of death."

"Just what we need," Cassandra said with a huff. "More undead."

"I don't mind," Tal chimed in, unable to restrain himself. He rather enjoyed the others' obvious discomfort at the reminder of his path as a necromancer. His reward this time was a sneer from Sera and Cassandra while Rosa _might_ have rolled her eyes.

"Come on," Rosa said, motioning for everyone to follow. "Let's find out what happened here." She led the others left, into a large room where Sera gasped again as more candles spontaneously lit up—along with a fireplace.

"That _did not_ just happen," Sera repeated again, clearly spooked. Her voice echoed from the walls.

Tal turned the opposite way from his sister and the others, heading right as quickly as he could without actually making much noise to alert his companions. There was a door leading off the vestibule to the right but it was locked when Tal tried it. He muttered a curse under his breath and then dropped to his knees as he dug into his pocket for a lock pick. Being raised as a rogue had its advantages.

From the far room Tal heard Rosa say, "Looters."

"They did a piss poor job," Sera quipped. Then: "Oh! Gold."

"We are not here to rob the dead," Cassandra chastened.

"What?" Sera shot back. "Not like anyone here has any use for it. Bunch of dead codgers and rich arse biscuits."

The lock clacked as it gave way for Tal. The door groaned as it swung open. He passed through it quickly, holding his breath and summoning mana for the invisibility spell. It tingled over his skin as it took hold.

On the other side was a ballroom, elevated off the floor and open above to a second story where an enormous—but fake and miniature—high dragon hung on thick wires. Tal resisted the desire to whistle at the impressive mount as he noted several corpses shambling about. The nearest one hissed, sensing him but unable to see him.

Halfway shrugging off his pack, Tal tugged the knot securing it shut. It loosened, letting him fish inside it in a one-armed shuffle. He kept the Crown much higher in his pack now, less hidden than before now that his secret was out. Rosa wouldn't take it from him and he knew their human companions and Sera were unlikely to see any value in it. Plus, Tal knew from Rosa that the Crown exuded an unpleasant aura. That'd be enough to keep Sera and Cassandra or any scouts and soldiers from trying to take it.

But then, over the shuffle from the corpses and the hissing from the one nearest to him, Tal heard a small whimpering sound. The ballroom was dark, much like the vestibule was, but Tal's eyes still made out the shape in the doorway on the far side of the room. He stared, confused, as he tried to understand what he was seeing. It was small, short, and frightened.

It was…a child?

The corpse closest to him let out a gurgling growl and Tal switched his focus to it, concentrating and pulling mana from his core to fuel the necromancy spell he used to banish the dead. It wasn't something that could be taught, just…_felt._ When he tried to share it with Dorian he earned only baffled stares and so eventually he gave up. Dorian wanted to know more, however, and frequently pestered him for additional details. But Tal dodged because he realized it was part of his blood, not a real _spell._ It just _was._ Like his fists or his feet. He just needed enough mana and concentration to use it as the weapon it was. The Crown helped, too, enhancing the gift. Someday he meant to ask Rosa if her talent was like that and needed mana, but that'd have to wait until he was finished putting down these demon-infested corpses.

The corpse collapsed with a slap of flesh on the hard stone. Another corpse pivoted, gurgling, to stare at its fallen brethren. They likely sensed the warping of the Veil as their kin passed through, returning to the Fade. They knew they weren't alone but lacked the ability to find the threat except for its proximity to their fallen comrade.

The corpse shambled forward. It held a sword, rusty and dull. Tal aimed his thoughts at it next and a moment later it fell, too. He expanded his efforts, picking out the last two corpses in the room with his eyes and moving a few steps closer as he let the mana flow, pushing both demons from their respective corpses. They fell limp to the floor, one on the ballroom dais and the other along the far wall. He could have knocked them all through the Veil at once, but that took more energy. Better to take his time when he wasn't in a life or death situation.

With all of the dead _really_ dead now, Tal let invisibility drop and walked slowly toward the far doorway where he'd heard and seen the child. "Hey," he called in a soft whisper. "Hey, kid…?"

The doorway led to an ornate hall that connected with storage and brewery rooms. Torches, sconces, braziers, fireplaces, and candelabras all lit as Tal drew close. Except for wincing against the sudden light Tal didn't let it spook him. He heard the distant shuffle of undead, as well as their wheezing. The demons and the corpses didn't need to breathe, but they still creepily pantomimed it.

What was a child doing here? How was it still alive? He tried to puzzle these things out as he searched tentatively through the hall, checking into the brewery first and then moving to a storage room—a kitchen where maids and cooks would have prepared food. But he realized none of those questions was important. The child…he had to find it.

Him.

_Da'assan._ He knew who the child was! He'd recognized the little boy, crouched in the doorway. Yes. He recalled the silhouette of pointed ears, the messy brown curls the same color as Rosa's.

How had she let the boy wander so far from camp?

No, it wasn't her fault. It was Tal's fault. Da'assan had no father, really, and Rosa had so many other responsibilities. Solas was to blame. Da'assan was Rosa's bastard and Solas had never believed the child was his, even though they all knew he was. Solas had no interest in raising the boy. Tal had to fill that role along with being an uncle and right now he was doing a terrible job of it. Just like he would inevitably do a terrible job someday with his own children when he bonded with Nola.

"Shit," he cursed as he returned to the hall and found a locked door. He heaved a longsuffering sigh. "I'm a real fuckwit right now."

A piece of furniture that'd been covered over with a white sheet shifted then and Tal stiffened with alarm. He whipped around, fire leaping into his palms. He was about to light the entire shroud when he saw tiny, pale hands appear from under sheet. Then a little head poked out, curly haired and wide-eyed with fear.

"_Fenedhis," _he cursed as recognition dawned again. He let the fire in his fists go out and stooped to help the boy out. "What are you doing here? This is dangerous!"

The boy whimpered, staring up at Tal with bright blue eyes. _"Mamae,"_ he cried. "Take me, _ba'isamalin?"_

"Yeah," Tal agreed grabbing up the little boy. "Let's go find your _mamae."_

* * *

Rosa took her time leading Cassandra and Sera through a gallery and, when they found nothing of interest downstairs right away, up the enormous stairway to a library. They killed a few corpses in the library and then, in unison, decided to explore the doorways leading off the gallery first. They headed downstairs again to investigate the courtyard.

Sera was content to pilfer everything within sight, even as the place made her shudder and mutter complaints to herself, but Cassandra seemed increasingly anxious about the chateau with each passing moment. She had her sword and shield out, ready and anticipating an ambush. She'd also noticed quite quickly that Tal was missing and, by the time they went downstairs Rosa could no longer claim Tal was just "lagging behind, probably."

"Where is Tal?" the Seeker asked again while Sera picked the lock to the courtyard.

Rosa made a show of looking back, checking around the gallery. Then she screwed up her nose and cursed. "My damn brother has wandered off, apparently."

"Perhaps we should go look for him?" Cassandra suggested. She fidgeted, rolling her shoulders and rocking her sword from side to side, knocking it on her shield lightly. Unlike Sera, who openly cursed and gasped whenever lights and fireplaces lit up at their presence, Cassandra was relatively unfazed by such paranormal displays. Perhaps it was her background as a semi-Templar. But apparently she was now not so sure of things when one of their companions had gone missing, too.

"Tal can take care of himself…most of the time," Rosa hazarded and then sighed. That didn't feel right. And, judging by Cassandra's scowl, the Seeker agreed. Rosa's shoulders slumped. _Okay, _da'isamalin,_ you better have finished your undead playtime._ "All right. Sera, forget that lock. Let's go back to the vestibule and find out where Tal wandered off to."

The door to the courtyard clacked as Sera finished picking it. The door creaked as it swung open, revealing a sunshiny garden beyond with what should have been a picturesque fountain. "Wish we could go out there," she complained as she got up and grabbed her bow from over her shoulder. "Treeface better be careful or he'll get an arrow in the face."

"Let's try not to pelt my brother with arrows, Sera," Rosa said, frowning at that very real possibility. She missed Varric. The dwarf had better nerves for this sort of thing and a less itchy trigger finger. "In fact, let's shout as we go, okay? I don't want to spook him and I don't want him to spook us."

Cassandra nodded and turned to lead the way. Rosa cleared her throat and shouted, "Tal! Tal! Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you need to come back to the group."

"Tal," Cassandra yelled. "Call out to us. Now."

"Yeah," Sera yelled, giggling nervously. "Come out now or I stick you with an arrow."

They made their way as one unit back through the gallery and into the halls of the vestibule. Cassandra's sharp eyes spotted the door open opposite them. She growled. "It would appear Tal can pick doors as well as Sera."

"What you on about?" Sera snapped and pointed to the open door down the hall. "I frigging tried that door and couldn't get it. No way Treeface did."

Out of sight of the rogue and the Seeker, Rosa rolled her eyes. Tal was a talented lock-picker and she had little doubt he could manage it. Sera had barely tried to open that door before declaring it locked from the far side. Rosa was content to let it pass, knowing Tal would likely use it to slip away.

"Let's just have a look, shall we?" she asked and jogged ahead. The others moved behind her, still quibbling. They had just come within a meter of it when the door groaned, opening wider. A shadow passed through it and Rosa skidded to a stop, her skin prickling painfully with discomfort. She sucked in a breath and drew mana for fire and Fade stone—only to freeze as the shadow dissipated. She recognized Tal and relaxed.

"Tal," she said, breathing out with relief—but the prickling sensation in her skin did not completely ease. A band tightened at her temples and her thoughts slowed, churning as she realized her brother held a small boy in his arms. The boy was hard to make out, as though Rosa's eyes were bleary from recent sleep. She blinked, trying to get a clear view. It was so _damned _dark in the vestibule hall. "What's going on?"

"What's up with the kiddo?" Sera asked from further back, echoing Rosa's same question.

Tal's brow furrowed, as though their confusion baffled him. "What?"

"_Mamae,"_ the boy called and Rosa suddenly saw him clearly. He had her brown hair, curly and shaggy like Tal's. His face was round and chubby with baby fat. His eyes were Solas' blue, but he also carried so many features from her father, her mother, and herself. She knew him! Of _course_ she knew him. She'd given birth to him, after all. She remembered the fear and pain as Mahanon and his mother, clan Lavellan's healer, held her hands through the labor.

Her chest tightened with sudden fear. How could he have gotten here? It was so dangerous!

She held her staff in one hand, armed and ready for combat. It was in the way now. She tossed it down and hurried to take Da'assan from Tal.

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra called, her voice laced with alarm. "What are you doing? What is going on?"

The sound of the Seeker's voice made Rosa hesitate. She stared at her child, her heart aching, and felt again the prickling of her skin. That…wasn't right. Was it? But Da'assan's frightened blue eyes stared at her, compelling her to reach out for him. Tal extended the child and she took him. His warm little arms wound around her neck and he nestled close to her, nuzzling her.

"Inky?" Sera called, chuckling in a tight, nervous way. "Not gonna lie, freaked out right now."

"Why?" Tal asked, sounding irritated. "It's Da'assan."

"Who?" Cassandra asked. She still had her shield and sword out. Worse, the sword she held at the ready, as though she expected a demon to jump out of the shadows and attack them.

"Put your sword away," Tal scolded. "Can't you see you're scaring him?"

"The…child?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes," Rosa said, irritated. "You're scaring my son."

"Inky," Sera said, gritting her teeth now in a false smile of fear. "You don't have a kid."

A fluttery sensation of panic beat its wings inside Rosa's skull. She had to take her brother and her son away from these two women.

"You two can clear out this place," she blurted, turning for the door. Her bare feet clapped over the stone. Tal shadowed her, watching Cassandra and Sera with undisguised wariness. "We're heading back to camp. It's not safe here for Da'assan."

"…yeah," Sera said, shrugging. She seemed to relax, though her features were still warped with confusion. "Sure. Whatever you say, your—"

But Cassandra interrupted her, jogging to catch up to Tal and Rosa. "Release them," she called, her voice a growl.

Tal spun round, fire burning in his fists. "_Fenedhis!_ Lay off, Cassandra, or—"

The Seeker grunted and the air crackled. She had called upon her powers for magic nullification. Templar powers.

Rosa clutched Da'assan closer, feeling fear crawl into her throat as she turned and saw Cassandra's sword glowed blue. She'd seen that in the Circle. Templars had used their powers against her plenty, and she'd somehow been foolish enough to drop her staff. She drew mana anyway, trying to form Fade stone to lob at the Seeker, who had clearly lost her mind.

Tal tried to interject himself between Cassandra and Rosa, but the Seeker brusquely tossed him aside. Tal yelped, his hands slapping the marble floor as he fell. The air rang with Templar power as Cassandra plunged her sword down and the blue wave rolled out. It collided with Rosa, making her skin crawl and her teeth ache. She hissed with the pain, recoiling. She felt Da'assan do the same and heard him whimper against her. Then, before she could tuck him closer to herself, the tiny boy pushed himself away from her. His bare feet pattered on the floor as he ran in a streak of green for the gallery.

"Da'assan!" she called, frantic. She lurched after him, but Cassandra's cold iron grip on her bicep stopped her short. "Let go of me!" she shouted, twisting and slapping at the crazed Seeker's hand. "Let go!"

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra pleaded, sounding desperate. "It is a demon!"

"What?" Sera said, gawking as she drew closer. She had her bow out and an arrow nocked, but she seemed more likely to aim it at Cassandra than at Da'assan. "What demon? Where?"

"The child," Cassandra said through gritted teeth. "It was not a child, but some kind of mind controlling demon."

"Nah," Sera said, scoffing. "Kiddo was Inky's son."

Rosa was breathing hard, still tugging feebly against Cassandra's hold. Her heart pounded and ached in her chest with loss. _Da'assan?_ His little arms at her neck, the breath on her shoulder…that was real. But the greenish streak of the child as he fled away on unnaturally swift feet, and then she recalled the painful prickling on her skin at his nearness and the haziness with which she had seen him at first. She let her eyes drift shut, shuddering. He…it _was_ a demon.

"What the fuck is going on?" Tal asked from behind her.

"A demon of deceit, perhaps," Cassandra said. Her sword still glowed blue and the air continued to resonate with a templar's disturbing power. "Very rare. We should leave this place before it returns." Her brown eyes slid to Rosa and softened with something like sympathy. "As I understand it, such beasts usually prey upon loss."

"Wait," Sera said, mouth hanging ajar. "What? You saying Inky _doesn't_ have a kid? Or _did_ have a kid…?"

"_Fenedhis," _Tal snapped. "Would you shut up, Sera?"

Rosa's face burned even as pain and horror still clutched at her throat and chest. She swallowed hard and forced herself to turn away from the others. "Let's just get out of here and return to camp. I don't care what in the great beyond happened here. I just…I'm done." She stomped for the door, uncaring whether the others followed and tried not to let her mind think or her heart feel.

* * *

Night fell over the Emerald Graves, a heavy black blanket that smothered the forest. The air was still and thick, promising rain. The scouts and soldiers were restless about the fire, turning a spit of august ram and muttering to themselves about how the thunder rumbling from distant storms could easily mask the thump of much closer dangers—namely the giants and the high dragon that had all been spotted in this area. The ruins the Inquisition had camped in provided some protection against those dangers. Both beasts tended to steer clear of elven ruins. Tal wondered if maybe they remembered or sensed ancient magic protecting such places.

Their party was quiet tonight, somber. The soldiers and scouts seemed to sense it and didn't approach Rosa to badger her with reports or requests for instruction. Ravens arrived at sunset and Rosa disappeared into her tent to read and reply to them a little earlier than she usually did. In her absence Tal could almost _feel_ Sera's intense curiosity poking him. He looked up and frequently saw her staring back at him, brown eyes narrowed with a look of concentration. She looked away whenever their eyes met for an instant, returning to going over her arrows. Cassandra was the opposite and showed no interest in him or Rosa or Sera since their return to camp. Instead she pored herself into sharpening her blade and cleansing her armor.

Finally Sera's boredom must have overcome whatever filter and manners she possessed as she tossed down her last arrow and stood up. "A'right," she said, frowning as she looked between Tal and Cassandra. "I gotta ask. What was that rubbish bout? The frigging demon lies about Inky having a kid?"

Cassandra glared daggers up at the archer as her whetstone on her sword stilled. Tal shifted in his spot, arms crossed over his chest as he stared off at the row of tents. Rosa's still had a candle lit, faint and flickering against the canvas walls. She was probably still awake, brooding over her letters and scrolls. It was debatable whether she would be able to overhear Sera from here though.

"It's not important, Sera," Cassandra scolded her lightly. Then, deliberately, she returned to her methodic work with her sword. The sharp noise of the whetstone over the metal rang through the camp, competing with the crackle of the fire.

"Is so," Sera insisted and sat with a plop on the ground beside her quiver and bow. "I mean, was it all garbage or was _it_ in our heads?" She groaned and clapped both her hands over her ears, as though she hoped to crush the demonic influence inside if it still lingered. "It was in our heads, wasn't it? Cause I remember a kid. And sometimes I get this...feeling. Like I've been here before. Like I've seen all this before. Everywhere." Her eyes were frightened and glinting wet in the firelight as she gazed between Cassandra and Tal, searching for some sort of reassurance. But of what Tal couldn't be sure.

He decided to voice that, shrugging. "Honestly, Sera, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Can't be much clearer, can I?" she snapped, frowning with frustration. "Feels like I've seen it before. Been here before. Heard it sometime. What if…" She bared her teeth, snarling at the fire. "What if it's some demon shite? Fuck, arse, demons, shit, fuck, bitch-balls!"

Cassandra stopped the whetstone, sighing with more sympathy now. "Demons like that one are rare," she said, her tone soothing. "At least, that is what I was told during my training to become a Seeker." She paused a moment, smiling slightly. "Perhaps it would reassure you to know I am immune to such tricks?"

"Come off it," Sera said. "Really? Can you teach me?"

"You would have to become a Seeker."

"Oh," Sera's expression fell and then brightened again. "Good thing I have you to stand behind, right?"

"Of course," Cassandra agreed, smiling as she again picked up the whetstone.

Tal picked at his nails a few moments and then, still feeling Sera's curiosity grating on him, he sighed and got up from his spot. "Well, I think I'll go turn in…" He sniffed as he walked past the fire. "Just…going to check on Rosa first…"

"I think that is a good idea," Cassandra said, pausing in her whetstone work as she watched him circumnavigate the fire and head for the rows of tents.

Tal nodded to her in acknowledgement and then picked up his pace a little, eager to escape their attention. At Rosa's tent he paused, stooping and thwacking his knuckles on the canvas flaps. "Hey, _asamalin,_ you still awake in there?"

"Yes," came the reply, firm and cold.

Tal winced at it and then cleared his throat. "Can I come in?"

"Of course." She sounded more cordial there, luckily.

Ducking through the flap, Tal found her sitting at a small wooden desk with several scrolls scattered about, quill in hand. She smiled wanly at him as he entered and he returned it as he moved to sit on her bedroll. "How are you doing?"

She didn't turn to face him and instead stayed focused on the scrolls. "I'm…I've been better. What happened today shook me. If Cassandra wasn't here…"

"Don't feel bad, Rosa. I fell hard for…whatever it was." He wrung his hands in his lap, staring down at the canvas tent floor, remembering the little boy. The concern for the child's wellbeing still surfaced so easily in his mind, tightening his chest. Cassandra's words rang again in his mind: _such beasts usually prey upon loss._

The demon had read Tal first and clung to real loss. Tal had been the one to encourage Rosa to carry her bastard child. He had fought for his niece or nephew and convinced her in the end, only to have fate steal its life away. If he had just let Rosa deny the child, washing it away with herbs in her tea, neither of them would have felt the loss of it much and the demon wouldn't have been able to take advantage of it. Instead it might have appeared as Felassan or Rogathe, or one of the Valo-Kas mercenaries who died in the Conclave. But as it was, Tal had sort of _met_ Rosa's child, even unborn, when it started dreaming in the womb. Sometimes a shadow shape followed her, shapeless and featureless in the Fade. It acted like a wisp, curious when it interacted with the raw Fade and the dreams Rosa shaped for herself and Tal. It'd taken them some time to realize the shadow was another consciousness—an infant Dreamer with no concept of the world or self. That glimpse was more than enough to leave an impression and make the loss all the realer even now, more than a year later.

Rosa sighed, shoulders slumping. "I did, too." The quill swung in her left hand, idly swishing back and forth. "But it's worse than the mind controlling." Her wooden chair creaked as she turned in it, gripping the back to face him now. Her features creased with worry and anguish. "Cassandra called it a deceit demon." Her fingers moved to her neck, where a thin pinkish line marked where Tal had healed the slit that nearly bled her dry for Imshael a few weeks previously.

Tal's stomach clenched and seemed to fall through the floor. "Fuck." Shaking his head, he tried to deny it. "No. It couldn't be Dirthamen's pet. This demon wasn't powerful enough. No way. It wasn't anything like Raselan or Imshael."

"Solas is the real expert on this," she said, dismissing his arguments. Opening her left hand, she stared into the palm. Tal knew she must be considering the Anchor.

"Screw whatever he thinks," Tal insisted. "This can't be _the_ Deceit. Just…no."

Annoyance flashed across Rosa's face. "You're forgetting I met Fear and Deceit once. I summoned them through the Veil." She bit her lip, eyes misty as she stared past him into the depth of memory. "I was just a child then, but I remember them. They weren't huge and powerful the way Imshael and Raselan are. Being bound for so long might have left them not much stronger than an ordinary pride or desire demon." She grimaced. "And…I don't think it was like Imshael or the envy demon. It wasn't masquerading with a body it manifested for itself."

"You mean it possessed someone?" Tal asked quietly, grim. "A real boy?"

Silence reigned for a time and then Rosa nodded. "Yeah. I think it possessed a real child. I sensed its presence but it was weak enough I…forgot. Possession is good camouflage."

"Cass says she's immune to mind control because she's a Seeker," Tal said. He frowned. "And she's about to leave."

"I know," Rosa said with a long breath out. "I'm not sure I can spare her." Staring at the quill in her hand, Rosa swished it again to and fro. "I might have to leave with her if something out here is indeed targeting me—or _you_."

"We could forge our way back to the chateau and kill it," Tal suggested brightly, slamming one fist into the opposite palm. "I got oodles of fire."

"I'm not going to make any decisions tonight." Rosa touched the feather tip to her nose, brushing it and letting her eyes slide shut. "I'm tired, Tal."

He smiled, but his lips trembled a little. "I get that." He started to rise from her bedroll, planning to leave to let her go to sleep. "I'll head to my tent for—"

"No," she said, reaching for him and catching his sleeve. "I didn't mean you have to leave. I meant…" Releasing him, Rosa covered her face with both hands. "Sometimes, I get so tired of being _this._ _Me. _The Inquisitor, the _shemlens' _Herald, First to Clan Lavellan…fucking _granddaughter_ of Dirthamen."

"Yeah," Tal agreed, sitting again. "I can see how that would be exhausting. It's a lot of titles."

"Sometimes…" she said and gave a shuddering sigh. "…I just wish I had stayed with you in clan Manaria that winter. Then, maybe, _mamae_ would have traveled with my birth clan to take me back to the Brecilian. I would have never gone to the damned Conclave and I could just be First to Clan Naseral and…" She sniffed, pulling her hands back from her face to wipe at tears beading in her eyes. "I would have had my little arrow."

Tal frowned, looking away from her grief and swallowing the lump forming in his own throat. "Well," he said, still trying to smile. "For what it's worth, I am glad you are the one in charge. Can you imagine if some pompous Chantry-loving human prick had the Anchor? Or Shokrakar? Or one of the dwarves? Or Mahanon?"

She snorted, shooting him a small smile. "I guess you have a good point there."

"And, whatever else, you'll always have me," he added, grinning.

"You're leaving to bond with your Keeper," she reminded him, a bittersweet smile spreading over her lips. "And you hate it when I mother you."

Shrugging, Tal got to his feet again. "Eh, it's not so bad. And even though I am leaving, I'm coming back. I promise."

The somber, grave look Rosa shot him made the fine hairs on Tal's neck and arms stand erect. "Make sure you do," she murmured, her eyes wet with unshed tears. Tal could almost hear her pleading with him: _don't go to the temple of Dirthamen._ Aloud she said, "Give it up, _da'isamalin."_

He clenched his jaw and shook his head. "You know I can't."

Nodding to herself, as though she had known he would answer that way—and Tal knew she had—Rosa drew in a deep breath. "Then Solas and I will have to accompany you to your bonding ceremony and everywhere else. We'll make it official Inquisition business."

"What?" Tal squawked, shocked. His cheeks flushed hot. "No!"

"Why not?" Rosa asked, brow furrowing. "Why can't I attend my little brother's bonding ceremony?"

Tal scowled. _"You_ can come. It's Solas I don't want there." Running a hand through his shaggy hair, Tal grumbled, "I mean, can you imagine it? He will sit there snarling through the ceremony as the clan elder recites tales about Sylaise and June and Elgar'nan and Mythal and eternal love. And if we get him drunk so he can stop being such a downer stick in the mud he will probably flip his shit and almost kill someone with lightning like he did when he caught the sniffles."

Rosa eyed Tal with a dark, knowing smirk. "Stop pretending. I know you don't care if Solas is at your ceremony. It's the temple you want to keep him from, but that's _precisely_ where he'd be most beneficial. Think of all he knew about Solasan."

"He didn't really know shit about Solasan," Tal retorted. "He didn't know I would be able to open the doors and everything had changed so much since he last saw it he was virtually useless. The only thing he did was preach his view on it. You know, _'Falon'Din was an asshole and Mythal was pretty great, but the Dread Wolf was better.'_ That mantra. Just we didn't know about the last bit before a few weeks back."

"He was _there,"_ Rosa defended. "I'd rather hear a biased viewpoint of an actual survivor than flounder about confused. He will know about magical traps and other dangers. And before you get upset that I might tell him about your plans—no, I won't. I will pass it off as an interesting place for the Inquisition, somehow. Just like the tomb the Dalish are trying to exhume near here."

Seeing the growing determination in his sister's features, Tal let himself deflate. He had to accept the inevitable—and it wasn't so bad. He smiled genuinely. "All right, that sounds better than spelunking into it alone or putting my clan in danger if I asked them to come with me." He thrust out his hand to shake. "It's a deal as long as you promise not to tell Solas _why _we're really there."

Rosa nodded, grinning as she took his hand in hers and squeezed. "Done."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Tal jerked his arm out of her grasp, scowling. "You're going to sit by and let him kill them? An eye for an eye? Three mages for _one spirit?"_


	48. All New Faded For Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas confronts one of the Forbidden Ones, only to find his friends and agents under threat. Tal tries to convince Rosa that they cannot trust Solas because he's too close to the Dread Wolf.

"Pride," a deep, sultry female voice called. The sound of it echoed from the slimy gray rocks in the raw Fade. Reddish weeds grew in the tawny wet sand at the edge of the marshlands ahead. A statue of Mythal reared out of the ether, dragon wings outstretched.

Solas squinted as he stared into the marsh. The ether was as thick as mist here, obscuring his view. But he felt her presence nonetheless, familiar despite thousands of years since he had last encountered her. In this pale mist she was virtually invisible.

"Aenea," Solas said, using her given name over the one she had chosen when she abandoned physical form. If she intended to call him by given name, he would return the favor.

"Why have you sought me out?" she asked, the sound of her voice still diffuse, disembodied.

He couldn't pinpoint where she was exactly. He could will her to him and dismiss the fog of ether, of course, but doing so would be rude. In meetings such as this one, between two very ancient beings of immense power, Solas knew caution and mutual respect worked wonders. She could rework the Fade as well as he could after all, though her power ultimately could not equal his own. She may be one of the Forbidden Ones, but she wasn't an Evanuris.

"I thought, perhaps, we may discuss the future of this world," Solas hedged, hesitating in his place outside the marsh and the ether-fog. "I know you and the others are eager for change. I know that you tire of your existence trapped here, behind the Veil." He paused a moment, weighing his words. "I also know that you and your brethren know that only I can set you free." Now he frowned, letting mild irritation creep into his voice. "Yet, I also know that Raselan and Imshael have chosen to move against me."

"Move against you?" she asked, amused. "What would make you think they would do such a silly thing?" A shape formed several meters distant through the ether. She was white-skinned as snow and semi-translucent. Gossamer streams that glittered a faint pearly pink trailed behind her in strips off her thighs. A collar in soft gold glinted at her neck. Tassels extended down from the collar, covering her nipples. They shivered with each step she made, though the waters of the marsh didn't stir with her movement. Pointed ears stuck out prominently from her bald, elegantly shaped skull. Her belly was exposed, curvaceous and smooth.

"By attacking the Inquisitor who bears my Anchor you risk thwarting my plans," Solas said, calm and blank.

"Your plans are often flawed, wolf," she said, light and teasing. "My brothers and I tire of waiting for you to get them right."

Ignoring her taunting as the meaningless baiting it was, Solas remained silent. What did they hope to accomplish? Solas stared at her, his heart pounding. He could not risk baldly revealing everything he knew, because the demons might very well alter their plans or move faster if they sensed a threat or suspected he knew too much. Yet, paradoxically, they might also try to kill him for his blood if they sensed weakness. Typically Solas was confident that they found him more valuable alive for a variety of reasons: his blood was required to free their masters, his living knowledge needed to reveal the location of the Black Mirror they were trapped within, and then there was the Veil.

But these four demons, the Forbidden Ones, were all complex and frighteningly intelligent as they had all been physical beings, once. That made them incredibly dangerous with unpredictability. Still, Solas held most of the leverage here—except two of the four now acted as though they had a new, dangerous focus on Rosa and Tal. It could be mere boredom, but Solas doubted it. They were up to _something._

But did it have to do with him? The Veil? Or was it just opportunistic as they tried to free Fear and Deceit?

As he always did when in the presence of powerful spirits and demons, Solas kept his thoughts hardened to shield them as he tucked his hands behind himself and finally spoke. "Xebenkeck," he said, using the name she had chosen for herself in the guttural, ugly language of the Forgotten Ones. "I know one of your brothers has crossed the Veil. It would be a terrible shame if he were to earn the scorn of one such as myself by tormenting one of my agents."

Xebenkeck laughed, her voice light and trilling, but Solas didn't miss the loathing he felt twisting in the Fade. They both knew Solas could kill or bind Imshael in the physical world. Killing him or any of the Forbidden Ones while they resided in the Fade was a very different matter. Imshael was vulnerable outside of the Fade—but only to someone who had the power _and_ the knowledge to truly slay him.

But when the demon replied to his threat she surprised him. "We both know, wolf, that the Slow Arrow's children are not your agents. They are but pawns and still Imshael has not harmed them, nor has Raselan." Her lips parted in a hard, feral grin. "You imagine slights against you that are untrue. I hope you bring me something more interesting to discuss than two pawns you care nothing for."

She was testing him, trying to read him. The Forbidden Ones and the Forgotten Ones all knew Solas was unreadable to demons when he chose to hide his thoughts. He was as inscrutable as stone. It made him fascinating to them, drawing them like moths to a flame. They also knew he had grown adept at reading _them_ in turn. That was one reason why Xebenkeck stayed so far away from him. She knew Solas _might_ catch a stray thought and glimpse something she didn't wish him to see. What she _didn't_ know, and what Solas could not afford to reveal, was that much of that power had diminished with the Veil, or uthenera. He wasn't certain which. Still, he tried to open himself to that talent, to _feel_ Xebenkeck now.

"Be they agents or pawns, they are under my protection," Solas insisted, still calm and blank. Xebenkeck would know that both Rosa and Tal were important to him, even as so-called pawns rather than agents, but they might not know the extent of his emotional involvement. "I would suggest you—" He broke off, grimacing and shuddering as the Fade jerked on him, hard. A shrill cry echoed in his mind and, with a stab of alarm, Solas recognized the voice.

His old friend, Wisdom.

"Something wrong, wolf?" the demon before him in the marshland asked. The tone of her voice suggested she enjoyed the sight of his discomfort.

Even through his pounding heart, Solas caught a fragmented _something_ from her—excitement, tension, fear, and a smattering of images. But he didn't have time to consider it now. Whatever the Forbidden Ones' plot it would have to wait.

He drew in a quick breath and then turned from her, latching onto Wisdom's call instead. The raw Fade warped and Xebenkeck vanished. She'd been difficult to find—the Forbidden Ones were nothing if not slippery—but Solas was an Evanuris. He could find her again and they both knew it. Leaving her without hesitation was as much necessary now to investigate Wisdom's call as it was also a show of bravado. She knew he would find her again.

When the Fade settled once more, Solas saw the usual dream his old friend shaped for herself: a library as vast and beautiful as Vir Dirthara, the now shattered library of Elvhenan. Rows of books stretched out as far as he could see. The floor was a soft golden light and words scrawled by, along with characters and runes long forgotten. They shifted and moved with each step Solas took, rippling like water but utterly silent. The ceiling was the same, but images appeared and faded there instead, revealing long destroyed places.

But the table where Wisdom usually sat, humble and friendly, was empty. A hand seemed to crush Solas' heart in his chest as he walked to Wisdom's table and saw books and scrolls already fading into ether without her here to will them into being. Solas brushed his hands over the scrolls and books, wishing them to reappear. They did, growing hard enough that he could open them—but they were empty. Solas did not have the knowledge to fill them.

He closed his eyes. _Where is Wisdom?_ He imagined the spirit as he had known her for ages uncounted. It usually appeared Elvhen to him and female, dressed in rich robes like those worn by librarians in Vir Dirthara. He recalled conversations with Wisdom, the guidance she had shared throughout his long life. He had first met it in a dream with his father, who introduced Wisdom as a friend and consult for various texts within the library.

The Fade grabbed his memories and twisted, trying to obey—but there was nothing. Just an image of golden grasses and gray-brown boulders dotted with lichen. Was that…the Exalted Plains? Had Wisdom somehow been drawn through the Veil? Against her will?

_Kidnapped._ _Abducted._

Horror made him flush cold. She could be twisted by such an experience. She could grow into a demon. She could lose her purpose and die.

_Where is Wisdom?_ He repeated the question, eyes still shut, but this time he imagined Thedas as a map. _Where?_

The Fade replied at once and Solas nodded as he saw it was indeed the Exalted Plains. There was hope, then. Solas had not yet left the Dales. Rosa had changed her plans recently after a strange encounter with a demon that _might_ have been Deceit. Solas had insisted he or Cassandra must be with her and Tal now to protect her and she had agreed. So they began making their way north and met only a week ago at the edge of the Emerald Graves. She intended to travel to the Free Marches for Tal's bonding ceremony and Solas had agreed to join her. Cassandra would be absent, investigating the missing Seekers, so Solas had no choice but to accompany her—even as he disapproved of her rushing away from Skyhold and her duties to the Inquisition. _She_ might not see the value in lessons on Orlais' court, but Solas knew she'd need all the help she could get.

Would she delay long enough to go back for Wisdom?

_Yes,_ he thought and felt his shoulder slump with relief. _Yes, she will._

* * *

When Rosa shook him awake from a deep sleep featuring what were probably a couple of desire demons, Tal was too groggy to understand _why_. He got up anyway, wiping crusty bits from his eyes and donning his armor quickly, despite the raging and stubborn erection leftover from his sexy dream. It didn't help that he kept thinking it over again, trying to decide if it was just a dream crafted from Fade ether unconsciously or if it was desire demons. Eventually he had to suffice with tucking the damnable thing under his belt and trying to walk slowly to avoid the resulting chafing until it calmed down.

So, needless to say, he wasn't in the greatest mood when he found himself hiking through the Exalted Plains in the dead of night to rescue a spirit.

Rosa notified a few scouts and soldiers that she needed to take a few people out into the plains for a rescue mission and ordered them to halt the journey until she returned. Their party amounted to Solas, Rosa, Cole, and Tal himself. It was a small force and Tal understood why when he learned their target was a spirit and not a person. How many Andrastian Inquisition soldiers and scouts would volunteer for this? And in the middle of the night, no less. Tal half-wished Rosa had decided to leave _him_ behind, too. As much as Tal knew Rosa had been fond of Rogathe—and Tal never minded the spirit much himself—he'd never been all that close with it or any spirit. The urgency and direness his companions felt bypassed him as a result.

The sun was rising by the time they found the first signs of human activity in the plains. Otherwise it was just crazed wolves, wild halla, and those portly pig-things the Orlesians had a fancy name for that Tal couldn't pronounce. Tal barely had to lift his stave before the rabid wolves they encountered were down. But, in the hazy bluish light of predawn, Cole found the bodies first.

"They were afraid. Running, lungs burning, blood aching. Then the arrows came."

Blood stood out, black in the poor light against the dirt and grass. Dead eyes stared out at nothing. When Solas cast a greenish orb of Veilfire, making Tal wince against the sudden relative brightness, he made a noise in the back of his throat. "These must be some of the mages who summoned my friend. Killed by arrows."

There indeed was an arrow sticking out of this woman and she wore robes that made Tal frown, recalling the Circle. Rebel mages who hadn't apparently chosen to take Rosa up on her offer of sanctuary. Fools, for sure, but…

"The arrows didn't fire themselves, Solas," Tal quipped. "Her staff is gone. I'd bet she's been stripped of everything else she carried too."

"Bandits," Rosa agreed, nodding as she met Tal's eye.

Solas made no comment as he walked forward. His gait was stiff, his shoulders tense. Cole walked silently after him and Rosa followed at a jog to catch up. Tal took up last position, eyeing the boulders nearby for any signs of hidden danger.

"Everything is blurry here. It wants to forget, but now the rocks are solid," Cole commented in his usual oblique, enigmatic way.

Ahead, as the land sloped gently downward, between the boulders, Solas and Rosa stopped as they found more bodies. These were charred. The sight put Solas into a fit of cursing. He shook his head, clearly distressed. "No. No, no, no."

"This wasn't bandits," Rosa said, also grim.

"Well," Tal said, shrugging. "They might have _been_ the bandits. Not anymore, though."

Solas was already hurrying on. A faint greenish glow lit the air ahead and Tal heard Solas gasp and then growl with rage. "My friend!"

Once Tal reached them he saw a pride demon within a summoning circle, bound. It sat hunched over, head down, as though beaten into submission. Its flanks heaved. Tal grimaced and reached for his stave. Whatever it had been there was nothing for it now.

"The book said it would help them," Cole whispered breathily at Tal's side. "They were so grateful when he gave it to them." Cole turned haunted, dark blue eyes toward Tal. "They thought he was good, but they didn't know he's not. He wanted to kill her to hurt the wolf."

Tal wrinkled his nose, confused, but his skin dimpled with foreboding even so. "What?" Who was _he?_ And who was _she?_ And… "Wait," he said, reaching for Cole's forearm. "What do you mean the Wolf?"

Cole cringed back from Tal's touch, as though burned. "I'm sorry," he said. "All new, faded for her."

"For who?" Tal asked, shaking his head and clenching his jaw. Was this just rambling or was the mention of a wolf something more? Did this spirit Solas wanted to save serve the Dread Wolf? Like Fear and Deceit served Dirthamen?

"No," Cole said, pulling a face. "He would never bind her like that." He shuddered, eyes going unfocused, reading the trapped spirit-turned-demon. "It hurts, cutting, blurring, burning. I'm not me anymore."

"Attack the summoning stones," Rosa said, tossing the order over her shoulder. Solas had already Fade-stepped to fight. The pride demon stirred, lifting its head and roaring. On the hilltop beyond, next to the river, Tal saw three mages pop upright, startled out of sleep by the beast's roar. They scrambled out of their bedrolls, grabbing up staves.

Solas launched Fade stone at the first pillar. It crumbled, breaking the binding circle. The pride demon laughed, gurgling with glee. It stomped toward Solas, a leering grin of needlelike teeth glinting in its maw. Lightning crackled between its clawed hands. Rosa cast barriers over the group and hurled her own Fade rock at the nearest pillar. "Tal! Cole!" she called. "A little help!"

Tal ran forward, circling round to avoid the pride demon as it tried to lash Rosa with its whip. He launched fireballs at a pillar, breaking the runes on it. Cole moved as a green shadow nearby, but his daggers weren't exactly effective tools against the pillars. Still, the little spirit slashed at the runes, trying to disrupt them even if he couldn't break the stone. The mages on the hill shouted in alarm, but the party of four was too swift and too powerful, making short work of the binding before they could interfere.

The pride demon shuddered as a full half of the stones were sundered. It collapsed to its knees, using one fist to steady itself. Then, with a shimmer, it shrank down until it was a human sized woman, human to Tal's eyes. She collapsed on the grass, hunched as though with pain, arms around her middle. Her eyes were empty sockets, burning as white and hot as the sun. Rosa, Tal, and Cole stayed back as Solas knelt to speak with her in a soft, pained voice. The words were elven, but Tal caught them only faintly as his eyes strayed to the mages. Recognition dawned as he saw that one of them was a human woman he knew.

"Mistress Yvette?" he asked, gawking. The woman turned her head, seeking him out with wide eyes for an instant before she returned to watching the exchange between Solas and the spirit.

Cole rambled at his side, but Tal knew the spirit was reading him because the memory currently spooled through his mind. "She lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. _'I have no doubt you're ready for your Harrowing. Andraste guide you.'"_

The spirit with Solas disappeared, seeming to burn away with a wave of his hand. For a moment Tal was about to congratulate the older elf on a successful—albeit nontraditional rescue—when Solas bowed his head. The body language made it clear the spirit hadn't just returned to the Fade somehow. It was gone in a more permanent sort of way.

Rosa stepped forward, speaking in a worried, sympathetic tone to Solas. "I heard what it said. You did help it. You did everything you could. Better she should die than be a demon."

Solas rose to his feet, turning his back on the river and the spot where the spirit had been sitting a moment ago. His expression warped with grief, heavy and clouded. His brow furrowed and his blue eyes stayed low, cast on the grass and rocks underfoot. "You're right," he agreed with Rosa, softly.

"I'm sorry," Rosa added. "If we had been faster, maybe…"

"There was nothing we could have done to avoid this, _vhenan,"_ he lamented. But then his lips pinched together and twisted down. "Now all that remains is _them."_ He pivoted slightly, looking to the mages still standing shocked on the hillside. The stiffness of his shoulders and the stave clutched in his fist with the same fierce grip that Cassandra would use on her sword made it clear enough without the rage simmering in Solas' eyes that he had murder on his mind.

"You killed my friend," Solas snarled, advancing on them.

"What?" the man at the front asked, lifting his hands in a gesture of defense and pleading. "We—the bandits were hunting us. The book said it would help us!"

"Solas," Tal yelled, lunging forward to try and intervene. "Stop! They were—"

Rosa caught him by the bicep, hissing between her teeth to silence him. "Tal—don't make a fuss."

Tal jerked his arm out of her grasp, scowling. "You're going to sit by and let him kill them? Is that really an eye for an eye? Three mages for _one spirit?"_

"That spirit was thousands of years old," Rosa snapped. "And it died because these mages made a stupid mistake not joining the Inquisition and they were too cowardly to fight for themselves. It could have been Cole they just as easily summoned and bound. Or Rogathe." Her violet eyes were hard and dark.

"Rogathe would have volunteered," Tal muttered. "And I'm not going to sit here and let this happen."

"You are," Rosa growled. "Because Solas needs to have justice for Wisdom."

Tal gnashed his teeth, recognizing the stubbornness is his sister's voice and gaze. He watched sidelong as Solas closed in on the mages. They tossed up barriers over themselves, scrambling for defensive spells. There were three of them against only one elven mage so they didn't seem immediately terrified as fire leapt into their hands. Yvette glared at Solas and Tal wondered if she recognized him dimly.

"That's Mistress Yvette from the Hasmal Circle," Tal tried one last time, leaning close to Rosa to name the other mage. Yvette had taught practical magic—fighting—inside the Circle. Tal had been one of her favorite students and Solas had impressed her too, despite his physical weakness and almost nonexistent mana reserves at the time.

Rosa's jaw clenched and she nodded once, her eyes glued to the scene. Tal's stomach sank as he realized Rosa had known the other woman all along, too. It wasn't going to sway her decision. In fact, Tal wondered if it actually sealed it. Rosa was paranoid about Templars and mages from the Hasmal Circle recognizing her and possibly bringing up the Circle's rebellion. Tal still didn't know all the details, but he knew Rosa and Solas had masterminded the whole thing and some of it had gone majorly awry. People died. It wasn't something either mage wanted others to remember. Better that Rosa should be Dalish and Solas an apostate. Better that Hasmal's rebellion be forgotten.

Fire exploded in a roar from Solas, so hot and blinding that Tal's eyes watered and smarted with pain. The mages gasped but otherwise made no sound as they erupted into flame and died almost instantly. The heat of it licked at Tal's skin, making him instinctually shy away. Rosa tossed up a barrier, likely as much of an instinctual reaction as Tal's retreat. The stink of burnt flesh seared the inside of Tal's nose and he swallowed to keep from gagging. Blinking, he forced his gaze on the scene and saw the charred, blackened corpses of the three mages a meter or so from where Solas stood over them, shaking with rage.

"Damn them all," he growled, but his voice also managed to sound heavy with loss. He didn't look back at them as he said, "I need some time alone. Please, return to camp without me. I will rejoin you by nightfall."

"Solas…" Rosa said and started to take a step closer, as though she would go to embrace him. Tal reached for her, trying to restrain that impulse. Something about Solas seemed…dark. Brooding. Enormous.

_He wanted to kill her to hurt the wolf,_ Cole had said. Tal's gaze flew to the spirit boy and saw him staring down at the ground, scuffing at it idly with one booted foot, as though bashful. He had to have felt the mages' fear and pain before they died, too, just as he felt Solas' grief and the spirit's as well. What had Cole meant, exactly? _Someone gave these mages the book they used to summon this spirit. _There were countless spirits in the Fade. How had the mages just chanced upon Wisdom, a close friend of Solas' that possibly served Fen'Harel?

_They didn't _chance_ on it…_her. Someone set this up to get at the Dread Wolf. Was Wisdom important to the old wolf's plans? Solas must have been sent to save the spirit and he had failed.

_I need some time alone,_ Solas had said. Suddenly Tal felt his stomach clench, certain it wasn't merely grief that drove Solas presently. He had to report to his master, away from the prying eyes of the Inquisition and the two Dalish siblings. Would his master punish him for this failure? Felassan had failed somehow, too, and apparently received the ultimate punishment for it. Rosa might be in denial over it, but Tal was certain deep in his bones that their father had served the Dread Wolf and did something to piss the dark god off.

He should say something to Solas, ask him if he needed protection or help…but Tal bit his tongue. Their father had hidden the fullness of his ties to the old world from them and Tal planned to honor that as much as he could on his current path of vengeance. It was why he bristled when Solas tacitly tried to recruit them. It was why he _still_ refused to let the Elvhen man take his vallaslin. Their father hadn't wanted them mixed up with the Dread Wolf. Solas indicated it wasn't like serving the Inquisition where you might one day set aside the role. No, once you let the Dread Wolf have you, he possessed you like a slave.

No wonder Solas despised slavery. He _was_ one.

Better to keep Solas at a distance. Whatever deals he had with He Who Hunts Alone, Solas had made his bed.

The only thing that made Tal hesitate and cringe inwardly at his own thoughts was his sister. The way she stared at Solas, concerned and soft with tenderness, her love and sympathy were palpable. She didn't want to let him walk off into the plains. She would follow him into dragon fire, blind or heedless of the dangers—maybe both.

"Let him go," Tal told her, quiet but insistent. "He'll be back." _Probably…_

From behind them, Cole added, "He's coming back."

"See?" Tal said, trying to be brighter than he felt. "If Cole says he's coming back it _has_ to be true."

Rosa snorted, her eyes still watching the plains where Solas walked away, stiff-legged and without looking back. "Yeah," she agreed, but sighed. "Let's head back."

* * *

At a bend in the river where the water's current grew languid and lazy, Solas stopped. The area was forested, darkened by the treetop foliage. Dappled lights and shadow covered ferns and leaf litter. It was a beautiful place that reminded him of the wilds of Elvhenan, during his countless years of wandering when life was simpler. A few small boulders lay scattered on the forest floor. A few ambitious trees had even grown over them, tangling roots over the obstructions to half bury them.

Solas bedded down in the grove at that spot after leaving a few basic ice wards. The leaf litter was aromatic and soft as it had been all those ages ago when grass had been his pillow every night. Yet his now mortal body felt every lump acutely and he had to concentrate to slip into sleep and the Fade.

On the other side of the Veil Solas found Wisdom's library construct. It was already transparent, fading away into ether without her to fuel it. Seeing it, Solas' chest tightened and his throat ached. He covered his face with his hands and stayed in the construct, mourning. Part of him did not care to wake up again. Damn this Veiled, shattered, splintered world. It had killed and enslaved the People, scorned magic as an evil curse, and seduced Felassan away from his cause. And now the ignorance of this world had claimed his friend Wisdom, too.

But, underneath that anger lay the despair—the terrible knowledge that _all_ of it was _his fault_ at the very root of it. This world only existed because of the Veil _he_ created and erected. All because he had not been patient, clever, or strong enough to kill the Evanuris. Tricking them was easier, even if the consequences were truly horrific. The modern world scorned magic because it had grown rarer, something to be feared and contained. The People were enslaved for similar reasons. This world was a reactionary one, built on the bones of the former. And as for Felassan, Solas had only himself to blame for that, too. Turning his back on any of it would be yet another failure.

He had to _fix_ this.

Turning his memory back to his encounter with Xebenkeck earlier, Solas recalled the brief flash of emotions and images he received from her through the Fade. She was tense with excitement, but also the nervous energy of low-grade fear that Solas knew well. It was the sort of emotion one experienced while facing down a dangerous enemy and knowing there is so much to lose with even the simplest miscalculation. It was the same feeling Solas endured while playing both sides at the end of the Evanuris war with the Forgotten Ones, when every smile or word or even a gesture might give everything away.

That amount of tension was…odd. Certainly the "war" hadn't ended so much as been suspended for thousands of years. It was so long that the Forbidden Ones had grown bored and listless. But, apparently, Xebenkeck wasn't feeling that way. She felt danger—or triumph—was imminent. They were playing the Game of Arlathan, long after the city itself had turned to dust. And now the pawns seemed to be Solas' agents.

But…_why?_ Was it just to force him into freeing their masters? Tearing down the Veil sooner than he'd like so that they may revenge themselves on the Evanuris? Either way they couldn't achieve their goals without him—his blood, his knowledge.

The brief glimpse of images he received from Xebenkeck weren't helpful, unfortunately. An eluvian with a border in silver rather than gold that darkened until its trim was black as ebony. The mirror itself was black, lightless like velvet, until it rippled and stars seemed to glimmer through. And then he saw Felassan, very young and dressed in Arlathan's courtly finery. This was probably a memory Xebenkeck carried with her from when she still routinely adopted physical form to visit court where she likely admired Mythal's supposed-son from afar and wondered how she could exploit him.

Neither image fit with current events as far as Solas could tell. Felassan had been dead well over a year now. And the eluvian Xebenkeck envisioned must be her idea of the Black Mirror, which Solas had sealed and hidden away. Through it lay the Forgotten Ones' prison construct. Xebenkeck's image of it was wrong, of course. The Back Mirror did not look like that, though it _was_ black, but she had never seen it before so she wouldn't get it right, of course. It made sense for Xebenkeck to consider the Black Mirror while in his presence…but Felassan?

She, Imshael, the other Forbidden Ones, and Felassan had known each other well enough over the ages. Felassan, as Solas' most powerful agent, was the one he trusted to approach the demons routinely without them simply killing him. Felassan was strong and clever enough he could escape if things got risky.

He felt the pang of loss and shame again, recalling Felassan. If _only_ he had hesitated. If _only_ he had heard his old friend out and realized _why_ he so deliberately failed his mission, why he rebelled. They could have talked together and perhaps…perhaps Solas would have convinced Felassan to recruit his children to the cause.

But that was a pipedream. Felasan's goals and his own had drifted apart. Felassan had seen Solas' goals as wantonly destroying something that held _some_ merit. And Solas saw Felassan's refusal as betraying the cause and condemning Elvhenan and all the People to death. There was no middle ground. Saving Rosa and Tal in the new world would not have been enough for Felassan.

And then, suddenly, his heart leapt with fear inside his chest as he sensed danger. Something had set off his ice wards.

With a gasp, Solas woke from the Fade and immediately summoned fire into both fists. He sat up, searching the shadows of the dappled grove around him. He knew which ward had failed, jangling the alarm bells in his head. The ward closest to the river now crackled with frost, but Solas saw nothing stood trapped within it. That meant an animal could not have set off the trap. Something or someone cunning enough to see or sense the wards had activated it with a spell of their own.

Solas' eyes swept the area again as he rose to his feet and pulled out his staff. He didn't need it really, but bandits and the like would expect a mage to reach for it. Best to keep up appearances.

Then, inside the line of his wards, Solas saw a small shape tucked against a nearby tree trunk. Squinting, he struggled to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. It was…a child? Ragged hair stuck out at all angles. Brown streaked its face. The clothing it wore was filthy and torn, leaving it almost naked. Lines coursed through the filth caked on its cheeks, marking where tears had traveled. Pity tugged at Solas' heart, but he stayed battle-ready. This could not be a normal child to have deliberately set off his ward. More likely, it was…

He wrinkled his nose with concentration as well as distaste. In the Fade he would be able to read this creature and know it with ease. Now, without the Fade, his senses could be deceived and thwarted to a certain extent. A demon possessing a body cautiously and cooperatively with its host might go unnoticed even by him. Yet, based on what had happened to Rosa at Chateau d'Onterre, Solas guessed this was Deceit and it had possessed an actual child.

_Despicable. _

"Deceit," Solas addressed the child, calm and cold. "It has been a long time since you were free to roam as you desired. Tell me, is your compatriot free as well? Or was the Inquisitor's blood not enough to free it?"

The child's lips twitched once. "Please," it said in a voice croaking from dryness—or disuse. "Do you have food? Water?"

"You cannot deceive me," Solas reminded it. "Do not waste time trying."

The child's mouth spread in a wide, leering grin. "My name is Yves," it said. "And I did not come here to deceive you."

"Then speak plainly." Solas let fire leap back into one palm and felt a small surge of satisfaction when the child cringed, scooting back to hide mostly behind the tree trunk. And then an instant later Solas sighed, unable to continue the threat display while Deceit possessed a child host. He let the fire go out and his hand flopped to his side with a slap on his thigh. "Leave the child's body, Deceit."

It giggled and now its voice dropped into an impossibly deep register. "Take down the Veil, Wolf, or give me your blood that I can free my masters."

That would be why the child had tried to sneak up on him, of course. Typical. He was about to retort as he prepared a Veilstrike to trap the child so he could incapacitate it, but Deceit spoke first.

"We aren't going to wait any longer. Fix the world or free our masters or you will lose more than just Wisdom."

Cold swept through Solas, grabbing for his throat. Connections snapped into place in his mind. The Forbidden Ones had orchestrated Wisdom's death. For all he had blamed this shattered, wretched world and himself…it was _them._

Snarling, Solas jerked his fist down in a Veilstrike, flattening the ferns and grasses around the tree. But Deceit countered the spell, using its own knowledge and magic to give its child host the power. It giggled and sprang away, disappearing in a flicker of green much as Cole would.

Solas lunged after it, spinning his stave to send lightning arcing out through the trees. He saw it lick the outline of a shape fleeing through the grove of trees, but the voice that cried out with pain was the child's. Solas cursed and stayed his next attack. Unlike humans who would call this child an abomination and just kill it, Solas knew he could exorcise the demon from the child if he could just trap it. He wasn't willing to kill an innocent like this. But, unfortunately, the child had already disappeared through the trees.

Cursing to himself, Solas turned and dispelled his wards with a wave of one hand. The sky overhead had the golden quality of later evening. He had spent the day mourning, visiting the Fade in remembrance of Wisdom. Now it was time to return to Rosa and Tal and Cole. He had to look after them—and all his agents—if what Deceit said was true.

He would show the Forbidden Ones how foolish it was to antagonize the Dread Wolf.

* * *

Staring down at her little travel scribe desk, Rosa frowned. She held a quill dipped in ink clasped in her left hand, ready to write a message for Leliana, but the words wouldn't come. Solas had returned to camp at dusk, true to his word. They lost a day of travel, but it was worth it to give his friend Wisdom peace and to learn that the creepy demon that'd impersonated a child, a son she'd never really known, truly was _the_ Deceit. Imshael apparently did use her blood to free the demons, but Dirthamen's essence was too dilute in Rosa to free both demons. Only Deceit was free.

And it was hunting her.

The small puff of breath behind her on her bedroll made Rosa twist in her seat to stare back where Solas slept. She smiled to herself with affection. Solas insisted that he must stay especially close to her now that they were certain the demon was Deceit, possessing some human child. He'd set delicate wards around camp to ensure Deceit couldn't sneak in and lure Rosa or Tal away with some trick. Rosa watched him put down the wards, but she didn't recognize them—except that they were _very_ advanced.

It reminded her of the hushed, grave conversation she had with Tal as they marched back through the plains for camp. Cole faded behind them until Rosa wasn't sure the spirit boy had even accompanied them to begin with, except for the way Tal kept glancing behind them. It was just as well—their words weren't really for anyone else's ears. Cole's presence would have just made her feel guilty as she heard Tal warn her that Solas was the Dread Wolf's slave and what happened with Wisdom could not be an accident.

"_This_ is the shit _babae_ didn't want us involved with," he hissed, eyes intense and shoulders hunched with tension. "Gods and demons in deadly pissing matches with each other. And their playing pieces are _us."_

"Tal," she said, frowning. "Did you _really _think we could stay out of it? We are the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of so-called gods. _Lenalin_ couldn't protect us from it anymore than Solas could save Wisdom today from getting caught in this mess by those stupid mages. Even if we were still sitting around with our clans, this shit would still come after us. Better we have an expert like Solas on our side to advise us. We can protect each other."

"You can't trust Solas," Tal insisted. "_We_ can't trust him, not wholly. The wolf god killed _babae._ What if Solas is really here to seduce us to that mangy monster's side? And what if we say no? I don't think Fen'Harel is going to like being refused."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rosa snapped. She huffed out her frustration—and her fear. Tal's words carried at least a sliver of truth she couldn't deny. "You saw how nervous Solas was when he told us about his master. That wasn't someone smoothly recruiting us. He was terrified we would _despise _him. If he thought telling us would put us in danger he wouldn't tell us. Besides, _you_ refused easily enough."

"I'm telling you," Tal said, lips curling. "This is some serious nugshit. There's something _huge_ happening here, under it all. Bigger than that ludicrous Cory-bits. Bigger than the Orlesian civil war garbage. Wisdom was a soldier for the Dread Wolf and _someone_ had her killed to strike at him." Tal's brown eyes narrowed, concern darkening them. "What happens when you're the next target?"

"The same thing that happens if _you_ are the next target," Rosa rejoined, grinning darkly. "We kill whoever threatens us."

Tal snorted, finding humor in her bravado despite also rolling his eyes. "Yeah, okay. But still. Promise me again you won't trust him _too _much."

She knew what he really meant—_keep my secret from Solas, _asamalin. And so she promised, though she chided him in the next breath for continuing forward with the Formless One's nefarious plan to supposedly summon Felassan's soul for answers on who had killed him and _why. _And how to get their vengeance.

That promise kept her lips sealed as she watched Solas sleep. That and the certainty that there was more Solas hadn't told her. But…she _wanted_ to come clean and end the duplicity. It was exhausting being the halla in the middle between her brother and her lover. But it was clear that both of them wanted only to protect her. Tal's concerned gaze haunted her while Solas' worry as he toured around camp setting wards warmed her heart. How much longer would she have to thread this needle between the two men who loved her most?

Sighing, Rosa focused again on the empty scroll and the quill in her hand. She touched the tip to the parchment and scowled as she realized the ink had dried. Quickly she dabbed the quill back into the inkpot and poised the tip over the little scroll again. _Fenedhis,_ how was she supposed to say this?

_Leliana, I need you to send the Iron Bull, Blackwall, Sera, Vivienne, and anyone else you can spare into the Dales to hunt down and kill my great uncle. Who is that, you might ask? Oh, no one. Just a fucking Forbidden One who calls himself Imshael. And before I forget, please send a few small troops of elven scouts out to meet me in Northeastern Orlais so we can go spelunking in my grandfather's temple. Who's my grandfather? Oh, you wouldn't have heard of him. _

"Some Herald of Andraste I am," she muttered to herself. She couldn't be more _elven_ or _Elvhen _if she tried. She wrote out Leliana's name and then stopped. Drawing in a long breath, she smirked down at the page. "Well, it's a start."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

She was about to accept his help—even if she vaguely remembered being angry with him prior to this, though she wasn't sure why—when a green orb of veilfire suddenly appeared over her head. Rosa gritted her teeth at the abrupt light and Solas shrank back a pace from her again, as though startled too. The rustle and rhythmic crunch of leaf litter came through the trees and underbrush, announcing another visitor. An instant later, as Rosa blinked bleary eyes, her jaw fell open with shock as a _second_ Solas strode into the little clearing.

_I knew I was drunk,_ she thought, shaking her head to try and clear it. _But this is excessive, even for me…_


	49. Dirthamen's Compulsion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tal bonds with his Keeper, Nola of clan Manaria. The evening sours, however, when an uninvited guest, Deceit, crashes the party. Additionally, Solas makes a disturbing discovery that Rosa has talents she's hidden from him.

The Manaria clan elder smiled as she wrapped the strand of green silk about Tal and Nola's clasped hands at the wrist. She was old and clearly experienced in the handfast ceremony as she deftly wound the silk up both their forearms and then back down to meet in the middle in a stylized knot. When she finished, the elder laid her hands over Tal and Nola's wrists, squeezing. Rosa watched it almost without blinking, committing everything in the ceremony to memory. Tonight she would draw Tal and his mother, Enasa, into a dream to relive it so that she could witness her son's bonding as well, despite being hundreds of miles away to the south.

Clan Manaria sat around the couple in a circle, observing from all sides in respectful silence. Every face Rosa saw shone with warmth and excitement. Clan Manaria was still small, recovering from brutal slaver and bandit raids a few years back. Tal had become a symbol of hope to them since arriving, even though he stayed only a year before leaving with Rosa for the Conclave and this was his first real return to them. He'd mingled with their representatives during the Arlathvhen, of course, but this was the first time he had rejoined the clan in whole. Rosa had sensed some lingering hesitation and possible resentment from some of the clan, but whatever Tal's sins they seemed inclined to forgive him and bask in the joy of a new life bond.

"Tonight," the elder said in a voice still strong despite her gray hair and wrinkled face, "we gather here to join our beloved Keeper Nolava with Talassan, son of clan Ghilath and now First of Manaria. We celebrate devotion, and recognize the importance of love. We remember our Creators for both their strength and their love of the People."

At her side Solas made the slightest scoffing sound and Rosa immediately felt her cheeks flush hot, though no one else reacted. Probably they thought Solas was clearing his throat or coughing as quietly as possible. Rosa knew better. It was all she could do to get the Elvhen man to agree to _endure_ this ceremony at all. If it weren't for the ongoing threat of the Forbidden Ones—Imshael, Deceit, Raselan, and probably more Rosa didn't know about—he would have surely declined and remained with the mounts to keep Cole and the other scouts from the Inquisition company.

"We remember the great Mother Mythal, whose wisdom and patience could temper Elgar'nan's hottest rages," the elder went on, somehow both somber and cheery simultaneously. "She teaches us that strength is nothing without wisdom. _Mythal'enaste!_"

The clan echoed the elder, as did Tal and Nola. Rosa followed their example, even if the words were numb and passionless on her lips. Solas, for his part, tilted his chin down to his chest and shut his eyes, as though pained. Rosa gritted her teeth in irritation that he couldn't even _pretend._ But, of course, she knew this would happen. Tal had known too. Luckily, her brother had eyes for nothing and no one but Nola in this moment.

"We remember Sylaise, the hearthkeeper and midwife, whose ardor for the great crafter June is the most beautiful tale the People have of love between bond mates. The great lady Sylaise reminds us that for all the things the People create with our hands, it is from our hearts and flesh that we craft the future through our children. _Sylaise'enaste._"

Again the clan echoed her, including Rosa. Solas frowned, remaining the only one who sat in silence. Rosa's hands fidgeted in her lap as she tried to suppress her own disappointment and irritation—and the painful reminder that for all her own love for the man at her side she'd never get to undergo this ceremony clasping his hand.

During their journey she tried to pick his brain on bonding ceremonies in Elvhenan but he'd been uninterested. She hoped to get the scholar in him intrigued into analyzing what had changed over time, but the present ceremony was either not much changed or changed so much it held no connection for him to analyze. Rosa wasn't certain which because Solas tended to make himself scarce when she tried to engage him in those conversations. Cole always needed his help with the horses suddenly, or he needed to educate her about the demons hunting her, or lecture her about the importance of being prepared for the ball with the Empress. She suspected he had multiple reasons for this evasion and some of it was due to their relationship.

Now, more than ever, Rosa could sense Solas' flightiness. She hated herself for thinking it, but as the elder yapped about Sylaise and the sanctity and holy duty of the new couple to make children for the People's future, Rosa felt the shameful stab of relief as well as grief. How fortuitous that her own child had died rather than be born into this cruel world where its father could not stay to raise it no matter how much he loved its mother.

Just like her own father, Felassan.

And yet, the grief remained, too. Deceit's trick in the chateau still haunted her. She wished, bitterly, that the beast could deceive Solas so that he could feel, for an instant, some _fraction_ of what she did. She didn't dare voice any of it, but she guessed Solas sensed it anyway. He might feign aloofness to others in the Inquisition, but Rosa knew he was too smart and too compassionate not to have figured it out. Word of just _how_ Deceit had tricked her would have reached him, one way or another.

But damn her own tumultuous emotions—and Solas'—just now. She was here for Tal.

"Keeper Nolava," the elder said. "Do you consent to this union with this man?"

"I do," Nola said, swallowing. Her blue eyes glimmered, locked with Tal's. "I vow in the name of Sylaise to love you and only you until death parts us. I swear to Mythal that I will listen to your counsel and respect you. _Bellanaris."_

Tal flashed a lopsided, nervous grin and Nola returned it. It was as if they shared a private joke. Rosa felt her own heart tighten, bittersweet. She'd never had to share Tal like this before and tried not to feel a little sad that one day he might not want to journey with her. He might get to grow old and die peacefully in his aravel, surrounded by his family. It was, as she'd said to Solas once, the sort of dream all Dalish had but never achieved. Least of all _her_ now, with the Anchor still lodged in her palm and demons breathing down her neck, drooling at the chance to catch more of her blood.

"Talassan," the elder continued. "Do you consent to join with this woman?"

"I do," Tal said, sobering. "I swear to Sylaise to love you and only you until death parts us. I vow to Mythal that I will be there to guide you with what little wisdom I have to offer and to care for you through both triumph and trauma. _Bellanaris."_

The elder tugged on the silk securing Tal and Nola's hands together then as she spoke, concluding the ceremony. "Then I bestow my blessing and that of clan Manaria on you both. I pray to Sylaise for healthy children and ask Mythal that she might see your bond endure eternal."

She pulled the strip of silk free of their wrists and then brought out a ceremonial knife, made of ironbark and silverite, to cut through the fabric. She placed one half over Nola and then the other on Tal like scarves. The silk would be a memento for them both. She'd barely finished before Tal and Nola closed the gap between one another and kissed.

That signal prompted the clan to whoop and ululate in celebration. Horses and halla off in the nearby grazing meadow stamped and called, nervous at the sudden noise. The clan broke apart as some rushed to congratulate the couple while others hurried to hearth fires to prepare food or drinks. A few emerged from aravels with horns, flutes, and small drums for music making. The elder shooed some of the initial well-wishers away from Tal and Nola so she could guide them toward the place of honor—a white halla skin outside the Keeper's aravel.

"I should see how Cole and the others are faring," Solas said as he got to his feet. He was smiling tightly as he met her eye. "Take as long as you need, _vhenan."_

The endearment normally seemed so smooth but now Rosa thought she heard it catch. She searched his face for a moment and felt the dangerous well of strange power she'd inherited from Dirthamen stir with the impulsive desire to _make_ him explain just what he was feeling right now. Regret? Grief? Shame? Loss? Frustration? Embarrassment? Had his thoughts strayed to their relationship as much as hers had while watching the ceremony? Had he felt the echo of the child he'd never known as she had?

She forced herself to be stoic as she nodded. "Good idea."

He hesitated a second longer, staring at her, until she thought he would say something—and then he seemed to think better of it and turned away. Rosa watched him go for a beat and then huffed her frustration once she was sure he was far enough away he wouldn't hear it. Stomping on her own emotions, Rosa deliberately pivoted away from Solas and smiled as she went to find a spot beside her brother and his new life partner.

* * *

Solas picked burs out of Rosa's mount's mane and tried to keep his mind empty. It was a nearly impossible task, considering his propensity for deep thought _and_ the well-meaning spirit of compassion helping him brush down the horses. Rosa's mount was a placid chestnut mare, chosen because the horsemaster at Skyhold had long since recognized Rosa's tenseness while riding.

"_Bellanaris,"_ Cole said, voice whispery. "They say the word but they'll never know its meaning. My fault."

Solas clenched his jaw. "Please, Cole. You can't help this hurt."

Compassion didn't seem to hear him. "Whispers, laughter at my back. _There goes the Lone Wolf_. It was easier to be alone. No one could hurt you, but you hurt yourself." Cole was silent a heartbeat and then added, softly, "You don't have to be alone."

Hardening his mind with a mere sliver of mana, Solas closed his thoughts off from Cole. He heard the spirit boy gasp. "It's gone—why can't I…?"

"You cannot help this hurt," Solas repeated, still working the brush through the chestnut mare's mane. He plucked a stubborn twig out from where it had tangled in the coarse brown hair. The horse whickered and swiveled her head toward him, lips smacking. Solas smiled as he brushed her nose and up her face.

"She likes you," Cole said, already recovered from Solas' abrupt mental barrier. "She likes Rosa, too, but she can feel the fear. Legs clenching, hands fisting. She thinks there are teeth nearby. She doesn't know the teeth are in the Herald's mind."

Solas grimaced, knowing what Cole's cryptic words meant. The mare, like all domesticated animals, was well-attuned to her mistress. She'd picked up on Rosa's anxiety as a rider, then, but did not understand its source. Ironic that Rosa's fear of being thrown was more likely to _cause_ the horse to spook and throw her. Brushing the mare's forehead and then her cheek as she swung her head away again, Solas said, "Perhaps you can explain that to her, Cole."

Cole walked along the mare's other side, standing by her head. The horse whickered and swung her head over to him, one large brown eye focusing on him. Cole reached for her, laying both hands over her face. The mare snorted out a breath and shifted her weight, stepping back slightly. Her hooves rustled in the grass. Solas smiled as he saw Cole's blue eyes widen and a smile spread over his lips.

"I like it too," he said, apparently conversing with the mare. He kept smiling even as he said, "She doesn't understand, but she's good and she's gentle. She's had babies before." He sobered. "And…she knows what it's like to fear falling. Running in an open place, but hidden holes below where you can't see them. A hoof slipping inside. Bones snap like branches ripped from the tree in the storm. Then the wolves come, teeth in slavering jaws."

Solas rubbed the mare's neck, his smile somber. "She need not fear wolves."

As if on cue a chorus of howls filled the air and the mare snorted, stamping. Yet these weren't wolves calling—it was the Dalish. The mare's ears swiveled and she swung her head, staring toward the clan's camp. Inquisition camps were rarely so boisterous, so the mare would find the loudness intimidating. Indeed, the small Inquisition camp where Leliana's scouts were staying the night and not partaking in festivities was silent except for the crackle of a few hearths and the quiet whispers of men and women on watch. Solas glanced over his shoulder toward clan Manaria and frowned, torn between his own selfish, hedonistic desire to at least enjoy a little wine and the self-discipline to know he must stay far, far away from this party. He could not allow his senses to become clouded or his heart to weaken in resolve.

"They'll all die," Cole whispered. "When it comes down."

Solas checked his mind to ensure nothing had slipped out for the spirit boy to read. Nothing had. He frowned, staring across the mare's back at Compassion. He had i_nferred_ some of what Solas was thinking. A clever and interesting development that suggested Cole was beginning to evolve into something more humanlike than spirit.

Instead of address Cole's evolution, Solas answered his observation. "Not necessarily. They are elven. The Fade will restore them."

"And you," Cole murmured, but his blue eyes were sad. He knew Solas did not expect to survive. _"Din'anshiral._" He seemed to shake himself and then his features sank, heavy with sadness. "But it doesn't have to be."

Solas closed his eyes, feeling exhausted by this conversation. "Cole," he began, hoping to convince the boy to let it go—but then Cole's blue eyes sprang wide and he gasped.

"Yves," he said.

Solas frowned, confused for an instant before the name clicked in his memory—and, simultaneously, he heard the thump of footsteps rushing over the grass. He turned and saw a young elven woman, a scout and herbalist who worked for Leliana—and she was also one of Solas' spies.

"Lanalle," he greeted her. "What news?"

Her Inquisition gear glinted pale white in the light from the moon, peaking through the trees. She puffed, breathing hard as she answered. "The man on watch found a small human boy. Unconscious." She wrinkled her nose with both disgust and anger. "Half-naked and starved."

"Deceit," Solas growled, recognizing the report for what it was.

Lanalle nodded. "I don't sense the demon. It must have left this host and found a new one."

"It will make straight for the Inquisitor," Solas muttered, more to himself than Lanalle, though this spy was well-aware of who and what Rosa was. She was Elvhen, like all of his most trusted spies and agents.

"The other scouts don't know the significance," Lanalle warned him. "What do you want me to do, _hahren?"_

Solas shook his head. "Nothing. Do not rouse suspicion. Treat the child just as you would any other. I will ensure the Inquisitor is protected."

Lanalle dipped her head, smiling. Her voice was quiet as she said, _"Fen'Harel, ma nuvenin."_

It was all Solas could do not to flinch at the reminder of his Evanuris self, but he wasted no time turning to Cole after she had left. "I need you to protect Tal. He is as vulnerable to Deceit as Rosa."

Oddly, Cole seemed intimidated by this order. He pulled a face, unreadable, and then said, "He sees me. Eyes sharp like glass, even when I let go."

Solas _had_ noticed that Tal seemed to see Cole more readily than everyone else—short of himself, of course. It was probably his heritage as the heir to Falon'Din's blood. He saw with eyes that were not as mortal as everyone else's. But being seen usually didn't bother Cole. Why did it bother him now?

"He needs your help, Cole," Solas said, softly. "Deceit may harm him rather than Rosa."

Cole's cheeks darkened with a blush. "I…I don't think he will want me there."

Understanding dawned at last and Solas felt his own cheeks flush hot. Cole apparently had gathered enough of a human education that he'd started grasping the idea of sex and privacy—and embarrassment. He shook his head, irritated at both Varric and Tal for introducing these mortal, physical ideas to Compassion. "I am afraid he must endure it, Cole. I am certain he will prefer your presence over mine."

Cole nodded quickly. "Yes. You're right. I'll go now."

"Thank you," Solas told him, even as Cole vanished in a thin green mist, one he doubted anyone else would be able to see aside from himself and Tal.

Solas patted the mare one last time and then moved around her, hurrying toward the Dalish camp.

* * *

Rosa knew she'd had _entirely_ too much to drink when she found herself staggering a bit as she wandered into the darkness of the trees around camp, trying to find a good place to piss. The world swirled and ran together in a way that made her stomach lurch.

She knew she shouldn't have drunk as much as she had, but with her glum thoughts it was hard to keep the bottle from her lips. Tal hadn't helped at all, either, when he challenged her and Nola to a drinking contest. As sister to the groom, Rosa had a place of honor near the newly bonded couple. And Tal, likely sensing her somberness beneath the surface, was quick to get her drinking and keep her drinking.

"Big liar," Tal told her, pushing a wine bottle at her. "We're playing big liar, right now. You, me, and Nola."

"Creators," Rosa grumbled. "Not that game. You're already too drunk to play it well."

"Yeah?" Tal asked, snorting. "And _you_ cheat. So what? Not about winning. It's about _drinking."_ Nola giggled as he finished, her eyes bright and joyful, raking over Tal with raw want. Rosa stamped again on that annoying pang of loss and pseudo-jealousy. _Sharing_ Tal was a thing now so she'd best get used to it and fast.

"I'll start." He cleared his throat and sloshed his own wine bottle about. "Keeping it short and sweet tonight. Less talk, more drink, right? So, here goes. I am a necromancer and a damn good one."

"That's your first story?" Rosa asked him, scoffing.

"Really?" Nola asked, looking a bit perturbed.

Tal shot his new bond mate a sheepish smile. "Hey, it's nothing shameful. Comes in handy with all the fucking undead we fight."

Nola nodded, seeming to accept the idea. "Demons and undead are certainly not the typical dangers we face, but I can see how it would be a valuable skill." She sat back, a smirk gracing her lips. "You shall have to teach me."

"You got it," Tal said, winking. "But here's my second story." He sent a sly look over at Rosa and she frowned, knowing he must be about to cheat. "I walked physically in the Fade."

Nola gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. "I had heard that story! Clan Lavellan told us at the Arlathvhen."

"Yeah, because it's true," Tal agreed, shrugging. "I mean, it wasn't just me. Rosa was there, too."

"And Dorian, and Blackwall, and Stroud, and Hawke, and Solas," Rosa put in.

"Then you must be lying about being a necromancer," Nola reasoned. "Since one of the tales is false."

"They're both true," Rosa grumbled. She reached for her wine, taking a long slurp of it.

Tal laughed. "Are you conceding defeat already, _asamalin?"_

She smacked her lips as she lowered the bottle and wiped at her mouth. "Yeah. I am. Because you're cheating. As soon as I make my pick, you'll just say whatever I picked is wrong so I have to drink, even though they're both true stories." She rolled her eyes. "Statements is more like it."

"You're such a killjoy," Tal scolded her playfully, grinning. "Take your guess." Nola at his side wore a knowing smile. She'd caught on now that Tal was in fact cheating.

"You're lying about walking in the Fade, then," Rosa said, already lifting the bottle again.

"Yeah, that one was the lie," Tal said, laughing. "Penalty drink!" He took a long, sloppy swallow from his own bottle.

"Why did you drink?" Nola asked, still smirking, already anticipating the answer.

"Because I lied," Tal told her, winking. "And she's right. I cheated. So…" He sloshed the wine about. "Penalty!"

Another half hour playing like that ensured Rosa soon had to excuse herself to wander into the woods to find a bush. It also ensured her feet were anything but steady beneath her as she shambled through the ferns and brush. The air smelled rich and fragrant, damp from recent summer rains. This wasn't all that far from the Waking Sea, but the climate here was warmer than the Storm Coast and wetter than the Dales.

Rosa stopped to lean against a tree trunk, letting the world stabilize. She recalled walking through this same area with Tal…was it _three_ years ago now? Before the Templars had hauled her and her brother to Hasmal. This area had been rich with life back then and it still was now. Crickets chirped and a sweet-smelling, pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves in the canopy over head. A river flowed nearby, heading south to the Waking Sea out of Nevarra. Clan Manaria primarily liked to get its meat from fishing, so they'd camped close enough to utilize it. Thankfully it wasn't so close Rosa had to hear the trickling sound, taunting her and her full bladder.

Starting up again, Rosa walked a few more meters into the brush until she was out of sight of the firelight from the clan. A thick stand of ferns in front of her seemed as likely a place as any. She squatted and dug clumsily at her armor, opening it to do her business—and only having to stop to steady herself five or six times. Not bad, considering how dizzy she was. Now, if she could just manage _not_ to piss on her foot or leg…

But drunkenness was not a good recipe for finesse or good forethought and sure enough she felt warm liquid flow through the leaf litter to worm its way around her bare right foot. "Creators fucking dammit," she muttered as she finished.

Standing upright immediately made the world tilt dangerously to the left. She stumbled that way and her right foot slapped down into the wet earth. She grimaced with disgust. "Fuck me and…_fenedhis!"_

She heard the crunch of leaf litter then and whipped around, mana bubbling on instinct, but she knew the intruder was Solas before she even saw him. Solas stood across the dark clearing, closer to the river than the clan. It was too dark to see him…or, wait…no…

She could see him clearly after all, even with the world swaying and blurring with the alcohol still coursing thick in her veins. She let the bubble of mana dissipate, her guard dropping. Solas smiled at her, apparently amused to see her so inebriated. "Having a good time, _vhenan?"_

Snorting, she waved a hand at him dismissively. "No thanks to you."

"You look unsteady," he said, walking closer to her with both arms extended. "Let me help you."

She was about to accept his help—even if she vaguely remembered being angry with him prior to this, though she wasn't sure why—when a green orb of veilfire suddenly appeared over her head. Rosa gritted her teeth at the abrupt light and Solas shrank back a pace from her again, as though startled too. The rustle and rhythmic crunch of leaf litter came through the trees and underbrush, announcing another visitor. An instant later, as Rosa blinked bleary eyes, her jaw fell open with shock as a _second_ Solas strode into the little clearing.

_I knew I was drunk,_ she thought, shaking her head to try and clear it. _But this is excessive, even for me…_

Her chest tightened and her heart took off at a gallop as realization dawned. _One of these men is _not_ Solas. _Her slow senses reaffirmed that conclusion as she felt the first prickle of her skin at the temples as her body reacted to the presence of a demon. It was a mild reaction; small enough she could miss it over her drunkenness. The demon must be possessing someone, then.

The new Solas had fire burning in one fist and he glared at the first Solas. "Deceit," he snarled. "Leave the boy's body or—"

The first Solas interrupted the other with a dry laugh. "The ages you spent bound as Dirthamen's pet must have dulled your wits, Deceit." He turned warm blue eyes toward Rosa. _"Ma vhenan."_ He extended a hand.

"Rosa," the second Solas said, his voice concerned and angry simultaneously. "You must not trust your eyes. It is merely an illusion. Attack us both. Deceit cannot defend itself while I can."

Rosa frowned, feeling the mana bubbling inside her with eagerness…and beneath it lay the strange, hidden magic from Dirthamen. She puffed out a breath, trying to blink away the blurriness from booze still in her eyes. Since she couldn't trust her eyes, better try something else entirely. "I have a better idea, boys. How about I just _make_ you tell me the truth?"

The first Solas shot her a look of what might have been fear while the second one scowled with bemusement. Rosa ignored those expressions. Sight wasn't trustworthy. Deceit could make her see whatever it wanted. It could probably flip-flop reality. She guessed the second Solas was more likely the real one, but…had he come from the direction of the river or the clan? She couldn't remember anymore, couldn't decide if they'd fought at one point and wound up on opposite sides from their original appearance or…

No, she had to assume everything she remembered and saw could be fallible. But Dirthamen's magic wouldn't be. She'd seen Imshael struggle to resist the compulsion and fail. Deceit was Dirthamen's prisoner, bound in servitude as a raven for countless ages. Surely it would be vulnerable to her grandfather's power now as well.

Focusing on that other magic, Rosa drew on it as she asked both men: "Why did you come here?"

The second Solas, the one she was betting was the real one, reacted by grimacing as though in pain. His lips curled and his brow furrowed. He looked down at the leaf litter, lips pinching together, hard. Rosa watched him, startled that she had apparently been wrong in her guess as the first Solas readily answered: "I came here to find you."

_Too vague,_ she thought and smirked. "Sorry, not a good enough answer. Let's do it again." She stabbed a finger at the first Solas and asked, "What do you want with me?"

This time the first Solas cringed and his face wrinkled with effort as he held back words.

The other Solas across the meadow finally let out a strangled curse and motioned with one hand. Rosa felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms stand erect with some unknown, powerful magic. Deep instinct told her it was a dispelling and it made the ancient magic from Dirthamen ripple inside her, aching like mana burnout.

Drunk as she was, Rosa stumbled backward until her shoulders and back slammed into a tree trunk. "Elagar'nan's fiery ballsack," she snarled as pain throbbed through her chest. She glared across the meadow at both men, imposter and real alike. Whichever was which. "Dammit all, work with me or I am going to kick _both_ of your asses."

"Do _not_ cast that spell on me," the second Solas growled. His eyes were unusually bright and something about him was immense and…menacing. Rosa shuddered, trying to think this through, but her mind was gummy like tree sap.

Then, abruptly, the first Solas lost his struggle with her spell and blurted, "I want your blood to free Fear."

Well, that made it obvious.

Rosa launched Fade rock at the first Solas—and saw the illusion die as the man dodged. He was young, slim, and elven. His clothing was Dalish, messy and wet, torn in places. His hair was a tawny blond and his skin pale. He moved with the grace and speed of a well-trained hunter and warrior, leaping to his feet and sprinting for the river. Trees and brush crashed as he fled. Rosa moved to go after him but stumbled and wound up on her hands and knees. She heard Solas lash out with a Veilstrike, and she didn't miss the corresponding thump of the elven man smashing to the ground. Then a crackling sound came, loud and sharp in her ears. The elf cried out.

Lifting her head, Rosa saw Solas standing at the edge of the small clearing with the elf caught in a lightning cage. The boy was barely out of his teens, but his look was enraged and fierce as he snarled at Solas. "I'll kill you," he promised, but his voice wasn't entirely mortal. There was a deeper, grating boom behind it—a demon.

"Doubtful," Solas replied as he casually summoned blue magic into his palm and extended it out through the lightning cage to lay on the boy's forehead. The blue light built, expanding until it made Rosa's eyes water. She turned her head away, flinching at the sound of the demon screaming with the boy's voice. Then, with a slick boom, the spell finished. The crackling stopped and a thumping noise made Rosa look up in time to see the elf finish falling into the ferns and grasses, limp and lifeless.

"Did you kill him?" Rosa asked, breathing a little fast.

"No," Solas replied, the single word curt and cold. "I merely destroyed Deceit—for now."

"For now?" Rosa prompted, trying to get up and stopping short as the world spun. She swallowed bile and went still, refusing to vomit or groan.

"Its essence is strong enough it may manage to re-form in the Fade. However, that would not be for some time." He pivoted, staring at her across the meadow through the darkness. "It is as close to _killing_ the demon as I can manage."

"Just like that?" Rosa asked, smirking even as she felt queasy trying to comprehend what she'd just seen. Solas could exorcise and _kill _a demon thousands of years old with but a touch.

"It is a long forgotten spell and too powerful for most mages of this age," he told her as he knelt to examine the unconscious boy. After a moment of silence he withdrew his hands from the boy and sighed, covering his face with one palm. "You possess Dirthamen's compulsion."

It wasn't a question and Rosa saw no reason to lie, even drunk. She sat back on her haunches and shrugged. "Yeah. So?"

"Do not use it on me," Solas said, the clipped words almost a snarl.

_What is your problem?_ She thought and then blurted, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, _flat-ear?"_ The previous anger she'd felt toward him watching Tal's ceremony came rushing to the surface when she used that nickname, which was both for moments of exasperation with him and great affection. Her hands clenched into fists on the cool, damp grass under her.

Solas ignored her, stooping to take the unconscious boy into his arms with a small grunt. As he rose to his feet and turned toward the clan, he asked, "Can you walk?"

"Yes," she spat. "But answer my question." She paused and then, reaching for that deep magic hidden away inside, despite the faint ache still coursing through her, she asked, "Is there a future for us together, Solas?"

He stopped mid-step and glared at her even through the twisting expression he wore, as though trying to withhold a sneeze or a cough. With the boy in his arms he couldn't make the motion he'd done before, and that _might_ mean he couldn't counteract the magic. Long seconds passed as he struggled, then he seemed to shift the boy in his arms, trying to free a hand—but he was too late as five strangled words tore their way from his lips.

"That is not yet clear." Then he cursed, his look one of outrage. "Do _not_ use that magic on me."

Rosa barely heard him as the first words impacted her. She snorted and then let out a laugh. "You…you really don't know…" She broke off then, hilarity becoming despair. "You _don't_ know…" She groaned, suddenly sure she would vomit. He _was_ a slave, just as Tal said. He didn't have free will to make the choice for himself.

"I will send someone to fetch you," Solas told her, cold and angry. He stomped off, his bare feet somehow managing to be louder on the underbrush than boots for all his rage.

Rosa groaned and let her head rest against the grass. _Fenedhis…  
_

* * *

It turned out the youth Deceit possessed was Sammael, who Solas suspected was at one time or another involved with Tal and _definitely_ had some impact on his fleeing the clan for the Conclave. Solas delivered Sammael to the clan unconscious but alive and unharmed, to be received by the elder and war leader in the Keeper's absence. Both women gasped and wore solemn expressions when they recognized Solas' burden. They chose _not_ to bother the Keeper as she had retired now into her aravel with her new bond partner.

"What happened? How did you find him like this?" the elder kept asking. The war leader seemed to regard him with something that was almost suspicion. She had a sharp, hawkish gaze that would have made Solas nervous—if he were a few thousand years younger.

"He was near the river. I wonder if he perhaps mistook a hallucinogenic mushroom for an edible one to wander away like this." It was a likely enough story. And it had happened to Solas himself when Tal drugged him at the Arlathvhen.

"It's possible," the clan elder said. "He was not Dalish by birth. Our clan took him in by chance. He was city-born." She wrinkled her nose and the war leader smirked a little. Solas knew what they were both thinking. City elves were clueless in nature. Sammael could very well have made such a mistake. He might not know blood lotus from elfroot, being city-born.

Solas clenched his jaw with distaste. He dipped his head in a show of respect—though he felt none for these bigoted, closed-minded Dalish. "I am only happy I came across him before he could come to true harm. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to the Inquisition camp." He started to take a step away and then hesitated, recalling how drunk and unsteady Rosa was. It might be better for the Dalish to see her like this than the Inquisition.

"There is another small matter," he said, turning back to them. The war leader lifted an eyebrow. The clan elder had already seated herself beside Sammael's bedroll and begun pulling out a bag of herbs or smelling salts to treat and rouse the boy. She didn't look up at Solas' words so he focused on the war leader.

"The Inquisitor left the area earlier and is…quite inebriated." He grimaced. "I hoped you could help her back to camp to…sober up before the Inquisition troops with us see her in such a state."

The war leader's brow furrowed. "She's out there, too?" Solas could almost hear the unasked question: _Did she do this to Sammael?_

"Yes, I had hoped to help her, but came across him instead," Solas lied. "And I must report to camp now for my own watch." Another lie. He was proud that his voice gave nothing away and his cheeks didn't feel hot. But he could hardly tell them that his blood was still boiling with rage that Rosa had tried to use a compulsion on him and right now he didn't want to even look at her. Any such coercive magic always rankled him as the powerful reminder of slavery and of magic misused, perverted by greed and cruelty.

Now the clan elder looked up at him and frowned, pinching her old thin lips together with disapproval. But she said nothing, even as the war leader mirrored her expression, though she hid it better. Solas could almost _feel_ what they were thinking. Dalish clans like this were closed places where gossip was shared as much as food and hard work. Everyone, young and old, thrived on such rumors. Surely they knew Tal's sister had carried a bastard child. And he had no doubt they knew who her lover was from that time. They'd even _met_ him then, though they had little interest in him as a "flat-ear." Now they saw him not returning for her, after something strange happened out in the forest with Sammael. Did they assume Solas found them in a drunken embrace and reacted poorly even though he had no claim on Rosa? Or did they just sense his hostility toward her right now?

"I'll go and get her into a bedroll," the war leader agreed, though stiffly.

"Thank you," Solas said and then, feeling heat beginning to bloom in his cheeks, he pivoted on his heel and walked away. He tried to keep his gait even, not stilted and jerky with the rage still broiling inside, but he couldn't help but brood as he made his way to camp.

All Evanuris had special inborn talents—and so many of them were coercive. Ghilan'nain could commune with and control animals at will. Sylaise charmed with more than good looks, using raw magic to make thralls of anyone she wished. Even Mythal had a talent for imposing calmness on others. Elgar'nan's unpleasant fiery will could overcome and daze even the most powerful Dreamers at court, including many of his own children—like Imshael—making them puppets temporarily. In fact, such coercion was so prevalent it inspired slavery amongst the nobles, who sought to emulate some of the power of each "god."

Solas had watched, sick to his stomach, during the civil war against Falon'Din—whose magic was _not_ coercive, actually—as Elgar'nan, Mythal, and Sylaise used their magic to daze, pacify, and charm thousands. Prisoners or suspected dissidents and all of Falon'Din's army of arcane warriors marched in to audiences with the "gods" and faced sentence. One Evanuris would coerce a hundred at a time to stand idle as they were branded with the blood writing to wipe away their free will permanently. When the first tired, another would take his or her place and continue. They split slaves up evenly. A hundred to Sylaise. A hundred to Andruil. A hundred to Ghilan'nain. A hundred to the new Evanuris, the Lone Wolf as they called him then: Fen'Sa. Without the Evanuris' coercive magic such wide-scale slavery never would have been possible.

It still left Solas feeling nauseous to recall as he sat heavily at an Inquisition campfire and stared unseeingly into it. His skin crawled, remembering the feeling of Rosa's power gripping his muscles and pressing on him from all-sides. The other Evanuris had all used their coercion on him at one time or another, but Solas was too powerful to be subdued, and that was how it gradually became known he was an Evanuris, too, as only another of equal strength could resist. Only Mythal could exert some control over him—calming him even when he didn't want to be—and Dirthamen, because his power was so short-lived it packed just too much of a punch to resist. So it had to be counter-spelled and, fortunately, Mythal knew just the trick and shared it with him as a sign of her favor.

Using it tonight was unwise, just as his quick dispatch of Deceit was. If Rosa ever learned that only an Evanuris had the power to counter-spell that trick and that the dispersal he used on Deceit required more mana than Tal, Dorian, and Vivienne had combined, she would know who and what he truly was. It was reckless to show that much power, but Solas had been outraged that Rosa would use coercion and, if he was being honest with himself, he was wounded to realize she had a talent she had kept secret from him. What other things might she be holding back? Had Felassan taught her about this trick? Had he trained her to use it subtly as well as blatantly? Did she have any other talents she was hiding?

He tried to imagine her wielding Falon'Din's awful rending magic and had to swallow bile. But why stop there? She might have Elgar'nan's deathless fire for torture. Or Mythal's mind-reading and her very rarely used mind-flaying. Those two were her great-grandparents after all and Tal had inherited one great-grandparent's talents. Why not Rosa?

He pushed those thoughts and images aside, sighing and rubbing his face with one hand. At least Deceit was gone, but he was no closer to ending the threat from the Forbidden Ones while he remained here, trapped on supposed "Inquisition-business" that was really anything but.

In the next day or two, whenever Tal wasn't celebrating his new bond, Solas knew they were to clear out a temple nearby. Rosa usually tried to pick his brain about such things, but Tal's bonding had distracted her, apparently, as she hadn't asked him about this temple at all. It was a small mercy, actually, because Solas would have been embarrassed to admit he wasn't _sure. _

This area saw a lot of history and the temple she meant could be pre or post-Veil. It was a disputed border area during the Elvhenan civil war, too. The lands were usually Dirthamen's, but Falon'Din claimed them for a time, and then Solas himself managed them for a few ages. So the temple could be devoted to one of many Evanuris—even himself, though he doubted any to Fen'Sa had survived. That title died well before Elvhenan fell. And it was only when he held that title that he would have commissioned a structure built in his "honor." But it was never for worship, his structures were libraries or theaters, bathhouses or training halls. For the centuries he ruled these lands Solas made them into a place of learning and freed the slaves given to him. It was here he had first met Felassan, training the youth as he did so many other "children" of Mythal and Elgar'nan and even the other Evanuris.

The crunch of grass made him lift his head in time to see Lanalle move into the orange circle of firelight. She sat near him with a sigh and began unpacking the satchel slung over one shoulder. Piles of elfroot, blood lotus, and spindelweed quickly formed around her. She needed to dry and grind them using mortar and pestle. In Elvhenan she would have used magic-powered machinery to grind the herbs. And to dry them would have used a spirit magic spell mixed with a flameless fire rune for heat. This modern era was so…limiting.

"What news?" Solas asked her quietly.

"The child awakened enough to eat and drink, but he has done nothing but cry otherwise. He may have no memory of how Deceit tricked him," she answered, stripping the elfroot of its leaves as she spoke. "The scouts have also reported red Templars south of here, making for the temple the spymaster is interested in."

It was Leliana who had found this temple, apparently, and now it seemed Corypheus was interested in it, too. Solas scowled. "I had thought this merely a diversion the Inquisitor accepted in the hope of avoiding culture lessons at Skyhold. Perhaps I was mistaken."

Lanalle's smile was lopsided and didn't quite show her teeth. "You're going to really love it when you find out whose temple it is."

Solas shot her an irritable look. "Falon'Din's?"

Lanalle shook her head. "No, but close, _hahren. _Dirthamen."

Solas grimaced, his mind churning. Was this an accident of happenstance? Was it Rosa avoiding culture lessons? Or was there something else going on he didn't know about?

"Faith in family," Lanalle said and sneered, still plucking leaves. "That is what the false god taught. If only she knew the cost of _blind_ faith when your family are all a bunch of monsters."

"Yes," Solas agreed, meeting her eye. Lanalle was one of the slaves Solas freed when he ruled these lands. So weak in magic even without the Veil, the other Evanuris and Dreamers at court thought her useless as anything but a slave. But Solas encouraged her and the others like her to embrace whatever interests and gifts they had, to grow and learn. As a result Lanalle and many others weak in magic became intellectuals in non-magic studies, like herbs and nature and animal husbandry. Lanalle couldn't heal wounds with magic, but she was a healer nonetheless. When magical healers failed, Lanalle was the last resort and she saved more than she lost. In this modern age she was more valuable than ever. But Dirthamen, when he awoke from uthenera and retook these lands from Solas—without bloodshed, for Solas was always supposed to be a mere steward—the other Evanuris did not see value in anyone who possessed little magic and hadn't stood out like Lanalle. He swiftly re-enslaved all that he could get his hands on, undoing Solas' work. Even Lanalle, renowned as a last-resort healer and doctor of the body, feared for her freedom. It was why she joined Solas' rebellion and became his spy, despite all the risks.

Perhaps it was time Solas began trying to reeducate Rosa and Tal on what their "family" had done to the world.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"_Baba?"_

The figure lifted its head then and stared at him. Tal made out the sharp line of his father's nose, just lit around the hood. He saw the dark lines of his vallaslin and the full, generous shape of his lips. Lips that now frowned.

"_What…"_ Felassan said, the single word raspy and in elven. _"What deception is this?"_

* * *

Endnote: Eeeeeeh! If you read the above snippet you're going, "OMG OMG OMG!" Because next chapter things are going to be gut-wrenching.


	50. The Temple of Dirthamen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa, Solas, Tal, and Cole venture into the rotten ruins of Dirthamen's temple and run into Red Templars and undead. When Tal slips away to make use of a hidden part of the temple, he discovers the frightening full power of his inheritance as Lethanavir, Kin of the Inevitable Way.

Foul water sloshed at Rosa's knees as she forded into the dank underbelly of the ruins. The air smelled wet and rank with mold, decay, and death. Enormous mushroom-covered tree roots had wormed their way into the ruins. Water dripped and tinkled in a way that should have been soothing except that Rosa swore she heard sloshing that marked other footsteps. They weren't alone.

"Undead," Tal muttered from behind her, confirming her suspicions. "I can feel them."

"Figures," Rosa grumbled, trying to smile at him over her shoulder through the gloom. They'd set oat midmorning and reached the site of the ruins in the afternoon, but the scouts spent hours trying to find an entrance that wasn't overgrown or collapsed. It was evening now and dark in what Rosa thought should have been the sewers of the temple. It had a sinister feeling, as though the darkness was a living thing itself that watched them from the corners, waiting for its moment to strike.

A sconce on the wall ahead lay rusting and lightlessness. "Veilfire would be more useful to us than torchlight," Solas advised. His voice was stiff and curt. Some of it was discomfort at their current location, but most of it had to be his lingering, simmering anger with her for the night of Tal's bonding.

Rosa pushed those thoughts from her mind, but not before Cole apparently read them and decided to give them a voice: "_'That is not yet clear.' _He's angry with me for wanting the truth as much as—"

"Enough, Cole," Rosa snapped, cutting him off. She didn't look back at the spirit boy as she stepped up onto the raised stone that created a sort of embankment from the water. The sconce was mounted on a pillar there, glistening in the faint light streaming in from the holes in the ceiling created by tree roots and trunks. Rosa summoned Veilfire into it, blinking against the greenish light. She motioned over her shoulder. "Someone give me a torch."

Rustling came from behind her as her three companions fumbled into their bags to find one. It was Tal who succeeded first and stepped forward, thrusting it out to her. His face looked drawn and tired in the green light. Rosa knew he'd spent his nights _busy_ with Nola recently and that although it must be going well—judging by the snickering from clan Manaria at the lewd sounds emanating from the Keeper's aravel—it wasn't all peaches and cream. Sammael's possession was a blight on everything that left the clan a little spooked and eager to leave this place. The clan didn't know Sammael was possessed—the boy himself recalled a hazy nightmare only and didn't know what happened to him and wouldn't speak of it except in vague terms—but they knew enough to worry this place was cursed.

Rosa could hardly disagree now that she saw the decrepit state of this ruin. It was in worse condition than the one she saw in the Brecilian as a child, where she met Fear and Deceit and first learned she was the granddaughter of Dirthamen. It also, unlike that place, felt hostile. She wanted to ask Solas what he knew of it, but speaking to him now wasn't really an option after the fiasco with Deceit.

Accepting the torch, Rosa lit the Veilfire and held it aloft. "All right, let's get this over with."

They found runes illuminated by Veilfire against a statue of the Dread Wolf. The inscription was magical, speaking directly into Rosa's mind when she touched it: _We few whisper here where shadow dwells. Some words remain unuttered. Truths are pushed down, down where they shall never arise again._

She shuddered as the cold sense of foreboding flowed through her. She recoiled, though she tried to hide the reaction. Tal was at her side as she recovered, brow furrowed as he looked over the inscription too. He reacted the same way, shuddering when he touched it. "Why is there a statue of the fucking Dread Wolf here, Solas?" he asked.

Solas was silent a moment and then said, "The land on which this was built exchanged hands between the Evanuris many times. I suspect this was left as a reminder of when it served another purpose." He sounded bitter.

"What purpose?" Tal pressed, turning to stare at Solas.

Rosa ignored their conversation, deciding it didn't matter and she didn't care. She was here to make sure Tal didn't get himself killed chasing after literal ghosts on a path the thrice-damned Formless One set him on. That and she legitimately needed to see why Corypheus' goons were sniffing around this place. Could Corypheus know something about her heritage? She dearly hoped not and knew it was unlikely. More plausible was that he wanted magical artifacts, particularly more orbs.

"I cannot say for certain until we see more of the ruins," Solas replied. "But my initial suspicion is that this may have been a theater or learning hall. A school, perhaps, for actors, singers, and authors."

Tal grunted. "Interesting. And why would Dirthamen take it as his temple?"

"As I said," Solas replied tersely. "These lands exchanged hands many times. Each new ruler would wipe away the influence of the previous." He paused a moment and then added, "Fen'Harel, or Fen'Sa as he was known in those long ago times, was not interested in grandiose temples dedicated to himself. He—"

"Got it," Tal cut him off. "Let's not let _asamalin _get too far ahead."

Rosa could almost hear the annoyed growl Solas gave at Tal's interruption and lack of interest. She knew Tal wasn't going to tolerate what he considered propaganda about the Dread Wolf from Solas. He wanted history only. Still, Rosa found herself wishing Tal hadn't been so rude. As irritated and upset as she was with Solas currently, she didn't want her brother to let that sour their relationship too. It was insanely frustrating being the monkey in the middle between them.

They reached a chamber where a small statue of a hooded figure projected out from the wall, lit by a faint green light. A bowl lay in its hands and inside was a large rounded shape, wrinkled and pallid in the gloomy, clinging darkness. Rosa drew closer, feet making a slimy noise over the wet stone as she left the submerged hall to enter the chamber.

Voices hissed in her ear: Chamber of Misery.

Before she could stop herself, Rosa yelped and whipped round, lifting the Veilfire torch high. "Who…?" She felt her cheeks flush with heat as she realized the others weren't yet in the room and appeared perplexed at her reaction.

"Rosa?" Solas asked, concern coloring his voice now.

"Nothing," she said, lowering the torch. "It was nothing."

Tal frowned, searching the dark chamber with his eyes and apparently not liking what he saw—or smelled by the flare of his nostrils. "It's haunted. You hearing things?"

"Yeah," she admitted, also frowning.

"The whispers are everywhere here," Cole murmured. "They're watching us. They have to protect the secrets. They _have_ to." Cole hugged himself, looking through the lank strands of blond hair peeking out of his hat. "I don't like it here."

"The feeling is mutual, Cole," Solas agreed, reaching out to lay a calming hand on the spirit boy's shoulder.

"We shouldn't stay here," Cole said, shaking his head. "We shouldn't _be_ here." He swallowed, blue eyes going wide with horror, though they were unfocused. "They brought them here to pray alone to the darkness. Until _he_ judged them. Sometimes the bowl was red and they died. And sometimes the darkness whispered back."

Rosa stared at Tal, silently asking him to think this through again. It wasn't too late to turn back. Aloud she tried to be snarky. "Well, this is a cheery place to visit our _babala,_ don't you think?" (babala: grandfather)

Tal scoffed. "Funny. But we're not here for that."

Rosa shot a glance to Solas before she could stop herself and saw his eyes were narrowed and his mouth twisting down just slightly.

"But you are," Cole chimed in then and she had to bite back a curse.

"We're here to kick red Templar ass," Rosa snapped. She spun on her heel and stomped toward the bizarre altar—only to stop short as the Veilfire further illuminated the bowl. A desiccated head stared at her, lips pulled back over receded gums that left the roots of long white teeth exposed. The eyeballs were gone, leaving the holes of eye sockets and nostrils gaping at her. _"Fenedhis,"_ she said, recoiling. "What the fuck is going on in this place?"

"He said they'd be safe," Cole whispered. "He said the secrets would be safe. But they thought he lied."

"So they cut off his head?" Tal asked.

"Not just his head," Cole reported in a quiet voice.

"Well," Tal said, whistling. "Shit."

"Dirthamen's priests and acolytes were not known for mental stability," Solas quipped. "I would suggest we not engage with the temple. If it is true that we are here to confront the red Templars rather than _visit_ your _babala,_ there is no reason to incur risk."

"All right," Rosa agreed, nodding as she squared her jaw and turned back to face the others. "Let's get going then and leave whoever this was—"

"Highest One," Cole supplied. _"Doshiel Dirthamenes'ishalen, Dirthamenelan." _(Dosiel: given name. Dirthamenes'ishalen: son of Dirthamen. Dirthamenelan: agent of Dirthamen)_  
_

As the words sank in Tal spluttered and Rosa gawked. "What? Are you saying…?"

"Yes," Solas said, cool and impartial. "I suspect Cole is correct."

Rosa stabbed a finger at the desiccated head in the altar bowl. "This was our _uncle?"_

"It should not come as a surprise," Solas told them blankly. "Dirthamen was thousands of years old and had hundreds of children in that time, as did all of the Evanuris save Andruil, Ghilan'nain, and Fen'Harel."

Rosa clenched her jaw and stepped deliberately away from the altar and what was left of her unfortunate _uncle_'s remains. That was two uncles she knew of now, but clearly this one wasn't an active threat. "All right," she said as she reached the small steps leading out of the chamber. "We won't be collecting any of those body parts out of respect for—"

"He doesn't want to be trapped here," Cole said, wringing his hands. "He was frightened when his father vanished, but he was brave."

"Are you reading all this from his head?" Tal asked, sounding queasy.

"No," Cole said, turning his head and looking at Tal with confusion. "He whispers with the others. Don't you hear it?"

"Okay, never mind. Forget I asked." Tal was pallid and stiff as he marched past Solas and Cole to join Rosa. They splashed together back into the rank water.

"We can still leave," Rosa muttered under her breath at her brother as they sloshed their way deeper through the gloomy halls.

"No," Tal snarled. "I promised myself I would do this. I'm the _only_ one who can."

"This place is _terrible,"_ Rosa hissed. She held the Veilfire torch higher, illuminating the slick, slimy stones they walked past. "We're not going to find _anything _good here."

"Well," Tal said, shrugging. "I can already tell there are a bunch of arcane horrors here. So, yeah, I can agree with that statement. But none of this was _supposed_ to be good. You think I'd do this if we had any other way to find out?"

"He didn't want us to walk this path," Rosa whispered.

"Then he should have told us that while he was still alive," Tal grumbled as he pulled out his staff. Ahead, around a corner, Rosa heard splashing. She lifted one hand to prepare to cast but didn't drop the Veilfire torch yet. Behind them Rosa heard Solas and Cole draw closer, water sloshing as they hustled, weapons at the ready.

They rounded the corner and saw red Templars moving about a wider chamber. One examined a switch in the wall that must activate the silvered gates blocking the passageway beyond. Another stared at the overgrown green-gold mural on the wall of Dirthamen. Two more, heavily armored and with red glowing in their eyes, stalked about the halfway flooded, rank smelling room. Rosa half wondered if the red lyrium destroyed their hearing because they seemed completely surprised as the two sentries spotted their party, though they should have heard them coming with all the water.

"Here we go," Rosa said, gritting her teeth as she let lightning fly, arcing between all four Templars. "Die!"

* * *

Tal launched fireballs at the Templar by the mural and dodged as the hulk turned and flung shards of red lyrium at him. Summoning the invisibility spell, Tal lunged forward, keeping low as the others took on the Templars. Tal knew they'd make short work of them and quickly discover his absence. It would worry Rosa most of all, but there wasn't much choice.

He left the water and the sounds of combat behind him to enter a large passageway. Elven figures stood in the alcoves on either side, bows nocked with arrows and raised together as they pointed toward the sanctuary. Tal's heart hammered in his chest as he remembered this place. Raselan recreated it for him in dreams, letting him navigate it. The demon told him there were artifacts and trinkets behind the sealed sanctuary door, but otherwise nothing of interest. It also told him that the disciples disrupted the magic on the door within the sanctuary, blocking it from responding to anything except the morbid ritual involving the High Priest's desiccated body. Of course, Raselan _hadn't_ mentioned that the High Priest was their _uncle._

But none of that mattered. What _did_ matter, and what the disciples couldn't change, was the secret door behind the mosaic in this passageway. The mosaic itself was an illusion that was entirely solid and real until one of the Lethanavir, Kin of the Inevitable Way, bearing the Crown, touched it. Then and only then would it grant passage to all the bearer willed.

Tal reached the mosaic, bare feet slapping on the floor. A staircase led down ahead of him and paintings like Solas' mural, but cruder, had been drawn on the pale stones. White elves atop black beasts, thrusting spears. Riding to war, maybe. The mural stood on Tal's right.

With a quick glance behind, Tal saw lightning flash and ice magic fly. He heard a red Templar roar in fury and Cole taunted in return, "You can't hurt me!"

_Now or never,_ he thought and reached over his shoulder, grabbing the Crown from the top of his pack. It was on his head in an instant and he felt the powerful weight settling onto his temples, resting against his ears. It was warm, but somehow chilled at once, recalling the cold of the grave. He shivered as he felt the Crown touch his mana, felt it echo inside him with greeting. _Welcome, Kin of the Inevitable Way._

He slapped his palm on the mural. _Grant me entrance._

The mural shimmered and magic crawled up Tal's palm. He saw flashes—a mirror outlined in black like ebony with glass that reflected the starry night sky in all its magnificent splendor—and heard a booming, powerful voice speak in elven, _"Welcome, Kin to Death."_

The solid, tiled surface beneath his hands vanished. Tal stepped hurriedly through. Grimacing at the musty, stale stink of the air that hit his nose. A staircase led down and he heard water dribbling ahead and below. The darkness swallowed Tal whole like the maw of a frost dragon. The mosaic behind him had gone solid again, hiding the passage and shrouding it in lightlessness. He froze, motionless, breathing fast for an instant as panic threatened to overwhelm him. Then, as Tal's eyes adjusted, he made out the pearly glow with its rainbow fractals and smirked. The Crown was its own light source when he needed it.

Willing it brighter, Tal forged ahead. His feet slapped over the stairs, echoing. The Crown's light revealed slimy walls that glittered a pale color like maggots—but soon Tal saw images painted over the stone. He slowed his pace, taking in the images. Black like velvet with pale dots like the stars and figures robed in red knelt in supplication. A panel with two elven men outlined in what might have been eluvians, reaching through to lay their palms together. One man stood in a silver rimmed mirror and had been colored a warm golden hue. The other man stood in a black-rimmed mirror and had been painted white.

Tal brushed a hand on the stone reverently and shivered as magic flowed through him, ancient but still potent. Whispers rose around him and Tal closed his eyes to hear their words better. _Dirthamen's shadow. Falon'Din's reflection. _

They looked like two halves of a whole—night and day, sun and moon. Elgar'nan and Mythal were supposed to be like that, too. Yet, Tal knew from his father's stories that Dirthamen and Falon'Din weren't brothers, as the old tales remembered. They were…something else. Yet, it seemed clear they were _twins_ in some way as well.

Tal took another step down and his foot splashed in water. He snarled with disgust as he looked down to see a foul black mold clinging to the water surface and the walls ahead. Tugging his sleeve over his mouth and nose, Tal pushed forward. His eyes skimmed the panels on either side, taking in images dulled by water, erosion, and time—but still beautiful.

Despite the putrid water lapping at his thighs, Tal stopped short at one panel. A red-brown cloud made of countless dots in a wide range of crimson encircled a golden-skinned figure with red and black eyes. The man held out his arms wide to either side. The tips of his ears stood out starkly from his head. In the upper right corner there was another shape—a second circle but in black with a few swirls of brown-red flowing about it.

Unable to resist, Tal touched the panel and gasped as the magic's ancient message reverberated through him. _Great Dirthamen learns the secret of our enemy, wielder of Pestilence. _

It was Blight. The two strains Solas described.

Tal withdrew, gazing a moment longer at his _grandfather_. The spread arms. The red and black eyes. The sharp ear tips. The red horror circling him in a cloud.

What had Solas said? This was a magic that should be forgotten. As much as Tal might mistrust the Elvhen man right now, it seemed that thought was one of wisdom. Tal clenched his hands and tucked them under his armpits, frowning at the image as he walked forward.

A short distance ahead Tal reached a larger space, pitch black and dank. The Crown brightened with a thought from him and the room seemed to groan, reacting to his presence. Green-gold mosaics glittered in the walls. Yellow-gold tiles stood out ahead on a dais. The water tinkled from off in a corner where something leaked into this hidden chamber. Dingy, scummy waterlines came into view as the magic awoke in a wider circle around the chamber. Veilfire braziers burst into flame, crackling and filling the air with an eerie green light.

And atop the dais in the center of the room stood a large mirror, an eluvian bordered with pale silver. Tal sloshed his way to it, splashing as he clambered onto the steps. The floor warmed under his feet, glowing faintly white in the grout around each tile. The magic was still alive here, dormant but coming alive with the presence of the Crown. Raselan had said it would be like that.

Tal kept his hands tucked tightly to himself, his heart in his throat as he approached the dark, reflection-less mirror. As he stood in front of it, just out of reach, he saw a dim light begin. He squinted, shaking even as he tried to still his emotions and anxiety. Rosa's words kept echoing in his mind: _We can still leave. _

_No, _he thought.

Edging closer, Tal touched his palm to the mirror. It was smooth and bitingly cold. Like the crown, it reached deep into him, touching his mana, tasting it. Tal let it sink in, puffing out a breath as he felt its recognition wash over him. Then there was nothing. It waited, expectant. Obedient.

_Hungry._

Drawing in a breath, Tal focused on the place inside where his necromancy power lurked. Honed after weeks of use and with the Crown to enhance it, the mirror flickered and responded at once—so fast Tal gasped with surprise and almost withdrew. But his nerve held at the last and he let the mana flow out of him until he was shaky and sweating, weakened by the draw. It stopped just before mana burnout and the eluvian's mirror rippled, changing.

The borders on the mirror darkened, like linen soaking up an ink spill. Soon the pale metal was as black as the lightless mirror itself. Then, a heartbeat later, the glass seemed to change focus and white dots appeared. Then faint blue and red pinpricks against the velvety blackness, until Tal recognized the heavens. It was like a reflection of the night skies on the clearest nights, when the moons were absent entirely, which almost never happened.

Something went tight in Tal's throat. He swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden ache. He tried not to think, but thoughts pushed in anyway. _This is _really_ happening. I am going to see _babae._ I am going to _speak_ with him. _

The mirror flickered, as though it sensed his thoughts. It probably had. A faint reddish mist began to obscure the starry night sky reflection. The mirror went dark again, waiting for the real command. The connection had been made. It waited only for permission. For choice.

Tal waited a moment longer, letting his mana regenerate. The Formless One had warned him the summoning would be draining. And if his father resisted he would have to hold the soul there, captive. Such an event would be unpleasant…for both Tal and the trapped soul, apparently. _How_ it could be bad for a soul, already dead, wasn't clear. And when Tal asked Raselan hadn't answered.

"Okay," Tal muttered, screwing up his face. "Here it goes, _babae."_

He closed his eyes and imagined his father—his face, his vallaslin, his smile, his violet eyes. He heard again his mischievous, fun-loving laugh. He saw the travel-worn hood, shadowing his features. He felt _babae's_ magic caress him as he healed cuts on his palm inflicted by the Keeper's switch. _Come to me, _babae, he ordered.

Raselan said it was like summoning someone to himself in the Fade, but Tal had never been able to do that. He wasn't a Dreamer. He wasn't anybody.

Until now. Until this. Until even death could not stop him from getting a little closure.

_Felassan,_ he thought as he sensed the mirror worming through some vast, unfathomable distance and struggling, like a poor swimmer in a strong current. Tal tried other names: _Ivun. The Slow Arrow. Evunial. _

The mirror let out a groaning sound that echoed through the chamber. Water sloshed and splashed. Tal saw it rippling, green shimmers off each tiny ridge as it spread out from every corner. The dribbling water flow stuttered and then surged before returning to its same pace. Tal felt mana draining from him in a torrent and gritted his teeth at the burning pain and shock of it. The Crown flared hot as a sun on his temples.

Just when Tal thought he would cry out and jerk his hand away, it stopped. The room and the Crown darkened slightly through Tal's closed eyelids. He blinked, lifting his head but not daring to pull his palm back from the mirror yet.

He found himself staring at a reflection of himself at first. He looked waterlogged and filthy. His dark curls lay flat and soggy against his pallid skin. His eyes had at least two sets of bags beneath them from lack of sleep the last few nights—between frequent lovemaking and lying awake worrying about Sammael and this very moment. Frowning, Tal resisted the desire to preen and make himself look more presentable—but any thoughts of vanity vanished as the reflection of the chamber dulled and a figure began to walk out of a growing white mist.

Now Tal pulled his hand back, clenching it as he saw the severe shaking. Soon he saw the figure was robed, wearing a travel-worn hood in gray. The hood was up, obscuring the figure's face except for the chin, but Tal already recognized him. That chin was his own.

But though Tal stared, eyes glued and willing the figure to see him and react, Felassan seemed slow and cautious. He advanced from the mist with careful steps, taking his time and gazing around. With his hood up Tal only caught the occasional glint of his eye. And then, as emotion continued to build inside Tal, he couldn't stop himself from speaking.

"_Baba?"_

The figure lifted its head then and stared at him. Tal made out the sharp line of his father's nose, just lit around the hood. He saw the dark lines of his vallaslin and the full, generous shape of his lips. Lips that now frowned.

"_What…"_ Felassan said, the single word raspy and in elven. _"What deception is this?"_

Tal swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice calm enough to speak. "I—I brought you here. I brought you back. Well, sort of." He took a faltering step forward. "Don't you recognize me_?"_

The figure did not approach closer, but Tal thought he saw his eyes narrow. Then Felassan turned away, his hood obscuring his profile. "No…this cannot be…"

"It is," Tal said, raising his voice and only dimly registering the frantic tone of it. "You never told me and Rosa Falon'Din was our great-grandfather. Why didn't you tell us?" The edge of anger took him by surprise and he fell silent.

Felassan turned to face him again. A long moment of silence stretched and then, with slow deliberateness, he pushed his hood back. The full sight of his father's face brought tears stinging into Tal's eyes. He felt his chin wrinkling and tried to stop it, but the grief was too strong with the reminder of what he'd lost.

"Tal," Felassan said and there was a hitch in the name, a small crack in what was otherwise a stoic expression. For a moment his violet eyes were wet and crinkled with grief that must have matched Tal's—and then his lips twisted down hard. "No. This cannot be real."

"You died," Tal said and choked on the words. "And I have Falon'Din's power. It's _real, baba_."

"Funny," Felassan said with a dry laugh. "I don't feel very dead. Dreaming is more like it." He brushed at his chin idly and tilted his head up, as if examining his surroundings, but all Tal saw was mist. "Bit like uthenera, except…" His chin wrinkled once and the roughness in his voice revealed emotions his face kept hidden. "Can't seem to remember what I was doing or seeing before this, except…" He broke off, shaking his head.

"Who killed you, _baba?"_ Tal pressed, edging closer to the mirror, though he dared not touch it. Still, he wanted to step through it, to embrace his father. Seeing him, speaking…it wasn't enough. He swallowed hard, trying to hold back the grief.

Felassan's gaze shot back to Tal. His eyes narrowed. "That is a very interesting question."

"You don't know?" Tal blurted, unbelievingly.

"I didn't say that, _da'len,"_ he retorted with a wry smile that turned sad.

"I have to know," Tal said, rushing the words out. He didn't know how long the connection might last and each encounter might be frustratingly the same. Raselan warned him souls were often confused. Sometimes they didn't remember dying. Sometimes they fled immediately back to the beyond. If Tal summoned his father again later to try again Felassan might not remember this conversation.

"And why is that?" Felassan asked sharply. "Wouldn't you rather hear what the afterlife is like? Not that I'd know, like I said." He shrugged. It was an attempt at deflection through humor. He didn't want to talk about his death. Tal couldn't blame him. There were so many other things they might say to one another. So many better things…

He had to stay on target, but…

"No," Tal blurted and suddenly a sob worked its way out of his throat. His knees shook but he locked them and refused to fall. "I'd rather tell you I miss you. I'd rather tell you I'm sorry I wasn't there. I would have been, if I could_._ I wish you'd let me. I could have…I could have…" Hot tears streaked through the filth on his cheeks and Tal couldn't stop them even if he'd wanted.

Felassan's eyes went wet with emotion. He took a few steps closer to the mirror and dropped into a fluid squat, timeless and tireless in his incorporealness. _"Ma ishalen,_" he said, his voice deep and soothing, the same tone he had used when Tal suffered nightmares or cried as a boy under his clan's cruelty. "If this is real, I'd tell you _I_ am the one who is sorry. I am the one who wronged you and your sister. I am the one who kept you away. Don't blame yourself, _da'len. _What I did…I did it out of love for you and Rosa. It was better that I wasn't there and…" He drew in a sharp breath, swallowing as though he too fought tears. "Never wish you had been there with me in the end or you would have died as well. Better I should die a thousand deaths than place you and Rosa in harm."

"The world's gone to shit, _baba,"_ Tal cried, sniffing. "The sky's torn apart with your friend Solas' orb and—"

"What?" Felassan said and shot upright, stiff as a board. "What did you say?"

"There was a Conclave where the mages and Templars met for peace and Solas' fucking orb tore the sky apart because he 'lost' it to this darkspawn magister named Corypheus. And now Rosa—"

"No," Felassan interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. At Tal's frown he smirked and snorted. "I mean, yes, that's _really_ interesting news, but I meant…" He turned his head, gazing sidelong at Tal through narrowed violet eyes. "You know…Solas?"

"Yeah," Tal said, finding his tears easier to hold at bay with his father's increasingly alarmed and odd reaction. "Solas said you and he knew each other. He first called himself Revas around us. Remember, I told you about him when Rosa and me were in the Hasmal Circle? He told us he was your teacher before the Fall. Was that true?"

Slowly Felassan nodded, but his eyes were unfocused. "Yes…he was. And he was like a father to me then. And later like a brother once I was grown. He was a lot of things to me for a long time."

Now Tal gritted his teeth together. "And I know he serves the fucking Dread Wolf."

Felassan's shoulders sank and his eyes shut. "Tal…"

"And I know _you_ served him, too," Tal blustered. "I know that was what you were trying to hide from us. That was what kept you away. You were a slave, just like Solas still is to that fucker."

Felassan made a hissing sound through his teeth, as if Tal had uttered some unforgivable curse. He didn't look back at Tal, as though ashamed of him. The thought made Tal flush hot with both shame and rage. What was he doing or saying that was so wrong?

"It was Fen'Harel who killed you," Tal said in a low snarl. "I know it was."

Felassan's head sank. His arms hung limp at his sides. Still he didn't meet Tal's eye. "The circumstances of my death do not matter," he muttered. "The only thing I want you to know—the only thing you _can_ know, _ma ishalen,_ is that I died trying to protect you and Rosa. I lived trying to protect you and Rosa, too. My silence was for your protection. The wolf did not know of you and you did not know of him. If you summoned me back from the dead trying to learn anything else, you've wasted your time, _da'len._"

"No," Tal snarled, shaking his head fiercely. "No, you have to tell me. I need to know. Rosa and I are puppets in this clusterfuck mess and we're blind as bats. If it's the Dread Wolf then I need to know how to stop him because he'll be after us next. He knows about us now, I am sure of it. I need to know where he sleeps in uthenera so I can kill him. Or, if he's awake, I need to know how to kill a false god."

Felassan shook his head and said nothing. Something like despair hung heavy over his form.

Giving in to the desire to fill the silence, Tal blustered, "I won't serve the son of a bitch, no matter how misunderstood you and Solas say he is."

"Then you are safe enough," Felassan murmured, the ghost of a smile twitching his lips. "Fen'Harel takes only the willing. Hasn't Solas told you that?"

"Maybe _I'm_ safe," Tal snapped. "If you say so—but Rosa is ready to join him. She's in love with Solas and he's tried to recruit us and she—"

Now Felassan spun to face him, violet eyes wide. "Rosa is—what?"

"They're fucking," Tal spat. "But he already left her once, _baba._ In the Free Marches, when we just escaped Hasmal." He hesitated a moment and then hung his head as he bit out, "He left her pregnant."

Felassan, oddly, stumbled and fell to his knees. He let out a short, sharp laugh and then seemed to groan, staring unseeingly off past Tal's shoulder. "That…well, I'm not sure what to think of that. I…almost don't believe it. That's…very unlike him."

"Believe it," Tal growled. "She almost died when she lost it." He was silent a moment as grief stole up on him again, starting that ache in his throat. "She misses you, too. She'd want you to know. She didn't mean what she said—the last things she said to you." He sniffed. "She called the baby _Da'Assan,_ after you."

Felassan lifted shaking hands to his face, covering it. He breathed long and deep for a few moments and then let his hands fall away. His expression was shattered, shell-shocked. "Tal," he said, barely above a whisper. "I think you should tell me everything that's happened. We…we don't have much time. I know little of this ritual, but mages stronger than you usually conducted it and used Dirthamen's wretched acolytes with their compulsion to get trapped souls to talk fast, against their will." He sounded bitter, reminding Tal of the way Solas often talked of the Creators. "I am willing," Felassan went on, "but…death can only be denied so long."

"I know," Tal murmured, the words miserable and trembling. "This…this isn't good enough, _baba._"

"I know, too," Felassan answered, smiling wanly. "I know, _ma ishalen._" He dipped his chin, his expression brightening through sheer force of will. "That's why you must make it quick." There were tears in his violet eyes. "I always wanted to protect you both. I'm not about to stop now that I'm dead."

* * *

When the last red Templar fell dead into the fetid water Rosa let out a long sigh of relief. Cole flickered green, coming into visibility again, and looked to her with his haunted blue eyes. Nodding to acknowledge him, Rosa motioned to the nearest corpse. "Let's search them. Maybe we can figure out why they were here in these ruins."

"Agreed," Solas put in from just behind her on the raised stone that formed a sort of embankment, long overgrown with roots, trees, ferns, and mold.

They worked over the bodies a short time before Rosa realized Tal was no longer with them. She stood up, frowning as she searched the dark passageway. "Tal?" she asked as she turned, taking in the dank and dark for any sign of him. "Tal, where are you?"

"I sensed him take on invisibility during the fight," Solas told her from where he stood over another of the fallen red Templars. "I assumed he intended to use the element of surprise in an attack." His frown twisted deeply. "It appears he has actually used the spell to slip away from us." Blue eyes pinned Rosa with naked suspicion.

"What?" Rosa snapped. But she already knew. Solas guessed she was in on this disappearance. Well, normally he'd be exactly right, but not today. Tal hadn't shared his exact plans with her, only that he needed to go to this temple to do them and he needed the Crown.

"She doesn't know," Cole said. Then: "Black mirrors bordered in silver. Stars. Mist. Twins. Two men reaching through mirrors, touching."

"Where has Tal gone, Cole?" Solas asked, his voice cold.

"Is he in danger?" Rosa added quickly, gaze locked on the spirit boy.

"No," Cole answered with a slight shake of his head. His eyes were unfocused and hazy. "He is on a dark path, singing the old songs, asking for answers he already has."

"I suspect Cole means he is deeper within the temple," Solas muttered, still frowning.

"Then let's go after him," Rosa said, kneeling again to finish going through the dead red templar's pockets. She grabbed out a scroll and took a coin purse before standing upright. "Can you lead us to him, Cole?"

Cole recoiled, as if she'd suggested something abhorrent. "It won't let me pass."

"Then Tal has entered a hidden portion of the temple and we cannot follow," Solas surmised almost grumblingly. "Perhaps we should continue to eradicate the Templars then rather than seek Tal out—assuming he remains safe." Solas glanced at Cole, apparently trying to read an answer to that from the spirit.

Cole nodded. "Yes."

"Then let's do this, I guess," Rosa said as she pulled out her stave again and turned toward the hallway ahead. "This looks important and I bet there's more Templars inside somewhere. Shall we?"

* * *

So Tal told him it all in a rush. The Conclave explosion. The Inquisition. The Anchor in Rosa's left palm. Rosa's possession by Rogathe again. Adamant and Rogathe's death. His recent bonding. The Formless One that had told him how to find this place and activate it to learn the secret Felassan had taken with him to the grave.

And it was here that Felassan lifted a hand to stop Tal. His lips pinched into a hard line. "I think I understand it now."

"Yeah?" Tal asked, surprised. "Cause I bloody don't."

Felassna smirked. "You haven't known the Forbidden Ones for thousands of years like I have." He chuckled. "Old Ras and Imshael and Xebenkeck, that she-demon."

"Who?" Tal croaked.

"Never mind," Felassan told him. "Not important. What is important is that this only reconfirms what I already knew. You came here wanting to learn about my death and how to kill a legend. But I can't tell you what you want."

"_Baba,"_ Tal protested but the figure in the mirror cut him off, raising his voice.

"The demons are manipulating you and Rosa, trying to draw you into open confrontation with the old wolf. You've been foolish enough to fall for it so far." Felassan's look and tone were lightly admonishing. "Remember the story of the Dread Wolf, Anaris, and Andruil? This is the same."

Tal scowled and shook his head, denying it. "I chose to do this. I _want_ to know. And I _need_ to know. Solas is a slave, just like you were. Help me help him—for Rosa's sake."

Felassan wrinkled his nose with distaste. "Solas is not a slave to Fen'Harel. He is a slave to the wolf's _goals, _just as I was. Just as we all were. To the dream of a resurrected Elvhenan that only an Evanuris like Fen'Harel can bring about. That dream…my greatest hope would be that you and Rosa would live to see it and thrive the way you were born to. The way you deserve." His voice dropped into a soft register, stricken. "Perhaps I did not die in vain. The dream may grow, change with him…now that he sees…"

Tal cut a hand sideways through the air, violently rejecting whatever nonsense his father said. "No, whatever it is, it has to be stopped. Solas denies it, but I _know_ he let the orb land in Corypheus' hands on the Dread Wolf's orders. What kind of _dream_ starts out with a nightmare like that?"

His father lifted his head, smiling dryly. "A great many of them, actually. You don't understand everything now. Someday you will. Right now you're hurting and you want to lash out. But sometimes when the wasp stings you have to know better than to kick the whole nest." He grimaced, staring down into his lap. A shudder passed through him and Tal felt it as a cold tremor, tugging on some deep, dark part of himself. He knew what Felassan would say next before he spoke.

"It's almost time." He lifted his face and Tal saw fear and resignation in his features. "I can feel it calling me back."

The mirror grew darker, the stars beginning to reappear through the mist.

Tal shook his head and lunged for the mirror, palm out. "No," he pleaded, tears burning his eyes again. "No, not yet. You _have _to tell me!"

"No, I don't have to tell you that," Felassan said, rising slowly to his feet. "What I _do_ have to tell you is to watch over your sister. I…I think Solas will protect you both, but…there are things beyond his power. You won't survive if you know too much. So stay close to Solas, but…don't fully trust him." The words sounded strangled. "And most of all, _ma ishalen,_ remember that I love you. Be careful and be clever, like the little wolf you are."

"Please…" He sobbed as he realized his father had become a translucent figure, a mere shadow. "No…" He laid a hand on the mirror and hissed with pain as the surface flash froze his skin. He jerked it back and staggered to the floor, cradling his frostbitten hand.

"_Baba…"_ He stared at the mirror as the stars returned to it and all trace of his father and the mist vanished. The tears streamed down his face unceasingly. When he bowed his head low enough the Crown slipped and clattered to the stone. Tal stared at it as the sound of the tinkling water lapping and dripping everywhere about the chamber resounded again in his ears. His thoughts were slow and churning, but the sight of the gradually dimming Crown on the tiles and the inky black mirror made him suck in a choking breath with horrible realization.

Falon'Din's ritual and power hidden so deep within Dirthamen's temple. The mural of the twins touching palms. Felassan's words echoed inside his ears again: _Dirthamen's wretched acolytes with their compulsion to get trapped souls to talk…_

"Rosa," he whispered to the chamber. He needed Rosa or Felassan would never talk, never tell him how to kill the wolf god.

Damn his father for still trying to shelter him and keep secrets even after death! Couldn't he see Fen'Harel was only making things worse with whatever sinister plans he had? How the _fuck_ was blowing up the Conclave supposed to bring back Elvhenan? But Felassan just seemed to shrug it away, callously. What other things could he plan and how much worse might they be?

_I have to convince Rosa,_ he thought, hands clenching. _Then we can give him one last chance to tell us what we need to know willingly, but if he doesn't…_

Tal picked up the fallen Crown and placed it back on his head, needing it to light his way up the stairs. Then, trudging slow and dejected through the scummy water, he made his way for the secret entrance as sad, angry words played through his mind—what he would say to Rosa to try and convince her to help him.

* * *

Solas cursed himself for his lack of knowledge on this temple. He could feel an eluvian somewhere, hidden, thrumming in the back of his mind. But though they marched through the ruins, slaying countless walking corpses and snooping red Templars, he could not locate it. Nor did he mention this knowledge to Rosa as she led them. Better for her not to know what he knew so that she was more likely to give away what _she_ in turn knew.

Cole unlocked a few gates and Rosa used Fade stone to smash a weak wall to gain entry to an otherwise inaccessible area. None of them led anywhere interesting. The only spot that remained closed to them was the inner sanctuary, behind the massive sealed doorway. Dirthamen's priests and acolytes had sealed it long ago with magic after tearing apart their high priest and binding his soul—or a demon, Solas wasn't sure—to the scattered pieces of his corpse.

_Repulsive,_ he thought, sneering as he tailed Rosa and Cole through the foul, swampy water. Dirthamen's acolytes and priests were so deranged they had lost their minds without the "god" to collect their endless secrets. It was their fear of betraying their "god" that drove them to such depravity. Other temples had not fared so poorly.

On the dais before the enormous inner sanctuary door, Rosa summoned Vedilfire, staring down at the green ink of a rune there. Solas stood a few paces behind her, staff at the ready. Cole was in the water, walking between the green highlighted runes gloomily.

"He was afraid," Cole told them, sounding dejected. "The magic was weak, after. There were too many of them and just one of him. He wanted to live. He wanted to take his father's place and lead the others."

_Better that he did not,_ Solas thought bitterly.

"Can I open that door?" Rosa asked, gazing halfway over her shoulder at him. "Like Tal could in Solasan?"

"I do not know," Solas admitted, trying to keep his voice neutral. "But I would not suggest trying."

Rosa sighed, staring off at the enormous inner sanctuary door, but she yielded to his greater knowledge. "Too bad. I'd have liked to have tried it."

"I do not think it safe," Solas told her. "Such doors were often spelled with passphrases known only to high priests and acolytes of greatest rank. It would expect reckless initiates bearing Dirthamen's gift to try their luck and be warded accordingly." He hesitated only a moment before adding, "The punishment for such transgressions would have been fatal. Those who believe themselves gods do not tolerate insolence."

"Point taken," Rosa muttered.

The clapping sound of bare feet over stone came over the constant tinkling and splash of the water pouring into the temple. Solas and Rosa both turned to stare up at the pathway above the sanctuary. Cole did as well, smiling. "He's come back!"

Indeed, Solas soon made out Tal's Keeper armor, pale on the dark stone and greenery of this ruined place. He walked without his usual bounce and instead seemed heavy with the weight of the water soaking through his breeches and armor. He didn't speak as he started down the stairs to join them.

"_Fenedhis,"_ Rosa snarled then, stomping toward the stagnant water and splashing into it carelessly. "Where were you?" she demanded.

Tal met her stare, eyes narrowed and lips pinched. His eyes looked faintly red-rimmed in the dim light spilling in from the open ceiling of the sanctuary. Then he grinned, though there was no humor in it. "Nowhere, really. I sensed an arcane horror back in one of the first chambers—the ones where our uncle's body parts are sitting in the altar bowls? Anyway, I decided to send it back to the Fade."

Solas crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at the young elf. He said nothing, but everyone knew Tal was lying. It was just a matter of whether or not anyone would call him out on it. Solas chose not to, preferring to watch the siblings interact to determine whether Rosa knew what her brother did and where he'd been. He was _certain_ the siblings had come to this temple for some reason other than the red Templars and undead infesting it. They also hadn't come to perform the ritual involving their long dead uncle's desiccated remains.

"Whatever," Rosa bit out, clearly angry. Her hands fisted at her sides. Solas decided that Rosa _wasn't_ in on whatever was happening here. At least, not completely. She could be slippery and a good liar when she chose, but now did not seem to be one of those times. It would have been _smoother_ if she'd been complicit. This felt more like the chaos of the Atlathvhen, when Rosa found herself forced to clean up after her brother's shenanigans.

"Are the red Templars all dead now?" Tal asked, making a show of looking around. "Did I miss it?"

"Yes," Rosa snapped. "Yes, you did." She turned and shot Solas a frustrated look. "Let's just get out of this shithole."

"I'd like that," Cole agreed in a quiet voice. "The whispers are too loud in here. I can see them."

"Damn straight," Rosa muttered. "I can see the lies, too." She was staring at her brother.

He frowned back at her but said nothing, turning on his heel to head for the door leading out of the sanctuary. "Yeah, let's ditch this place. Reeks like death…"

They all started slogging through the water, heading toward the stairs after Tal. Solas went last, frowning as his mind tried to piece together whatever might have happened here with Tal. He knew, seeing the design of the sanctuary, that it was previously a theater he commissioned when he ruled these lands in Dirthamen's stead for a few centuries. Dirthamen had retaken it and transformed it into…whatever this was. It did not _feel_ like a temple to Dirthamen. Not the way Mythal's did in the Arbor Wilds. This was not a place open to the public once Dirthamen retook it.

As irritated as he still was at Rosa for using the compulsion on him, Solas knew his only hope of understanding what happened here would be to make peace with her. He swallowed, trying to set aside his pride, and watched Tal at the lead as they exited the temple.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Solas was silent a moment, brooding. Then: "Very well. The truth." She heard him swallow and shot a sidelong glare at him, watching. "The truth is that I answered as I did because I do not expect to survive long enough that we might have a future together."

This time there was no feeling of a lie. Rosa turned her head, looking at him directly now, eyes narrowed. It seemed their fight over compulsion magic and his awkward answer to her question segued perfectly into her need to uncover the Dread Wolf's long-term plans. It was as fortuitous as it was gut wrenching. "Is this Corypheus you expect to kill you, or…something else?"

Solas' lips twitched. "The latter."


	51. Being Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa has a heart to heart with Tal and they come to a somber agreement: If Solas won't talk they will have to force the truth from Felassan in the Void Mirror. Later, Rosa and Solas try to patch up their strained relationship.

That night, before Rosa warded her dreams against both demons and Dreamers, she summoned Tal into the landscape she'd created. It wasn't her usual safe dream of the Brecilian forest. Instead it was a dark place, crafted from memories she wished she could forget. Redcliffe castle, shattered into gray stone chunks with the dour green light of the Fade peeking through. This was the throne room where, in that dark future Rosa glimpsed, she had to trap her possessed brother and then _leave_ him and the others.

Now she drew Tal's sleeping consciousness into the dream—just as he requested that evening when he promised he would explain what happened in the temple. Her brother materialized in green mist at the far end of the room where a dull orange fire burned beside the gaudy wolf statues near the throne. He wore his Keeper armor, pale against the gray stone. The fire backlit him, hiding his face. As Rosa warded the rest of the dream, Fade-stepping from spot to spot, she saw Tal tilt his head and heard him whistle.

"Some digs," he commented. "Not your usual imagery, _asamalin_."

"Well," Rosa said, still finishing the wards as Solas had shown her long ago in Val Royeaux, before she closed the breach. It felt like years ago but it was just last winter. "I felt like you should see this place so you can understand why I am so _fucking_ angry with you for talking to Raselan."

She finished the last ward and spun to face him, staring across the throne room. Crossing her arms over her chest, she heaved a long, angry sigh. "Start talking."

Tal flashed a hard grin. "You know, here in the Fade, you still have vallaslin. Did you know that?"

She shrugged. "It was part of me for so long of course I still imagine myself as having it here." She stalked closer to him, up the short staircase leading the throne dais with its super-tacky, grotesque statues. "But when I told you to start talking I meant tell me about what happened at the temple. Don't play games with me."

"I'm not," Tal rejoined. "Just thought you should know that under all the shit that's changed in our lives, you're still _Rosa of clan Naseral. Daughter of Halesta."_ His lips twitched and his eyes narrowed. "Daughter of Ivun or Felassan or whatever name you want to call our father."

Clenching her jaw, Rosa snapped, "Your point? Tell me what happened."

Tal stared hard at her, the smile vanishing. Instead he wore a grim expression and his eyes were heavy with grief. "I summoned _babae's_ soul and spoke with him and he refused to tell me what I needed to know. _That's_ what happened."

"Then it's time to let this go," Rosa said, her shoulders slumping at this news. It was better than she could have hoped for. She let her eyes flutter shut. "Put this behind you, _da'isamalin."_

"No," Tal said, slashing a hand sideways through the air as though he could bat aside her argument. "I can't do that. Not after what _babae_ let slip."

Rosa wrinkled her nose with distaste. "I don't want to hear it. I don't even believe you actually spoke with _lenalin._ It was almost certainly the Formless One wearing his shape and putting on a show. One that you fell for hook, line, and sinker!"

"If you come with me to the temple alone, I can show you the ritual. I can _prove_ it is _babae._ One look and you'll know no demon could playact this well." Tal drew closer to her, each step slow and purposeful. He reminded Rosa of a cat advancing on unwary prey. She tensed and resisted the desire to retreat a step backward.

"I am _not_ going back to that temple."

"Not even if our lives depend on it?" Tal asked, frowning. "And not just you and me, but Solas, too. And our clans. And everyone in the Inquisition. All of it. _Every_one." He stopped just out of reach of her, staring hard into her eyes. Shadows played over his face, strange shapes cast by the firelight behind him and the Fade peeking through the shattered roof above.

"You're being overdramatic," Rosa muttered. But her heart picked up anyway. Damn it.

She knew she must have given away her pang of dread when Tal smiled, cold and grim. "Some things _babae_ said got me thinking. I had to tell him everything that's happened since…" He broke off, swallowing. Rosa saw his chin wrinkle as he restrained grief. She felt a similar ache in her throat and looked away, trying not to think about the words he left unsaid: _since he died_.

"Anyway," Tal went on. "I told him the sky was torn apart by Solas' orb and do you know what? It wasn't hearing about the fucking breach that surprised him there." He was silent a moment, doubtless letting Rosa sense the gravity of the implication. "No, it was hearing that we knew Solas and that you and he are lovers. _That_ was more shocking to him than the _motherfucking breach._"

Rosa swallowed, feeling nauseous. "No. You have to be mistaken. It was the Formless One, manipulating you."

"If this was the Formless One, why in the great beyond would it _not_ tell me what I want to know?" Tal challenged. "No, it was _babae._ It was him and he told me the demons were manipulating me and _that_ was why he wouldn't answer me." Tal's voice dropped in volume, becoming barely more than a whisper. "But he let slip something else, too. He said Falon'Din's people always worked with Dirthamen's during the summoning of the dead. Because Dirthamen's acolytes possessed his compulsion." He snorted. "Did you ever stop to think about it, _asamalin?_ Why the fuck would Falon'Din's ritual take place in _Dirthamen's_ temple?"

Rosa's body had gone cold with realization. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared off at the gray stone floor and the tired old rug stretching over the throne room. Her stomach cinched with pain as the mounting realization came that Tal was helpless to complete this dark fixation without _her._ She had tried to help by keeping him safe, but she didn't want to be complicit. She didn't want to see her father in that mirror and wonder if it truly was him. This…it wasn't right. It wasn't natural…

"The acolytes of both Creators had to work together," Tal whispered as he laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "I need your help, _asamalin._ I know you don't want to give it, but _babae_ is stubborn, even now. He says he and Solas aren't slaves to the Dread Wolf, just his _goals._ And those goals involve the breach. Creating it." He scowled. "You should have seen it, Rosa. When I asked him what kind of goals start off with a nightmare like the Conclave, he just thought it was funny. All of that death was just…" Tal waved a hand, flippant. "Just nothing." His gaze needled her. "Tell me this doesn't bother you, _Inquisitor._ You're supposed to be saving Thedas from Corypheus. What if you're _actually_ saving it so the Dread Wolf can do something _worse? _What if you're actually playing right into _his _hands?_"_

It _did_ bother her. That Fen'Harel could have been responsible for the Conclave, and Solas tacitly for following the evil god's orders…it was always a possibility now that they knew Solas served the dark god. This suggested it was fact rather than merely possible. She tried to bury the fear, to hide it from Tal's keen eyes, but she could hear Rogathe's voice chastising her. _"This denial is unworthy of you, _da'len."

She sucked in a breath and turned away from her brother. "All right, let's say it does bother me. Let's say I _do_ want to know what _lenalin_ knows. But—I am _not_ going to compel him. I can get Solas to tell me."

"Solas can't tell you shit without getting himself killed like _babae,"_ Tal snapped. "You know that. And whatever you do, _please_ do not tell him about this. He might tell his master and then _we_ will be the next ones with our heads on the chopping block." Tal moved after her, turning to face her new direction, as though he would walk beside her. "_Babae_ told me we're in danger. But he thinks the more ignorant we are the safer we are. That's nugshit if I ever heard it."

"There's a cost for this sort of thing," Rosa muttered. Shutting her eyes, Rosa reached inside herself and grabbed the Fade. With a little concentration she fed it her memories, creating another Tal from a different time in front of her and her brother. He appeared from green-gray mist, just as the real Tal had, but this one was translucent and incorporeal. It was a reflection of Rosa's memories, devoid of originality and personality. A shade of a nightmare Rosa had had the displeasure of actually living through.

Tal at her side jerked back as though surprised. "What…?"

"This is you," Rosa told him in a dark voice, gesturing to the shadow-Tal. He wore black with a thick robe and a red-black cloud clung to him. A red talisman hung at his chest. The same evil shade of red glowed in his eyes as he stepped obliquely from them, summoning fire into his palm. The other Tal snarled with hate and desperation.

Understanding dawned on Tal's face. "This is the dark future me you saw. The one possessed by the Formless One." He shot her a sidelong glare. "The one you think I will turn into, because I am too foolish to deal with demons without falling prey to them."

"Never discount the chance that all of this is some master plan by the Forbidden Ones. In the dark future you controlled the red lyrium infection," she said. "And Raselan had hold of you. You hated Solas and attacked him. I didn't understand why then." She gritted her teeth. "Now I do. You knew then what we have just learned now about him."

"That he's Fen'Harel's slave," Tal agreed, nodding. His eyes were somber as he watched the dark future shadow of himself move, the ominous cloud ever encircling him.

"Yes," Rosa agreed. "Whatever Fen'Harel has planned, the demons oppose him. _Lenalin_ said we were being manipulated by the demons." She nodded, lips pinched. "I think we are, too. They want us to oppose the Dread Wolf with them in some kind of future fight. If the wolf's goals are set against the demons', he might not be as bad as you imagine."

"But the Conclave," Tal insisted, sounding exasperated. "You can't deny that—"

"Everyone can make mistakes." She gestured at the shadow-Tal she conjured for emphasis. "Everyone."

Tal was silent a moment and then said, "You expect me to believe the god of trickery blew up the Conclave on _accident?"_

Rosa shrugged. "We don't know, do we?"

"Yeah," Tal grumbled. "We don't. But we _could_ if you would just—"

"I won't," she said, shaking her head. "Not without trying to learn the truth from Solas, first." She sighed and rubbed her face with one hand while, with the other, she waved the apparition of the dark Tal away. "Give me some time."

"No," Tal growled. "No, we can't wait on this! We're camped right by the temple now. Why should we wait when the answers we need are _right there?"_

Rosa whipped her gaze to her brother and glared at him, gripping his bicep as she spoke and giving him a little shake. "Because I _won't_ coerce our father into talking against his will unless I am _damn_ sure I have to do it."

Tal stared into her face, searching her expression. Silence dragged out with just the groan of the Fade in the background and the crackle of the fire in its hearth. Finally he shrugged off her hold and drew a step back, his features hardening. "Then I guess I have wasted both our time."

"No," Rosa said, shaking her head. "Not wasted. Just…give me a little time to find the answers we need another way."

"And if that doesn't get you anywhere?" Tal demanded. "What then?"

Rosa steeled her spine. "It _will_ get me the answers I need."

Tal narrowed his eyes and repeated, "And what if that doesn't work? What if Solas is as tightlipped as ever?"

Rosa huffed. "Then I will go with you to this damned temple again and do what I have to." She shook her head, nose wrinkling with disgust. "But I won't be happy about it."

Tal snorted. "Neither will I. So I hope you figure this out some other way but…" He frowned. "I expect the worst. What if Solas doesn't really know? And he's already said you would have to serve Fen'Harel for him to tell us more." His voice lowered grimly. "_Babae _warned me that serving him is dangerous. He said that me not serving him kept me safe somewhat." Tal broke off, scoffing. "But he didn't seem too concerned about you serving him."

Rosa shot her brother a withering look. "I'm _not_ serving him."

He lifted a brow. "Does _he_ know that? Do you think that's how Solas reported it?"

"Yes," Rosa growled. "Solas isn't going to go back making pledges in my stead. He honestly sounded like he didn't want either of us serving his master. He just wanted our cooperation with the eluvians."

"Okay," Tal conceded, relaxing in front of her. "So we have a plan."

"Yes," Rosa agreed tightly. "We have a plan."

"Good," her brother said and grinned. "Then I'll wish you luck with Solas." He winked. "I think you'll need it."

She bit back the retort waiting on her tongue and instead asked, "Are you still staying here for the rest of the season? You won't come back with us to Skyhold?"

Tal smirked as he shook his head. "I know the temple is first in your mind right now, _asamalin,_ but did you honestly forget I was just bonded?" He chuckled. "I have to spend _some_ time with my new partner."

Rosa forced herself to smile as she nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

Tal's smile fell and sympathy darkened his eyes. "You're thinking about Solas. I can tell."

She sighed and looked away from him. "When did I get so easy to read?" she grumbled.

"Always have been, to me," Tal told her with a shrug. "But you read me just as well, so it evens out. And…" He smiled softly. "For what it's worth, I think Solas really cares about you, even if I kind of hate him for all the secrets he's been hiding and the whole abandoning you thing and the Fen'Harel slave bit."

"Oh yes," Rosa said in a sarcastically singsong voice. "I know it'll all work out when you put it like that!"

"You bet," Tal said, winking again.

Rosa half-laughed, half-scoffed and then, feeling her eyes grow suddenly hot, she reached out and pulled Tal into an embrace. Tal wrapped his arms around her without any hesitation. They held each other close in companionable silence, listening to the groan from the shattered castle around them. Then, at length, Tal said, "Can you maybe brighten this gloomy shithole up a little?"

Rosa let go of him, laughing, and quickly touched the Fade, summoning out her usual Brecilian forest dream. Tal grinned at her now, painted in milky moonlight streaming through pines. The scent of the forest floor wafted up from the leaf litter and pine needle beds. Ferns glimmered green-white in the moonshine.

"Much better!" Tal sucked in a deep breath, taking in the rich scent. "Now, if you can only bring Nola and Dorian here so we can have a nice three-way that'd be _perfect._" His eyes twinkled with mischief. "You can watch, just be discreet."

Rosa slapped his shoulder. "There are so many things wrong with that request I don't even know where to start scolding you."

"Let me know when you figure it out," Tal teased. "I'll be here every night, dreaming and waiting to hear you've gotten tired of ribbing on Solas."

"Laugh it up, little brother," Rosa grumbled playfully under her breath. But, inwardly, she feared he was right. "But you'll still be coming to the Winter Palace, right? For the ball?"

"Duh!" Tal made a show of smacking his lips. "You think I'd miss out on the chance to eat the fancy finger foods there? Vivienne likes to brag about Val Royeaux to a little clueless uncultured idiot like me. It's the only thing I can get her to talk about that doesn't make me want to kill her. Anyway, so yeah, I can't wait to try the food if Vivienne is even _marginally_ right about it."

"Varric says they eat snails," Rosa said, grimacing. "I think you're going to be disappointed."

"Could be dog shit for all I care," Tal said, shrugging. "Vivienne says they light food on fire and serve it still flaming. And the cheese is always burnt at the edges to a perfect crisp. And they eat fish eggs as a delicacy and use blood lotus pollen like seasoning at these really outrageous parties when the nobles are bored."

"Now you're just making things up," Rosa said, scowling.

Tal lifted one hand, palm out, solemnly. "On my honor as First to clan Manaria."

"You don't have any honor," Rosa ribbed, snorting.

"Not yet," Tal rejoined, smirking. "But I plan on making some."

Rosa sighed. "How am I going to survive the next few months without you?"

Tal chuckled and had a reply immediately. "Bored. You'll be bored."

* * *

They left clan Manaria and Tal with them the day after clearing the temple. The clan planned to move away from the temple but to keep watch on it. A group of Inquisition soldiers stayed to bolster the clan's defenses and help keep watch over the temple for signs of additional red Templar activity. Their group never had determined what drove Corypheus' men to go spelunking into these ruins.

Leaving Tal behind was difficult. Rosa wasn't sure how she managed not to well up with tears but Tal's levity helped, letting her laugh as she embraced him a final time and offered Nola a warm smile. Then they were on the long road south, back to Orlais proper and then Skyhold.

Rosa led the way astride her mare, keeping her mind as occupied as she could to hold at bay the old fear of being thrown. Still, her eyes stayed glued to the mare's ears, looking for any sign she might spook. A few soldiers road ahead of her at the very start of their caravan, so if a pheasant flew out from the bushes or trees alongside the road it'd spook their horses first. She tried to let that thought comfort her, even as she felt guilty for it.

It was around midday when Solas rode up to join her, astride his gelding. The horses matched paces, with the gelding nipping at the mare's lips until she snorted irritably, telling him off. Rosa smirked, watching the animals interact as she pulled out some druffalo jerky rations from her pack and began chewing to soften it. Solas didn't speak for a long time and Rosa refused to break the silence first. She wasn't going to apologize for using the compulsion on him and she wasn't about to act as though nothing was wrong and start grilling him on Fen'Harel's motives. Solas was too clever and would know if she struck up a conversation about his master that it wasn't natural right now. Their row had to be patched first.

Solas passed a wineskin to her. "Care for some wine? The jerky is very salty."

Rosa eyed the wineskin and then Solas beyond it. She had one of her own, filled with wine from clan Manaria. He knew that, but he also knew as she did that the clan's wine was better than the Inquisition's. The wine at Tal's bonding ceremony was better than any they'd have for months at Skyhold. Solas offering it was a small gift, but a gift nonetheless.

Accepting it with an obligatory, perfunctory smile, Rosa took a sip to wet her mouth. Then she handed it back. "Thank you." Better that she be hard to catch for a time, lest she rouse his suspicions.

"Of course," he told her. Then, clearing his throat slightly, he spoke more quietly. "I thought perhaps we might talk."

"If you're here to ask me to apologize, you can get bent," she told him, flatly. She stared straight ahead, watching the mare's ears.

Solas heaved a sigh. "Very well, but perhaps you can at least admit you understand my reaction. I can offer you that much in return."

Rosa scoffed with irritation. "You're angry with me for using the _only_ means I have to extract the truth out of you?"

"Against my will," Solas bit out. "Of all hostile types of magic in the world, past and present, it is _compulsion_s I despise most of all. With the possible and notable exception of Blight magic."

"Yeah?" Rosa retorted, turning her head to glower at him. "Well, the world is a tough place, Solas. Look at me, for example. Of all the hearts in the world, you had to break mine _and _leave me with the Anchor that will someday send me to an early grave."

His anger evaporated and he seemed to cringe back from her. "The answer you _extracted,_ Rosa, was not—"

"Don't bother trying to tell me it wasn't true," Rosa snapped. "I know it was truer than anything else you've told me." She frowned bitterly. "All the promises to stay by my side as long as I would have you when really you can't make that decision, can you?"

"That is _not_—"

"No?" Rosa interrupted, glaring. Her innards seemed to quake, hot with outrage that he would try to lie to her about his answer. How much of a fool did he think she was? She _knew_ the compulsion forced the truth from one's lips. You could not fool the god of secrets.

"No," Solas growled insistently. "You must understand that when I answered as I did I was thinking of Corypheus and other threats in the near future and that either one of us could perish—"

The lie in his words was like a twisting pinch inside her brain. "Stop lying," she snarled. "I can feel you're lying so don't try to tell me you're not."

Solas was silent a moment, brooding. Then: "Very well. The truth." She heard him swallow and shot a sidelong glare at him, watching. "The truth is that I answered as I did because I do not expect to survive long enough that we might have a future together."

This time there was no feeling of a lie. Rosa turned her head, looking at him directly now, eyes narrowed. It seemed their fight over compulsion magic and his awkward answer to her question segued perfectly into her need to uncover the Dread Wolf's long-term plans. It was as fortuitous as it was gut wrenching. "Is this Corypheus you expect to kill you, or…something else?"

Solas' lips twitched. "The latter."

"So your master will sacrifice you?" Rosa asked, flat and calm.

"No," Solas said, dropping his chin to stare down at his hands where they clasped the reins. "_I_ will sacrifice myself. For the People."

Now Rosa's heart seemed to be squeezed in some giant's icy fist. "Is this for certain?"

"No," Solas admitted, not meeting her gaze. "That is why my answer was as it was. There are many unknowns." Now he turned and met her eye. His expression was somber and grave. "I am, however, still committed to my promise to remain at your side."

Lowering her voice, Rosa said, "Tell me what he's planning. I might be able to help."

Solas' brow furrowed. After a moment's hesitation he shook his head. "You know I cannot."

"Why not?" Rosa pressed, tugging on her mare's reins. The horse snorted and drifted closer to Solas' mount until the respective riders' knees touched. "I'm ass-deep in this mess already, Solas." Lifting her left hand for emphasis, she wiggled the fingers and watched as Solas' blue eyes darkened, following the motion. "The Anchor might be an accident on me, but I'm guessing your master wants you by my side to keep tabs on it as much as _you_ want to stay close to me."

The certainty of this idea solidified in her mind as she said it and, judging by the way Solas scowled and looked away, Rosa knew it must be too close to the mark for comfort. Rash anger burned her from within but she sat on it, hard. She couldn't afford to let her own ego get in the way here and sidetrack her. She knew the orb was important to Fen'Harel's future plans. Solas had let that much slip already. The Anchor was probably part of that, considering the orb bestowed it on her.

"My hope is that when we reclaim the orb from Corypheus that the Anchor will prove easy to remove," he hedged. "But—before you ask—no, I would not simply part from you if that should happen." He stared at the back of his horse's head, not looking at her. His posture astride his mount was rigid with tension. Rosa had the sense that he weighed every word.

The sound of the horses' hooves clopping and crunching on the dirt filled the air between them for several long seconds. Then Rosa shook her head in consternation. "I don't understand. Why can't you just tell me?"

"Countless reasons," Solas quipped, jerking his head to stare at her. "Most of which we have previously discussed so I see no reason to revisit them now."

Sensing they were at a standstill, Rosa groaned. Brushing one hand over her face, she frowned at the stink of horse lingering on her palms. Pride clashed with the drive for answers. If not for her sake, then Tal's, she needed to keep her temper. She swallowed, maintaining as neutral of a tone as she could. "All right, so you can't tell me more. The biggest reason, as I recall, was that I needed to _serve_ your master before I can know more, right?"

Solas' eyes narrowed. He didn't look at her and didn't reply, but his silence and ongoing tension were answer enough.

"That's fair," she said, thinking aloud. Stripping her own emotions from the topic and examining it with cold logic, she went on. "I may want to ally with Celene, but I'm not about to divulge all of my plans with her based on that. So I can see why Fen'Harel would not allow one of his agents to share everything."

Now Solas' gaze swiveled to meet hers, softening. "I am pleased you understand."

"But that's the thing," she said, leaning closer to him over the distance between their mounts. "I don't understand _enough_ to trust. All I have are your assurances and a lifetime of stories where the Dread Wolf is a villain."

Irritation flashed through Solas' eyes. "Are my _assurances_ not enough?" he asked sharply. "Do you believe I am lying?"

"No," she said, setting her jaw to bite back her own irritation. "I don't think you're lying, but no, assurances aren't enough to overcome a lifetime of hearing the opposite." She reached across the distance and laid a palm on where his hands rested atop his mount's reins. "Help me understand. Then maybe I can help you. Maybe I can _save_ you."

Emotions flickered across his features as fast as lightning in a storm. Hope, longing, fear, doubt, confusion—and suspicion. Finally he said, "Very well. Let us make an agreement."

She lifted an eyebrow in question and waited for him to go on.

Solas looked down to his hands, covered by hers over the horse's reins, and said, "I will show you _evidence_ that the Dalish tales are nothing but children's stories. And you, in turn, will tell me what Tal is hiding."

She was pleased with herself for not giving away a reaction as his words sank in, but too long likely passed before she settled on an appropriate response. She withdrew her hand from over his as she said, "You honestly think Tal is talking to me? That I know what goes on in his head?"

"Yes," Solas said immediately, blank and terse. "Although I fully expect he is _not_ telling you everything. It was clear to me yesterday that you did not know where he went within the temple." He scowled. "Speaking of such, did you truly believe I would not realize more than mere chance took us to that place? _Dirthamen's _temple?"

"Solas," she said in a low voice, straightening her back and staring ahead as she chewed her lip. "Did you ever have grandparents? Parents? Or did you spring from the Fade fully formed?"

He seemed to tense. "Is that a serious question? I do not see how it is pertinent."

"Answer the bloody question," she snapped, shooting him a sideways glare.

He returned it, hesitating. She was certain he had mentioned growing up at one time or another, but so much of what he shared in the Hasmal Circle was a lie to cover his true origins as Elvhen, even though she had suspected it from the moment they met based on her mother's stories of her father newly awoken from uthenera. She didn't know what was real or fake anymore from those days.

Finally Solas said, "I had parents, yes. They are long deceased."

"You never knew your grandparents?" she pressed.

He shook his head once. "No…"

Something in the single word made her eyes widen. "You…never _had_ grandparents?"

He did not answer, merely stared forward. A muscle flicked in his jaw.

"All right," she said, tamping down her surprise. How did someone not have grandparents? And then, almost whispered inside her mind, she had the answer. _If his parents were both like Cole…_

Pushing aside her surprise, Rosa forged ahead with her original argument. "Well, I _did_ have grandparents, on my mother's side. I never knew my father's. Because Keeper Taeras, my mother's bond mate, was old enough his parents had already died. And then, when I realized _ghilin_ was my blood-father…" She shrugged. "Maybe you can't understand this, but _not_ knowing your blood is frustrating and it leaves an emptiness inside you. A thousand questions you can't answer. On _mamae's_ side _babala_ and _mamala _were like second parents to me. They played with me, they taught me, they fed me, they sang songs to me, they let me sleep in their bedrolls if I had a nightmare. I _loved_ them and when they died I cried as hard for them as I did Keeper Taeras. I know what their favorite foods were, their favorite songs. I knew _babala_ gave _mamae_ her blue eyes and _mamala_ gave her the same brown, curly hair that I have, too."

She fell silent a moment, feeling her throat ache with loss. Solas hadn't looked at her as they spoke, but she saw emotions flashing over his face and muscles moving in his jaw with tension and emotion. He was feeling _something._ Unfortunately she just didn't know what.

"Seeing that sort of thing, it grounds you. It makes you see how you fit in the greater world. And…with _lenalin…_I didn't have that." She stared at him, willing him to meet her gaze, to _understand_, though she sensed this was entirely foreign to him. How could someone without grandparents relate? And since his parents must have died countless years ago…did he even remember their faces?

"You cannot expect me to believe you hoped to make such a connection within those ruins," Solas said, cold. "The temple was not built to enlighten, but to enslave. Its sole purpose was to house acolytes whose lives belonged to the false-god that they might collect and keep secrets that may prove useful to him." Now he did look at her, narrowing his eyes critically. "I suspect, had you been born before the Fall, _you_ would very well have been pressed into servitude in some way as well."

She recoiled at that, frowning. "He can't have been _all_ bad. You see him that way because your master does."

Solas' lips curled with hate as he spoke in a hard but quiet voice. "You wished to know such inane things as his favorite food? His favorite song? I can tell you, _da'len._ He enjoyed any song that gave praise to himself. His favorite meal was anything served on fine porcelain and engraved with glory to himself, and all of it crafted by June's Dreamer indentured servants as a gift to him. Perhaps you would enjoy knowing his favorite sport as well? As I recall, it was ripping secrets unwilling from the mouths of the dying using the delightful compulsion that you have inherited."

"_Fenedhis,_ Solas," she growled, shaking her head. "Is there _anything_ positive you can say about him? You know, it's hard to believe he and all the other Creators were just hedonists with a taste for blood."

Solas snorted, still glaring at her. "And yet you would believe it of m—" He broke off, stammering a moment before finishing, "You believe it of the Dread Wolf."

"No," Rosa said, shaking her head. "I am trying to have an open mind about him. And I'm asking you to help me."

"But you will not consider that the Evanuris may be as I say they are? Cruel, petty, self-absorbed—"

"They couldn't have _just_ been that," Rosa insisted. "Everyone has some good and bad."

"You would be surprised," he growled. "But this discussion is not aiding us in achieving a mutual understanding."

"Yeah," she agreed, sighing. "But I can't tell you what I don't know about Tal."

"He has the Crown of Falon'Din," Solas said and Rosa cursed herself for revealing that to him all those weeks back. "Which explains his newfound expertise with the undead." He lowered his voice. "And it was the Formless One who pushed him toward it." He paused a moment and turned to pin her under a hard stare. "Why?"

Rosa shrugged. "A power bribe? Who knows with Raselan. But it _has_ helped us immeasurably. I'm sure you heard about the fortresses in the Exalted Plains where the arcane horror nearly killed us but Tal and I miraculously saved everyone at the last minute."

"Except it was not you," Solas muttered. "It was primarily Tal, using the Crown to enhance his inborn ability." He swung a glowering glare at her. "Would you enjoy hearing how Falon'Din himself used the Crown, _da'len?_ He created it during the civil war between the Evanuris to channel his power over souls and demons. No other, short of Elgar'nan and Andruil later, conceived of such brutal ways to slaughter the People. As he claimed more and more of Dirthamen's unprotected lands while his 'brother' lay sleeping in uthenera, whole villages were brought before him and commanded to bow in allegiance. Many refused, for they feared Dirthamen's retribution when he woke and believed at worst they would be made slaves by their conqueror and later freed by their god. They were wrong. Falon'Din tore their bodies asunder, much they way you or I would rip a parchment in half. Yet this was not the worst of the punishment. Falon'Din's Crown allowed him to grasp their souls and entrap them before they could leave for the beyond. He enslaved their very souls for use later in creating undead to bolster his living warriors for the fight he planned to take to Mythal, Elgar'nan, and the others."

Rosa stared at Solas, her mouth going dry at the awful gravity and hate she saw burning in his eyes. The way he said it, the haunted expression in his stare… "You witnessed this firsthand." It wasn't a question.

Solas' jaw clenched tight and he dipped his chin down. "I encountered a village being judged. I was journeying then, and very young. I did not wish involvement with any, but the cruelty I saw changed me." He was silent a moment, staring forward now with glazed eyes as deep blue as the Waking Sea. "Most submitted after watching their loved ones torn apart and realizing they were somehow enslaved as souls. The living prisoners were led away by arcane warriors and, after I was certain Falon'Din himself had gone…" His hands fisted on the reins. "I intervened and freed them."

Staying silent a time, Rosa mulled over this story and memory stirred within. Finally she said, "You told me about this before. A little, anyway. It was at Hasmal. You said you rescued a village from bandits."

He blinked, surprised. Then he nodded. "Yes. I had to alter the tale, of course."

Flicking her eyes over him, she wondered again how powerful he was. How many had he faced that day and defeated? A general for Mythal would certainly be powerful.

As if he could sense or guess her questions, Solas added, "It was that intervention which drew Mythal's attention to me, for I took the message from the villagers, pleading for aid, straight to Arlathan. In so doing, I revealed unwittingly that I should have been a noble at court, not a wandering mage."

Rosa frowned. "Why were you wandering?"

Solas' lips twitched and he met her eye with a look of wry humor. "I have always been a loner. Surely you have noticed."

He meant it lightly she knew but the comment stung. He'd chosen to leave her rather than trust her with everything. She paid a heavy cost for it, too. How old would their child be now if it hadn't died? She grimaced with grief and sat on the topic. The what if was too painful to consider.

After a moment of silence Solas apparently sensed his attempt at humor failed and asked gently, _"Vhenan?"_

Grunting, she acknowledged him but didn't say anything. Nothing felt right to say. Her chest was tight, bittersweet with love and loss and something akin to jealousy as she recalled the way Tal's clan elder described the duty of a bonded couple to make children. Were they making clan Manaria another mage right now? She knew Tal was anxious and uncomfortable with the idea, but she also knew he was devoted to Nola and to his new clan.

_You don't have any honor,_ she'd teased him in their shared dream the night before. His reply echoed in her mind equally loud: _I plan on making some._

The thought of her brother living the life she had always envisioned for herself—and wished for him—panged her with the ache of both love and loss. Love that Tal would achieve that dream she had for him. Loss that her own chance had disappeared so quickly. She wasn't even sure when, exactly. Was it when she lost the child? When the Anchor cursed her with what would likely be a short life? Was it further back when she fell for Solas in the Hasmal Circle? Maybe it was all of it together.

"_Vhenan?"_ Solas repeated, louder now and with a note of concern.

She winced, feeling the stupid sting of tears. She blinked them away and stared at her mare's ears. "Why do you call me that when it sounds like we're both going to die young and tragically? What are we even doing together, Solas?"

"Rosa," Solas said, using her name now. His voice sounded strangled, pained. "My sacrifice will be neither made in youth or truly in tragedy." The reins tinkled as he edged his gelding as close to her mare as he could, reaching over to lay his hand over hers where they rested on the saddle pommel. She turned her head and met his sad eyes, feeling her throat ache with emotion as she saw his mixed misery and tenderness as one. "My sacrifice will ensure you live a life as long as my own."

Her eyes widened. "You mean I would be immortal?" At his solemn nod she shook her head. "How does that work? Really? _You_ die but the People become immortal again?" She scoffed. "Solas—that sounds daft."

He withdrew his hand and a wounded expression, or perhaps humiliation, crossed his face. He looked away. "I'm afraid I cannot explain it." He sighed, looking around at the other Inquisition riders, scattered about astride their horses. He had apparently gone self-conscious on her. "We will speak on this later." He prodded his gelding into a trot, moving ahead of her.

Rosa watched him go, swallowing down the surge of pain, confusion, and anger within. _I don't want immortality,_ she thought. _I just want you. I just want a family that won't leave me._

Her mother banished her to protect clan Naseral when Rogathe first possessed Rosa to save her and help her fight away roving bandits. Her father abandoned her before she was even born and then never met her on the coast of the Waking Sea years later, leaving her alone and frozen, thoroughly expecting to lose her mind when she shared it with Rogathe. And of course he later died, as had Rogathe. Then Solas had stolen her heart and helped save her from Hasmal, only to abandon her. And then the child he left inside her, that she had grown to love fiercely, died when the halla threw her. Now even Tal was leaving her in slow motion to pursue his own future with a family—bond partner and children someday.

She had…well, she had the Inquisition. But someday relatively soon their purpose would end with Corypheus' death or her own. Then her inner circle would dissolve. Varric would return to Krikwall. Sera to her Red Jennies. Cassandra would serve the new Divine, whoever that was. Iron Bull would go back to serving the Qun and the Qunari. Dorian would return to Tevinter and try to clean out the corruption there. Blackwall would rebuild the Gray Wardens. Vivienne would rejoin her precious Circle and continue advocating for dreary mage prisons. Cole would…well, she didn't know what he would do, but he might leave, too.

And she would be alone with only memories and the Forbidden Ones clawing at her.

The image of her headstone in the mock-graveyard within the Fade rose like a specter in her memory. Her greatest fear was chiseled on it plainly for all to see: _Abandonment. _

Solas' had been in the same tragic vein: _Dying Alone._

_We have the same fears at the heart of it,_ she thought, still staring at his back. _Being alone_.


	52. Conspiracy of the Forbidden Ones Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa continues prepping for the ball at the Winter Palace. Meanwhile, Solas learns unsettling details about the Void Eluvian hidden within Dirthamen's crumbling temple and Tal delivers some interesting news that he's afraid will really hurt Rosa.

A prim servant placed a bowl of greens before Rosa on the table. A white tablecloth covered the coarse grained wood beneath, but it couldn't hide the uneven shape of the makeshift table. Vivienne was using an end table as a stand-in during Rosa's etiquette lessons. Rosa found that amusing, week after week, and made a point of poking fun at it.

"Good heavens, Madame," Rosa said with a mock gasp, pressing a hand to her chest as though aghast. "The shape of this table is atrocious. Is it a circle? A rectangle? Maker forbid, I just cannot tell!" She lifted one end of the tablecloth where she knew she'd stained it wiping up a little spilled red wine weeks ago. "Is that a _stain?_ Oh! I may faint."

"Charming, darling," Vivienne said, her tone of voice suggesting she was just _barely_ suppressing a roll of her eyes. "As always."

Josephine was quick to interject and bring things back on topic. "Now, Mistress Lavellan, you must remember to eat with the—"

Rosa grabbed up the salad fork with her right hand and lifted it for Josephine to see. "Got it. This one." She stabbed at a leaf smothered in dressing and then tried to pin the unruly edges with her fork by folding it over. She wasn't especially hungry so she took her time, just the way she knew Josephine and Vivienne expected. When the forkful was suitably tidy she lifted it to her mouth and pushed it in as daintily as she could.

"Excellent, my dear," Vivienne congratulated. "You have come so far since we started. One would be forgiven for admitting they hardly recognized you."

Swallowing, Rosa shot the enchanter a glare. "My manners have been altered to please the stupid Orlesain court. My _appearance_ is still the same."

"Well," Josephine interjected, fidgeting. "There is the matter of your…the Dalish markings."

"Removing them was a genius move, my dear," Vivienne complimented. "And very timely, considering the ball is only a few weeks away."

Rosa felt herself blushing at this topic but said nothing as she packed another forkful of greens into her mouth. Over the next few days she had to finalize all her travel plans and confirm with Tal where and when they would meet. The long weeks since she parted with him in late summer seemed like another lifetime.

She threw herself headlong into her work as Inquisitor to keep from remembering that her brother was far away and tried to enjoy Solas' company without worrying about the future she wouldn't have with him. He'd made an effort to educate her, sharing many dreams of Arlathan with her. She'd seen his memories of battlefields, cities lit magically at night, theater performances, houses of learning, and the wilderness as he had known it. Here and there she caught a hint of his master, but mostly Solas seemed to only want to show her Elvhenan, that she might understand the world he had lost and hoped to restore.

The good parts, anyway. The bad parts he wanted to stay dead and buried.

The prim maid snatched the salad away after Rosa's second bite, as she always did now that Rosa's eating habits pleased her two etiquette advisors. She sighed, enduring it even though she wanted to eat a few more bites because the chef at Skyhold made a very tasty dressing. She sat back and pretended to preen her nails as the maid next placed the main dish before her: pasta primavera with chicken and spindleweed.

She felt Josephine and Vivienne's eyes on her as she took the proper fork and began spearing pasta and chicken, making a show of picking over it first. "Very good," Josephine praised her, grinning. Then she cleared her throat. "My dear Inquisitor, how do you find Halamshiral?" she asked, adopting a slightly different accent, more nasally.

This was the part Rosa could hardly ever bring herself to pass. "I liked it better when there were elves in charge," she quipped before eating her forkful of pasta.

Josephine covered her mouth, apparently scandalized. Vivienne sighed and this time she did roll her eyes. They were accustomed to such wisecracking, but Rosa suspected they both knew that in the moment she would control herself. Still, they couldn't let her comment slide without some reprimanding.

"Really, Inquisitor," Vivienne said, literally tipping her head back and staring down her nose as Rosa continued eating. "You _must_ remember to watch your tongue while at Halamshiral. A good sense of humor and cunning will take you far, my dear, but a bitter comment will turn away potential allies."

"Right," Rosa said, making a show of nodding studiously. "Let me try again. I have it this time." She poked at more pasta.

Josephine and Vivienne exchanged glances briefly, probably trying to decide who should address her. Finally Josie cleared her throat and asked, "Inquisitor, we have heard you were escorted by Grand Duke Gaspard. How do you find the Duke?"

"Like most Orlesians," Rosa said in as pompous a voice as she could manage. "I find that he is better looking when he wears his mask."

Josephine snorted and then blushed, covering her mouth. Vivienne, meanwhile, sighed and shook her head. "Really, my dear, you worry us."

"Oh," Rosa said, feigning embarrassment. "I almost forgot to answer while my mouth was full. Let me try again. I can do better, I swear! I'll drop something on my tunic. That should do it." She smirked as she shoveled more food into her mouth and watched the varying expressions on both noblewomen's faces.

"Very well," Josephine said, tucking her hands behind her. "Perhaps we should merely go over reminders on—"

"Nope," Rosa interrupted as she pushed the pasta away. "I got it down pat. Time to go to ballroom lessons so I can waltz with the Empress herself without stepping on her toes…_much._"

"But…" Josephine stammered as Rosa got out of her seat and pushed past the prim maid attending. "We have not gotten to dessert."

"It's the little fork, Josie," Rosa tossed over her shoulder.

"She knows the silverware, my dear," Vivienne reassured the ambassador. "She has known them for weeks. It is the dancing she requires more practice with."

"And the conversation," Josephine murmured under her breath—but not so quiet Rosa didn't hear it and smirked to herself. She deeply enjoyed tormenting her etiquette advisors. But they were right. She _did_ need more practice with the _shem_ dancing—mostly because her feet kept slipping into a Dalish dance from her youth. How scandalous it'd be if Rosa stumbled in full public view like that. Creators forbid, the Orlesians might have a spot of fun dancing if they took up the Dalish jig.

* * *

Solas tilted his head, squinting his eyes at the latest panel in his fresco. The scene was inspired by the battle at Adamant Fortress and he couldn't quite get the right shade of orange. He'd begun it a half dozen times only to paint over it in white and start over. First it was too orange. Then it was too tawny. Then it was lackluster and seemed more gray or green. So he returned to the hues, acquired more herbs from the apothecary, or even walked out into the mountains around Skyhold, trying to find the right pigments.

This time it finally seemed right. He smeared more onto the wall, each stroke of his hand smooth and practiced, slow and deliberate. He didn't flinch or stop when he heard the rotunda door open and footsteps thump in. One of them had a cadence he knew well and the slap of bare flesh that brought a small smile to his lips—though he wiped it away a moment later. He lowered the brush and his palette, pivoting round to see Rosa stride in with Vivienne, Josephine, and Leliana behind her.

He lifted one brow. "Is it time for the dancing lessons already?"

"Yep," Rosa replied, terse as she usually was during her etiquette lessons. The rotunda was the most private spot they had for lessons like this that was also fairly spacious. She shouted up to the second story. "Dorian? Are you there?"

"Of course, old girl," the Tevinter answered and then a moment later his feet sounded on the stairs.

A few other scouts—and Fiona—peeked over the railing from the upper levels as they always did for Rosa's dance lessons. The rotunda wasn't really _private_ so much as it was less likely to display Rosa's lessons to passing visitors or traveling merchants and nobles. They could ensure only Inquisition members witnessed it here. And, aside from that, shutting down the main hall would be virtually impossible with far too many entrances and exits to secure.

Solas walked back to his desk and, making a show of being somewhat reluctant—best not to let on how much he _actually _enjoyed this daily interruption—he grunted as he pushed his desk toward the wall. Rosa was behind him, kicking at the rug to push it aside, clearing the space of their miniature and makeshift ballroom. Leliana barred the door from the main hall with a groan of the ancient metal and wood. Vivienne, meanwhile, walked beneath the scaffolding and placed her hands on her hips as she stared down at the assortment of instruments they'd started storing here some weeks ago for these lessons.

"What do you think, darling?" she asked, addressing Josephine, who moved to stand behind her. "How should we set the tempo today?"

"Hmm," Josephine hummed, thinking aloud. "The fiddle."

Vivienne smiled in smug agreement. "Just what I was thinking, my dear." She stooped and took up the worn, coarse grained violin. Pivoting on her heeled boot, Vivienne extended it out toward Leliana. "Would you do the honors, Sister Nightingale?"

"Of course," Leliana agreed, accepting the instrument. She rested it in place on her shoulder and plucked at a few strings, testing how in-tune it was.

Solas rested his rump on his desk, now shoved against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the lesson begin in earnest. Rosa took up a spot in the center of the rotunda with Dorian standing beside her, picking at his nails. After weeks being "cultured" by so many humans, Rosa's posture was comfortable—albeit a bit impatient, judging by the tap of her fingers against one thigh.

Leliana finished tuning and then set the bow to the string. The rotunda echoed with an Orlesian tune, slow but pretty, timeless in its own way. The music might be mere mortal, not enhanced with magic, but Solas still smiled at the pleasant sound. He identified the type of dance that should accompany the song just as Rosa did, turning to take Dorian's hands. The Tevinter adopted the same pose immediately. Most of the dances performed in the south were similar enough or identical to the dances of the Empire, meaning he could act as both teacher and partner for Rosa.

"Very good," Josephine congratulated them. "Now, let me see Lady Lavellan dance in the male role."

Rosa and Dorian switched positions and then began the slow step, fluid and surefooted. Rosa stumbled a few times, halting and frowning as she struggled to make a transition. Dorian, however, made similar errors, though he was smoother in his recovery. He hummed with the tune and smirked as he did a feminine turn.

"Footwork, darling," Vivienne coached, clucking her tongue. "The leader must _lead._ With confidence."

Rosa flashed a hard smile at the enchanter. "Why am I practicing both male and female steps again?" she complained.

"We cannot know who may wish to dance with you," Josephine explained. "It simply would not do for you to be unprepared should a noblewoman—or the Empress herself—request a dance. You would play lead to the Empress, and that would be the male role."

"Like anyone is going to want to dance with a knife-ear sort-of apostate," Rosa protested.

"They'll dance with you simply to see if you can," Dorian told her as he continued their slow-stepping path around the rotunda. "Or because they are bored. Regardless, they'd quite like to see you fail and make a fool of yourself. Better you dazzle them, no matter what they throw at you."

Solas couldn't hear the pouty sigh Rosa let out from his distance but he could see it in the way her shoulders rose and fell. They made another circuit around the room before Vivienne clapped her hands and called for Leliana to change the tune. The spymaster did as she was ordered, picking a different song with a jauntier rhythm.

This was where everyone knew Rosa struggled. Solas recognized a dance that had similar footwork as the Dalish jig he'd last seen her use in Crestwood months ago in the spring. The issue was that Rosa kept slipping into the Dalish dance at transitions. Vivienne, Josephine, Leliana, and Dorian were all trying to break her of that bad habit.

Dorian dropped the first song's footwork and stance. Rosa followed suit, lips twisting down and brow furrowing with concentration. They locked arms and began a lazy, graceful circle in time to the fiddle. Vivienne nodded with approval and Josephine wrung her hands, watching as the first transition took place.

Rosa handled it well, maintaining the slower footwork of the Orlesian dance, rather than edging into the faster Dalish version. Dorian grinned at her. "Perfect! We'll make you a belle of the ball yet, Inquisitor."

She snorted, but despite his distraction her feet didn't falter.

"Now take the lead, my dear," Vivienne said.

Rosa and Dorian parted a moment, repositioning. Now Rosa led the steps, taking on the task of setting the pace. Her expression was tight with concentration as she moved. Solas could see her actively fighting instinct borne from a lifetime dancing the Dalish version of this jig. He smiled, enjoying the natural grace of her fluid movement, regardless of the dance employed.

"Flawless," Josephine praised, clapping her hands.

The compliment made Rosa stumble a little and she frowned, determination doubling with the tension in her features. Dorian smirked at her, continuing to follow her lead as they broke and reversed direction in another lazy circle. "Having trouble?" he asked, teasing.

Her only response was to glare.

Vivienne clucked her tongue. "Mind the mask, darling."

"I'm not wearing one," Rosa said.

"Your face, old girl," Dorian said, daring to tease his mustache with his other hand not involved in holding onto Rosa currently, even though that broke the lines of the dance. "She means your expression. You must make it look easy. You look as though this is a battlefield."

"It is," Rosa snapped.

"Precisely," Dorian said as they released again and pulled back from one another to sweep into bows. When he rose once more he added, "But on this battlefield you must _pretend_ it's effortless."

Rosa flashed a tight, fake smile on her lips as she and Dorian drew close again and locked elbows. "Better?"

"Hardly," Dorian said, sighing. "In fact, it might be worse."

"Orlais can take their grand game and shove it up a high dragon's ass," she bemoaned through a smile that looked marginally less artificial and strained.

"That would be entertaining to watch," Dorian said, laughing.

It was close to another half hour before Josephine, Vivienne, and Leliana were satisfied enough to end the lesson. Onlookers from the second story clapped and one young man whistled. Rosa gave a mock-bow and then waved at everyone. "All right, back to work. Nothing to see here. Show's over."

Solas took that as his cue to begin resetting the furniture. Leliana returned the violin to its spot tucked away beneath the scaffolding while Vivienne excused herself, accompanying Dorian back up the stairs to the second level. Josephine lingered with Rosa, helping maneuver the rug and Solas' desk back into place.

"Have you finished selecting your companions for the journey to Halamshiral, Inquisitor?" the ambassador asked.

"Well," Rosa said, grunting as she pulled while Solas pushed, sliding the desk into place. "I was thinking obviously Vivienne should come with me."

"An excellent choice," Josephine said, nodding. "Any others? I understand Sera and the Iron Bull have both volunteered, but I would advise against—"

"Definitely," Rosa interrupted, grinning. "I want to see the court squirm when they see how many savages I'm bringing. Myself included, of course."

Josephine stammered, faltering a bit. "Are you certain? It may be—perhaps it is unwise to bring a Qunari spy and a rather uncouth rogue who is affiliated with a large group of organized thieves into the Empress's court."

"I'm afraid I must agree with Ambassador Montiliyet," Solas piped up. He stood at the corner of his desk now, hands tucked behind his back. "She makes an excellent point regarding both the Iron Bull and Sera."

Rosa sighed, frowning. "Yeah, sure, but the Bull is such a fighter I kind of want him there as my bodyguard."

"You will not want for protection, Inquisitor," Josephine reassured her. "Cassandra will be along by request of the Grand Clerics, so I have already made plans for her to attend your retinue. And Commander Cullen will be present at all times, of course, as will Leliana's scouts."

"Neither Cassandra or Cullen are also a spy, though," Rosa pointed out. "That's one thing I really like about both Sera and Iron Bull. They read people better than Cassandra, Blackwall, Cullen, and you, with all due respect. That's the sort of insight I need at a place like Halamshiral."

Solas blinked, surprised by that wisdom, and felt himself smiling slightly in approval. Rosa shot him a knowing look and he at once tried to wipe his approval away to become a blank apostate again.

Josephine's shoulders sank as she seemed to accept defeat. "Very well then. Should I add the Iron Bull and Sera to your roster then?"

"And Solas," Rosa said, jerking her chin toward him.

"You as well, Master Solas?" she asked in her usual way, always pleasant with respect.

Solas smiled as he nodded to her. "If the Inquisitor wishes then I am happy to oblige."

"Maybe Cole too," Rosa murmured. "I mean, if you think that's a good idea?"

Josephine stared blankly, confused. "My apologies," she said after a moment. "But I am unclear who you mean."

Solas pinched his lips together to hide his knowing expression, both amused and irritated. It was clear the ambassador had forgotten about Cole. Rosa opened her mouth as though to explain and then seemed to think better of it. "Never mind," she said. "I think that's more than enough. I'll have plenty of muscle with Cassandra and Bull. Sera will be good on the rogue side. And we'll have a ton of magic with four mages."

Josephine's confused expression returned. "Four? There will be you, of course, and Lady Vivienne, and Master Solas. Who is the fourth? Do you intend to take Dorian?"

"Dorian's welcome to come," Rosa said, chuckling. "But I meant Tal. He's coming down to meet us on the road. I've been coordinating with Leliana's scouts to arrange it."

Solas kept his expression impassive at this, choosing now as the moment to return to sorting through the various texts on his desk. The idea of Tal returning wasn't entirely pleasant. The young man had not trusted him since learning he was "involved" with the Dread Wolf. Solas was entirely certain Tal would work hard to poison Rosa against him while he was around, too. It was a problem he'd spent the last few weeks considering, to no avail. When he wasn't sharing dreams with Rosa, Solas sometimes lurked at the edges of Tal's dreams, but he feared coming too close. Tal might recognize the feeling of him in the Fade. He was so accustomed to Dreamers shaping the Fade, and talented enough himself as a mage, that Solas expected tricking him would be difficult. Better not to try than to try and fail. Still, the temptation remained…

"Ah," Josephine said. "Very good. I'm certain Master Tal will make an excellent addition—though we must give him a few lessons as well before we attend the ball, I'm sure." She and Rosa began walking for the exit to the rotunda, leaving Solas to his work.

But, just before Rosa passed through the door that the ambassador held open for her, she turned and called to Solas in elven. _"See you tonight?"_

He looked up, momentarily caught off guard before he smiled. _"Ma nuvenin,"_ he replied.

She winked at him and then disappeared through the door. It groaned as it swung shut, leaving Solas alone with his work. Pushing his concerns about Tal aside, Solas delved into the obscure ancient Tevinter texts for several hours as the day wore on. He waited until the scouts, rookery attendants, Fiona, Leliana, and Dorian had all left for the day. Then, fatigued enough that his eyes were heavy, Solas put away his books and left the rotunda.

He found the main hall nearly empty, with only a few servants and scouts scurrying about on errands and tasks. Heading for the upper levels where the Inquisitor's inner circle had bedrooms, Solas was just about to take on invisibility in the stairwell and double back to go to the Inquisitor's chambers when he felt a tug on him. The jerk on his soul came through the Veil from the Fade. Only the strongest Dreamers could perform a waking summons with the Veil in place. Aside from himself, Solas knew of only two others strong enough to do it: Rosa and Zevanni.

Alarm made his heart pound. He continued toward his official bedroom, silently apologizing to Rosa that he would be late or would not attend her tonight at all. They could still meet in dreams, of course, but he must see was so urgent Zevanni would summon him like this.

Entering his room, Solas shut the door swiftly and summoned a small Veilfire spark to light the space as he lay down. Then he closed his eyes and let the Veilfire fade, plunging everything into darkness. The Fade took him in, hungry as a lover, and Solas let himself follow the strong tug through shapeless gray-green mists.

Then the mists cleared and Solas found himself standing on dank, green stone. Water sounds trickled through the space, splashing somewhere out of his sight. Green Veilfire burned in a brazier on a collapsed column to Solas' left. To his right stood a statue of a hooded faceless figure clutching an offering bowl. Water glinted inside it, but for an instant it turned crimson.

"_Hahren,"_ Zevanni's voice spoke behind him.

Solas turned to her and dipped his head in acknowledgement. "What news?"

His agent wore grimy leather armor and her dark hair was disheveled. Her brown eyes looked too big in her face, haunted. _"I breached the temple of Dirthamen,"_ she reported, using elven.

Solas nodded, encouraging her to continue. He recognized his surroundings now that she mentioned it. This was the sanctum of the temple, now overflowing with water. Massive magic sealed doors stood on the other side of the platform, behind Zevanni.

She sniffed, standing stiff, and continued in elven. _"It took time to gain entry,"_ she said, her tone one of apology. _"But the temple is now ours."_

Weeks ago Solas had asked Zevanni to research the strange eluvian he glimpsed in Xebenkeck's thoughts. Much to Solas' regret, Zevanni's search for answers turned up nothing. So, with no other leads than the certainty that the mirror had something to do with Dirthamen's temple, Zevanni stalked it and waited for a chance to forge inside. Now that clan Manaria had left, escorting Tal south to meet with Rosa for the ball at Halamshiral, she was certain to have found _something. _The idea had Solas' muscles snapping taut with anticipatory dread.

Now Zevanni frowned and gazed down at her bare feet. _"Var and I have found a sealed mosaic. It will not grant us entry. The magic remains strong. We cannot pass. In desperation, I acquired the remains of the former high priest."_ She shook her head. _"The magic is not easily deceived. It is Evanuris magic. It tastes of Falon'Din, not Dirthamen. The high priest's body was useless to us for his flesh. But his memories linger here…"_

The archaic accent Zevanni used and the different rhythm of her speech now made sense. Solas nodded his understanding. _"You imbibed his knowledge." _

Using the Fade and some herbs, Zevanni had absorbed the high priest's essence—his soul—trapped as it was by the other crazed disciples of Dirthamen. It was a technique long lost to mortals, though it was much like what spirits and demons did as they read dreamers. Performing it was always unpleasant as it mirrored possession, implanting another consciousness inside one's head. Zevanni spoke in elven now and with a different speech pattern because she was partly Doshiel, high priest of Dirthamen. That influence would fade over time, but for now…

She pinched her lips together. _"Yes. It was rather harrowing, but there was no choice."_

"_And what have you learned?"_ Solas asked, slipping into elven as well.

Her jaw clenched. _"The chamber beyond the mosaic is for performing Falon'Din's ritual summoning. It is the Eluvian of the Void. The mosaic opens only for the chosen of Lethanavir and selected disciples of Dirthamen. Only shadow and reflection together may gain entry." _

Solas felt his chest constrict. The magic was intended to open for those with Falon'Din's gift and Dirthamen's blood. The intention was that Falon'Din and Dirthamen would send priests and acolytes to work together on the ritual within. But Tal was the direct descendant of both Evanuris. The magic would open for him and _only_ him now. Rosa did not possess Falon'Din's gift. She wouldn't gain entry without his aid.

"_The Eluvian of the Void,"_ Solas quoted the high priest.

Zevanni nodded, her expression somber. _"Doshiel witnessed the ritual use of the mirror many times. The power of the Lethanavir pulls the souls of the dead into the mirror where they may be held and questioned."_

Solas scowled. He'd never been fully convinced that Falon'Din actually summoned the souls of the dead. He could _enslave_ them at the moment of death, certainly, but to pluck one from the Void? That seemed impossible, even for an Evanuris. Yet it was no secret that was what everyone believed Falon'Din could do. And, somehow, this secret from Elvhenan had been dredged up out of the depths of time by the Formless One and given to Tal to use.

"_The souls must be forced to speak,"_ Zevanni said. _"Disciples of Dirthamen are the only ones who can do this." _

"_With their compulsion,"_ Solas finished, grimly. He shook his head. "The Inquisitor possesses Dirthamen's compulsion."

Zevanni's unblinking stare was grave, and Solas knew most of it was her and not Doshiel's influence. _"Conspiracy,"_ she said. _"The Forgotten Ones' generals cast a grand spell."_

"But to what end?" Solas asked, still frowning deeply. It made no sense. Why would the Formless One and the other Forbidden Ones try to pit the Inquisitor against Fen'Harel? Were they simply trying to force his hand into freeing their masters? Tearing down the Veil sooner than he planned? Yet, if that was the case, why the secrecy? This had been hidden from him when it should have been flaunted as a threat to make him come forward to bargain with them. Perhaps they merely were positioning themselves strategically and trying to strip Solas of future allies? Tal had allied with the Formless One to become the demons' puppet in the dark future. Was this the same play?

Whatever happened, the Forbidden Ones knew only Solas could free their masters the Forgotten Ones and tear down the Veil.

"They may seek to limit my allies," Solas surmised aloud. "To curtail my power before the Veil is destroyed."

Zevanni shrugged. _"I cannot say. This conspiracy has been laid with great care."_

_Greater than you know,_ Solas thought sourly. He recalled Rosa's use of the compulsion on him and wondered how long she possessed it—yet he was certain he knew the answer. She had carried the talent dormant until Imshael must have awakened it. His timing now made Solas sneer and his hands clench into fists. The demons had been stalking and planning _something_ for a long time.

And he thought he knew what that something was—exposing him as both Dread Wolf and Felassan's killer. After all, there was only one soul he could think of that the siblings would be interested in summoning to the Void Eluvian. But Tal could not complete the ritual without Rosa, apparently, and she had not gone to the temple's restricted area. The demons' plan had failed, at least in part.

"I believe I know how to thwart it," Solas murmured, staring off at the large pool of putrid black water around the platform. At Zevanni's hopeful expression he shook his head. "Unfortunately I cannot enact it as quickly as I would like." He could not risk jeopardizing his relationship with Rosa and the Inquisition before the journey to Orlais. He needed her on his side at least until he had secured the eluvians Briala currently possessed. Then he would need to confess and hope she did not order her Inquisition to seize and execute him.

"_What do you wish of me now, _hahren?" she asked.

Solas considered her a moment and then spoke in elven, _"Seek out any sign of Imshael, Xebenkeck, Gaxkang, and Raselan. Quietly. See what clues to this conspiracy you can find." _

Zevanni dropped into a bow, much deeper than she usually did with him. _"It will be done, _hahren."

Solas hesitated a moment as she righted herself and shot her a tight smile. _"Take some time, _falon,_ to recover yourself as well."_

She fidgeted. _"Yes, _hahren."

* * *

"Manaria will be about here around the beginning of Firstfall," Tal said as he pointed to the map of Thedas Rosa had conjured out of Fade ether. "We'll wait here and fish from the Waking Sea ands the marshes around it until the Inquisition shows up."

Rosa nodded. "That's a sound plan. Lavellan fishes the Waking Sea sometimes a little earlier in the season and further east. There are always fish spawning around that time so they're everywhere and easy to catch."

Tal chuckled. "That's the idea." He smirked. "We have like five elflings coming in the next year. So we need all the food we can get to keep the lot of them fat and happy through winter."

"Manaria is growing then," Rosa said, warm at the idea. "I'm thrilled to hear that, _da'isamalin."_ She chuckled a beat and then sobered slightly as the next question burned at the tip of her tongue—especially when Tal blushed and focused on the map, unusually bashful. "I'm not going to be an aunt next year, am I?"

Tal let out a tight chuckle of his own and rubbed the back of his neck. "Officially, no."

Rosa frowned, confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Tal shut his eyes and let out a breath. "It means she's not told me she's pregnant yet, but I know she's missed her courses." He was blushing at the awkward conversation. "And I remember what you were like at the start and she's the same, but worse."

"Worse?" Rosa asked, shaking her head.

"She's tired all the time and feels sick a lot. More than you did, I think. Or maybe she just doesn't hide it as well. I don't know." He crossed his arms over his chest and swayed from one foot to the other with obvious anxiety. "Honestly, I want to be thrilled and excited, but I'm mostly just terrified. Like _I_ did this to her and…" He frowned, cursing. "Fuck, _asamalin._ I don't know how to be a father. I was hoping I was sterile or she was barren, or that it wouldn't happen as fast as it has."

"It takes some time to adjust," Rosa told him, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "But I'm not the least bit surprised it happened so fast. Our family seems to be excessively fertile." She couldn't help but laugh dryly at her own comment.

"Yeah," Tal said, smirking as he at last lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Comes from _babae_, probably."

"And both of our mothers," Rosa reminded him. "What was it you told me two years ago when it was me? We're a family of bastards." She squeezed Tal's shoulder and laughed full-throated now. "Congratulations, little brother. You've officially created the first _not_ bastard child in our family."

"_Babae _wasn't a bastard, I don't think," Tal put in. "At least not in the illegitimate child aspect. So it's not that great an accomplishment. But, speaking of _babae…"_ He let the words drag out, the implication unspoken.

This was the part of their meeting she had dreaded. Rosa pulled her hand back from her brother's shoulder and waved the map of Thedas away. Now she was the one who crossed her arms over her chest as she regarded Tal and mulled over what she wanted to say. Tal, however, wasn't patient enough to wait for her to figure it out.

"You haven't learned anything from Solas, have you?"

She rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Not really. Are you happy?"

"No," Tal told her earnestly. "No, I'm not. I _predicted_ you wouldn't get anywhere with him from the start, but I _hoped_ I was wrong." He appeared honestly wounded at her comment. "I'm not standing here trying to sabotage your relationship with him. I'm trying to help. Solas is enslaved by Fen'Harel, one way or another. He isn't going to settle down with you the way you want him to. I know you know that and it's killing you."

He moved closer to her, his brown eyes dark with sympathy. "Do you know how much I dreaded telling you just now about Nola? You took it really well but I think _this_ is why Nola isn't coming out saying she's pregnant to me, too. She knows what happened to you. She knows I'm your _younger_ brother. Me having a kid before you is weird. She doesn't want to put me in that position where I tell you that, but we have to do what's right for the survival of the clan first so…" He shrugged, flushing. "Baby making it was. And I'm sorry. It's not fair."

Rosa found she couldn't quite look Tal in the eye. Slowly, she shook her head. "You have nothing to apologize for, so please, don't. If I wanted to have a child I could do it any time. Just take off my charm and bed one of the humans or one of the elven scouts."

Tal scoffed. "You and I both know that's not what you want. I know you, Rosa. You'd never make babies with a human because it stamps out the People's blood. You don't settle. Well, almost never. You were going to settle with Han. You still could. I don't think it'd make you happy but…"

She shook her head. "It's not about what makes me happy. I have a greater responsibility now." Lifting her left hand, she tugged on the mark inwardly and it crackled, flashing green. She let it fade a moment later, her point clear. "Whether I like it or not, I should be like the fucking Divine and just be celibate. You're free and I want you to enjoy it. I'm _glad_ you can." She smiled, bittersweet but genuine. "At least one of us gets to be First and live a long, happy life surrounded by our clan and our children. You deserve it after the misery you suffered growing up in your birth clan."

"Fuck deserving it," Tal snarled. "You don't have to settle, Rosa. You can save Thedas as Inquisitor and then Solas can take off the Anchor and then you're free, too. Then what do you want?" He lifted a hand, motioning for her to stop before she spoke. "Wait, don't tell me. I know what you want. You want Solas. You want him to give up sucking the Dread Wolf's cock so he can settle down with you like me and Nola. You want to make a little slice of heaven for you and him right here on Thedas."

Rosa sighed. "That would be nice, but…" She shook her head. "It isn't going to happen."

"And who says?" Tal asked and then, again, motioned for her to stay quiet. "Oh, wait. I know. Fen'Harel. Because Solas belongs to _him,_ not you. And whatever plan _he_ has it's going to pound Solas into the ground like me hammering a nail into one of our aravels. Solas is a soldier and he isn't going to stop and become anything else unless we _make_ him."

Rosa shot Tal a glare. "Make him? That sounds like you think we should be tyrants, dictating how Solas should live." She scowled, vehement. "I won't do that to him. And I won't help _you_ do that to him. Whatever our motives, it's always selfish in the end. It's not right."

Tal heaved a longsuffering sigh. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying Fen'Harel is the problem. We have to kill him. Without Fen'Harel at the helm, Solas can sail his own ship. He can _choose_ you. Right now he can't."

This was what Rosa had known Tal would say eventually. Her chest was tight and hot with dread. "I don't think trying to kill one of the Creators is a sound strategy."

Tal's look twisted into a frown. "You and I both know that whatever his plans are, they're bad. Like _really bad._ _Babae_ didn't seem to think the Conclave was a big deal. So what kind of end game does that suggest if the Conclave was just the appetizer?" He squared his shoulders and his jaw, his eyes narrowing hard. "You have a responsibility as Inquisitor to deal with this. As Inquisitor _and_ our father's daughter. I have that same responsibility and more now with Nola. You and I are probably the only ones who can fight Fen'Harel because of who and what we are."

"You've let the Crown go to your head," Rosa growled.

"And you've let fear hold you back from the hard truth that _we need to deal with this."_ Tal glowered at her, nostrils flaring, eyes searching her.

She looked away, holding her breath a moment. Tal was right, in a way. She _was_ afraid. Constantly. Afraid of making the wrong decision and losing the fight to save Thedas from Corypheus. Afraid of falling into a trap laid for her by either Fen'Harel or the Forbidden Ones or Corypheus. Afraid of losing her friends and family with her own recklessness. Afraid of dying before she had saved Thedas from Corypheus. Afraid of seeing Solas die for the Dread Wolf's ideals. Afraid that her association with the wolf god and his eggheaded general was unwittingly bringing about greater disaster to Thedas.

And yet, she also feared that resisting Fen'Harel would be worse for the People, for a future where Elvhenan rose again. Even if Rosa was long dead and never saw it, perhaps Tal, Nola, and their child or children would get to enjoy it. Solas had told her many times that Fen'Harel's way was the only one that would save the People from a slow path to extinction—though he was cagey about how and why. Yet Rosa didn't need much proof to believe the People were dying, squished like bugs beneath the boot of the _shemlen._

"I'll give this some thought," she said at last. "And I'll try to get something more from Solas. I haven't given up yet."

And when that fails?" Tal pressed. "Will you help me?"

"_If_ that fails," Rosa said, sucking in a sharp breath. "I will journey with you to the temple, as I've said before. But I won't coerce _lenalin_ into speaking the truth. I won't do it. We owe him more than that."

"Then why bother agreeing you'll come with me at all?" Tal asked, less resentful and more bemused by her response.

"Because I want to see this creature you think is our father's soul. I want to see what's got you so convinced and spooked." She swallowed, feeling a lump in her throat. "And if I think it's really him, I'll say goodbye."

Slowly Tal sighed but nodded. "All right. I guess that's good enough for me."

"I still think what you saw couldn't be _lenalin," _Rosa commented.

"It was him," Tal muttered, grief clouding his face. "You'll believe it when you—"

Rosa gasped as the Fade jerked on her and the dreamscape faded. Tal stared at her, confused. He reached out for her, but his hands passed through her forearms. Rosa tried to reassure him as she felt herself slipping out of the Fade and back to her physical body, but it was already too late.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

She bit her lip, nodding to herself as both frustration at his stubbornness and grief at hearing what she'd already known he'd say tore her apart. "Do you report everything back to your master?"

Solas was silent long enough that she opened her eyes and stared at him, frowning. The conflicted expression he wore seemed _off_ somehow in a way she couldn't pinpoint. "Do you?" she pressed.


	53. Conspiracy of the Forbidden Ones: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW!
> 
> Rosa convinces Solas to arrange a meeting with his "master" so she can be officially recruited, but she has dark plans to kill Fen'Harel if she isn't convinced his plans are in the best interests of Thedas and the People.

Opening her eyes, Rosa saw Solas seated on the bed beside her and felt his warm hand resting on her cheek. "My apologies," he said, smiling softly. "I was delayed."

Something in his expression hinted that whatever kept him was unpleasant and serious. Rosa sat up, reaching for his hand. "What's going on, _vhenan?"_

Her use of the endearment seemed to make Solas flinch, but perhaps she imagined that. He placed his other hand overtop of hers, making her palm like the meat in a sandwich, and squeezed as he smiled with melancholy. "A friend contacted me in the Fade. She told me she suspects the Forbidden Ones are engaged in a conspiracy to turn you and Tal against Fen'Harel."

Rosa stared at him, trying to keep her face impassive or confused rather than wary. Yet there was little use trying to deny this suggestion. Solas knew the Formless One set Tal up with the Crown. He knew something had happened in the temple of Dirthamen, though Rosa had never admitted to knowing what. Like any good spy he must have reported it back to his master and now his master was moving his pawns about, ferreting out the conspiracy against himself.

_I am one of the pawns,_ Rosa thought. _As is Solas. _The wolf god was trying to blunt the damage of the Forbidden Ones' conspiracy. For her to deny it or play dumb might only turn Fen'Harel defensive. She had to play this very carefully.

So she used the truth. "I suspect the same," she murmured, barely above a whisper. "I'm caught in the middle and I don't know who to trust."

Empathy softened Solas' features, along with something akin to grief, turmoil. Finally a wan smile curled his lips. "I should hope you would trust me over the Forbidden Ones."

"I trust you," Rosa told him, truthfully. "But I cannot say the same of Fen'Harel."

Solas looked away, closing shut his eyes. His jaw clenched, muscles flickering. "I do not know the specifics of the conspiracy, but I would ask that you have faith that if you trust _me_ that you can trust my judgment. The Dread Wolf is not the enemy you think him to be. Whatever goals the Forbidden Ones have, they will not end well."

Rosa shut her eyes, trying to calm the anxious flutter inside and to squash the foreboding certainty that she did _not_ know that the Forbidden Ones were worse. Not after her growing suspicion, based on how Tal said _lenalin _acted, that Fen'Harel had caused the Conclave and probably had some as yet secret and terrible future plans. And, ultimately, Solas would be involved—just as he was pivotal in the Conclave by "losing" his orb.

It wasn't Fen'Harel who possessed Tal in the dark future, she reminded herself with a deep breath. Whatever awful plans Fen'Harel had, they would be good for the People in the end. She'd never sensed a lie in all the times Solas told her that.

"Do you recall when we faced the Formless One while trapped within the Hasmal Circle?" Solas asked her softly.

She opened her eyes and nodded. It seemed like another lifetime now. Raselan had tried to make her attack Solas for his blood or give her blood to it. If she did not do so it promised to punish her by telling the Templars a secret. When she didn't do as it commanded Raselan revealed Tal as her brother, making the Templars haul him away. Solas had helped her free Tal and get him to Manaria clan.

She smiled her gratitude, some of the cold of fear fading. "Yes. I remember that."

"The demon tried to turn us against one another," Solas reminded her gently. "I pleaded with you not to be deceived. It is the same now."

Staring into his pale blue eyes, she swallowed hard. Emotions wrenched at her, turmoil caused by her place caught in the middle between her brother and lover. Not to mention her role as a leader caught between two godlike enemies…or, maybe, one pseudo-enemy. Confessing all of what she knew about Tal felt too raw, like betrayal. Yet, saying nothing…

The love she felt for this Elvhen man pressed on her throat and suddenly tears burned in her eyes as she recalled Tal's awkwardness and blushes as he revealed he was going to be a father. Jealousy twisted inside, as much as she hated and tried to deny it. Steeling herself against the emotion, she said, "Tal told me Nola is pregnant. He's going to be a father."

Solas' brow knit as confusion warped his features. He drew back slightly, turning his head to stare at her at an angle, as though trying to read her. His blue eyes darkened with pain and sympathy, though he also seemed to try for aloofness. "I…suppose congratulations are in order."

The weight of the past, of the life they accidentally created and then Rosa had lost, lingered in the air between them. Neither of them dared voice it, but Rosa could see the impact of it turning his thoughts, even as he was wary as to why she had suddenly switched topics.

"Yes," Rosa agreed stiltedly. She sniffed and brushed at her eyes, trying to get rid of the pesky tears. "But he's guilty about it, after…" She shrugged, unable to give voice to the loss of their child. She snuck quick glances at Solas and saw he wore a mask of grief and shame. "He thinks you are a slave, you know. That there is no future for us, unless…"

The grief transformed into something wary and Solas pulled back slightly from her. "I am _not_ a slave."

Rosa ignored his protest. "I know you think whatever Fen'Harel has planned you need to die for it. To save the People and somehow restore our immortality." She frowned, blinking as the damned tears threatened again. "But I don't want immortality if it means I lose you."

"_Rosa," _he said, the note of protest still putting an edge to his voice.

She frowned and plunged onward. "I don't want immortality. I just want you."

"You do not understand what you—"

"Dammit Solas," she interrupted him, glaring now through her tears. "Let me talk. Do you remember the graveyard in the Fade? Our tombstones with our fears written on them? We had similar fears, you and I. You're afraid of dying alone. I'm afraid of abandonment since _mamae_ banished me from my birth clan. Since then I've had everyone I love leave me. Even Tal now will settle with his Keeper and his first duty will be to his child when it's born." She closed her eyes and the first two tears slipped down her cheeks. "It's the same, you and I."

"_Vhenan,"_ Solas said, barely above a whisper. "I cannot shirk my responsibility and I cannot burden or endanger you with it. _Ir abelas."_

She bit her lip, nodding to herself as both frustration at his stubbornness and grief at hearing what she'd already known he'd say tore her apart. "Do you report everything back to your master?"

Solas was silent long enough that she opened her eyes and stared at him, frowning. The conflicted expression he wore seemed _off_ somehow in a way she couldn't pinpoint. "Do you?" she pressed.

"I…keep no secrets from him," Solas answered at length, evading eye contact.

_I cannot trust him,_ she thought and tried to keep the pain cutting through her from showing on her face. She clenched her jaw, steeling her spine and squashing the anguish within. She would have to keep her brother's secrets to protect him from the wolf god. She would have to make her own decision and convince Solas to recruit her. If she could get close enough…she could kill him, surely. If Fen'Harel could be a threat to her and betray her through spies like Solas than surely Rosa could do the same. She could be a double agent. And, if she found after learning more that Fen'Harel truly was the People's salvation as Solas believed, then she could choose to support him fully. Either way, it seemed the only way to learn more was to serve him.

"Recruit me," she said, edging closer to Solas and taking his hand in hers. "Take me to him in the Fade. Let me meet him that I can decide."

Solas' jaw squared. "No. I cannot do that."

"If I want to serve him," Rosa insisted, "do you have any right to stop me? Or will he not take me?"

Solas' expression changed to one of pain. "You would kill yourself trying to protect and save me. Please, _vhenan._ You and Tal deserve the gift of immortality. It is the People's birthright. I would not see you die trying to spare me."

"There's a chance you might survive if you have help," she said, squeezing his hand hard and then pulling it to her lips. "Please. Recruit me. Or at least let your master decide."

A heavy silence descended, thick with tension. Then Solas' hand moved, fingers brushing her cheek as he rotated his wrist and slipped his palm along her jaw toward her ear. The warm fingertips tingled with a hint of magic. She shuddered, anticipation tightening her belly. It'd been entirely too long since they'd made love. Their schedules often kept them apart and sometimes they were too exhausted for sex and just shared the same bed and dreams. Her body yearned for him now, in spite of the emotional anguish of this situation.

"After we retake the eluvians at Halamshiral," he promised, his voice husky. "I will arrange a meeting." He went silent and Rosa leaned against his hand, sighing with more relief than was truly warranted—considering the grim plans circulating in her mind.

The bed shifted as he leaned closer, whispering. _"Vhenan…"_

Sensing he was about to kiss her, Rosa surged forward, tugging on his outstretched arm. She collided with him, kissing him hard. Breath already too fast, she sucked at his lower lip aggressively. Her reward was the feeling of his arms shifting, twining over her and pulling her into his lap as they fell together entwined on the bed.

His hot lips stayed with hers as they rolled. Rosa pinned him beneath her, straddling his hips. Judging by the hardness beneath her he felt the same longing as she did. She chuckled back in her throat at the feeling and dragged her hands down his torso without breaking their increasingly frantic and sloppy kiss. Solas' hands on her slipped easily beneath the night tunic she wore, cupping her ass—where he discovered she wasn't wearing any undergarments. He hummed in appreciation and finally broke their kiss, nuzzling into her neck.

"What a pleasant surprise."

She traced his ear with her lips, biting when she reached the tip. He let out a little gasp that made her grin. She often made sure she left marks on his pale skin for others to see the next day. Their relationship wasn't public knowledge but it wasn't a secret either. As much as Rosa knew she _should_ conform to a chaster image to support the _shemlen_ view of her as a religious leader—and she'd said as much to Tal—she had no plans to do so. Rather the opposite. She'd fuck just to rebel even if it didn't feel great already. And, just as Tal pointed out, she had an appetite only for other elves. So it delighted her to leave a lasting reminder on Solas for all to see. A little private act of rebellion against the _shemlen_ view of her.

And, in the moment, Solas always seemed to agree, judging by his throaty chuckling as he turned the tables on her. His mouth found her neck and she felt his teeth nip, working in tandem with his lips. Rosa arched her neck to allow him better access and Solas partly sat up, moving her with him. They rolled until she was on her back. His hands wandered low again, pushing up her tunic to expose her hips. She teased him, rocking and pressing into the obvious lump in his breeches.

His hands trailed up her body, stroking her from hipbones to ribcage. Her skin erupted in gooseflesh, responding as much to his touch as the tingle of the magic he employed that always set her afire. Warm palms cupped her breasts and then his fingers drew slow circles around her nipples, teasing and delighting.

Then he whispered in her ear, breath hot on her skin. "Perhaps we should disrobe?"

She chuckled, low. Turning her head, she grinned at him. "Why would we want to do that? What dastardly things did you have in mind?"

He smirked at her and, hands still on her breasts, tweaked her nipples as he sent a pulse of magic into her. Rosa gasped and bit back a moan. He nuzzled her neck and she could feel his smiling lips at the sound of her pleasure. _"Ma nuvenin," _he said. "If you prefer remaining clothed…"

She laughed then. "Not on your life." She squirmed, shimmying and lifting her arms to let him push her tunic up and over her head. He tossed it away carelessly across the bed and then his mouth was on her left breast, lips and tongue delicately teasing the pointed nipple. She arched into him, eye fluttering shut. The pleasurable ache between her legs twisted on itself, building.

Her idle hands found the hemline of his tunic and slipped beneath the scrape her nails along his abs. Solas pulled back from her enough to quickly shed his tunic. It joined hers across the bed. He made short work of the lacings on his breeches, freeing himself. Grinning, Rose hunched down and grabbed his length, squeezing.

The breathy gasp he made was so worth it, but not as good as when she took him into her mouth. His let out a shaky breath, muscles rigid as she worked her lips, mouth, and tongue on him. The sweet-salty tang of skin and fluids sharp on her tongue. His breathing hitched and she felt his powerful thighs lock, resisting the desire to thrust as his pleasure mounted.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing, fighting to speak. _"Vhenan,"_ he said, then moaned. "If you keep doing that…"

Rosa teased him, swirling her tongue at the tip on the underside, right where she knew he was most sensitive. More gasps wrenched from his throat and she felt his cock twitch in her mouth. She drew away, falling onto her back as she smirked up at him, satisfied with herself. "That good, huh?"

He was blushing, red-cheeked to his ears. He shook his head slightly. "Since becoming mortal I…lack the stamina I previously possessed…"

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said and laughed. "Even if I know it's really just a reflection of the quickening after uthenera."

"It is most definitely a compliment, _vhenan." _Solas moved over her on the bed, one hand caressing her from thighs to shoulders as he went. Rosa relaxed with a sigh, parting her thighs as her skin shivered under his touch. They'd been together enough that he knew just how much magic he needed to tease her. He knew exactly which buttons to press.

Their lips crashed together first, then bodies brushing and finally grinding as Solas angled his hips and Rosa arched her back to meet him. She sighed with satisfaction as he slid home to the hilt and wrapped her arms around his back, feeling the muscles undulate with use. He rocked inside her, calculated motions before he began to thrust.

Rosa hooked her legs over his hips, angling her body to move in time with his. The kiss continued between them, though Rosa had gone sloppy as her thoughts grew fuzzy. Solas nibbled and then alternatively his tongue dove deep into her mouth to battle hers in a tempo matching his hips. His breath puffed on her cheek, faster and with increasing franticness. Rosa knew hers was no different.

When he slid a hand low between them, hot with the power of his raw mana, Rosa's pleasure ratcheted up suddenly. She gasped against his lips, squirming as moans built back in her throat. One of his fingers flicked her, teasing as much with touch as magic and slow, deliberate thrusts. Rosa broke the kiss as she cried out, hovering at the edge. Her hands clawed at his back and then his sides, pulling him closer.

She couldn't think as her body danced at the edge of climax, but it proved just beyond reach as Solas eased off the magic and stilled his hands and his hips for a moment. As some semblance of sentience returned and Rosa made out the shit-eating grin on his lips, she grinned at him only to curse him a second later. "Flat-ear," she said, panting. "You're toying with me."

Chuckling low, Solas leaned down and traced her jawline with the feather light touch of his lips as he made his way to her ear. _"You enjoy it, _vhenan," he said, reverting to elven.

She shivered and then hummed, husky and mischievous. Twisting, she pulled him to one side, rolling with him until he lay pinned beneath her. Grinning down at him, she worked her hips over him and was rewarded by a sharp gasp from him. "Two can play that game," she told him before kissing him, fervent and sloppy, all breath and tongues.

Solas reciprocated, moaning into her mouth as she ground against him and then arched her back to slide over his length in a faster tempo. He bucked beneath her, hands scrabbling at her hips in a confused mixture of trying to slow her down and conversely guide her faster. His breath puffed faster and faster on her cheek. His skin had gone slick with sweat, as had her own.

Then his palm rested low on her navel and she felt the surge of his magic sinking into her again, pulsing in time to their thrusts. Her thoughts went fuzzy and she broke the kiss, losing all coherent thought as she grabbed his ear tip in her teeth and nipped, moaning as the heat coiled tighter inside her. He cried out, on the precipice just as she was, their bodies working together feverishly.

She pulled back from him, sitting upright on him and gripping his chest for support, riding him. Solas' free hand supported her small back, hot clammy fingers caressing in the same pattern as the palm low on her navel sent mana sinking into her, matching their mutual thrusts. She felt dizzy, wound up so tight she would burst.

Rosa cried out as the climax finally took her. Hips bucking wildly and toes curling, she only dimly registered Solas' grunt and then his strangled cry of pleasure mirroring hers. But she felt his body jerking with each wave, felt his cock twitching as he emptied inside her.

As the bliss wore slowly away Rosa stared down at him, still gripping his shoulders for support. Breathing fast and rough, he looked back at her, pupils dilated so that his eyes looked black in the low light of her room, lit as it was only by moonshine. The tender smile he offered warmed her and she leaned down again to kiss him, slower now that they'd slaked their passion.

Breaking the kiss, she rested her forehead against his, sharing the same air. The gentle brush of his chest on her nipples with his each inhalation made her shiver. "I love you," she told him, fighting off the wave of foolish sentimentality and fear that assailed her suddenly from the post-sex lassitude.

He made a soft sound of affection in his throat and lifted one hand up, tangling it in her hair. "And I you, _vhenan."_ He kissed the corner of her mouth. Then, softer, he added, "No matter what comes."

* * *

Alone in the Fade after Rosa vanished, Tal watched the dreamscape change. Rosa had crafted it to look like the Brecilian forest, complete with a smattering of pale stone columns from Elvhen ruins. Yet, as the minutes passed, Tal saw the Fade changing itself to reflect him, instead. Tal could not actively shape the Fade, but his presence and influence were powerful enough that his memories and reality passively altered the Fade to fit him.

Soon the pale columns were transparent and then vanished. The pine trees changed little by little until they were mostly broadleaf, fluttering in a nighttime wind. Ferns vanished, becoming yellowed grass stalks. The scent of the air took on a sharper odor that Tal recognized as the Dales. A faint stink of salt reached him, too. Manaria was near enough to the Waking Sea that they could smell it.

"She won't help you."

When the lilting female voice broke the silence of the dreamscape Tal whipped round to face it, tensing and pulling on mana even though such measures were usually ineffectual in a dream. Fire crackled in his palm as his eyes scanned the line of trees around his clearing. "Raselan?" he asked and spat. "Fuck off. You show your face and I'll kill you, asshole."

"I am far from formless, _da'len,"_ the female voice said, chuckling. It was a seductive tone, teasing.

Tal snarled. "Desire demon? I'm not in the mood."

From the trees several meters away Tal saw an elven woman emerge out of the gray-green ether. She wore gossamer clothing in strands that barely covered her. Her skin was pallid, frosty white. Her hair was dark and curly, like his own but much longer as it cascaded down her shoulders and back. She laid a slender hand on a pale tree trunk, smiling at him from that safe distance. "I mean you no harm, _da'len."_

"You're a demon," Tal snapped. "Your kind only ever mean harm."

"Perhaps I am a spirit?" she asked, smiling coyly. "Perhaps I am drawn to your troubled thoughts and wish to help."

Tal scoffed. "Nugshit." He _was_ troubled, but who wouldn't be in his situation? He considered Nola, sleeping at his side under the furs of their shared aravel in the waking world. The last two months with her since they'd bonded flew by in a rush of exhilaration and joy. She taught him more blood magic in earnest, despite the cautioning from Rosa against it, and Tal discovered he was _really_ good at it. He dabbled with spells for healing, for harm, for race-related traps like the kind Manaria employed around their camps. He found he could strengthen his own normal magic with it and experimenting showed him new spells that heightened simpler ones. Nola quickly found that her student surpassed her.

But there was nothing Tal's greater capacity for magic of all kinds could do to help him face fatherhood. Nola was suffering for it and it was _his_ fault. She was happy and Tal tried to feel that same joy more than scared shitless. It was hard, though, and now he faced the daunting prospect of revealing his true heritage to Nola, who might balk at it and think him blasphemous when he claimed Dirthamen was his grandfather and Falon'Din his great-grandfather. But he _had_ to tell her, because of the child he was certain she carried.

Because demons like this one would surely stalk both mother and child.

"Rosa won't help you," the demon said with a sad shake of her head. "And you're afraid of what that will cost her. And you. And the future."

Tal rolled his eyes. "And I suppose you're here to tell me to use some blood magic on my own sister to make her do what I want?" He scoffed and made a rude gesture at the demon masquerading as an elven woman. "Get fucked."

He tried to concentrate, to reach for the Fade and will himself awake or away from this demon. But, as was typical since he'd started using blood magic commonly in his day-to-day life, the Fade was out of his grasp. He'd also noticed, disturbingly, that his usual keen sense of Rosa as a Dreamer was faint or nonexistent now. She could have been a demon and he wouldn't have known the difference because he couldn't feel it. He had to be extra careful as long as he was using blood magic. The creature before him could actually be a harmless spirit, or even another Dreamer—though that was far less likely. Most likely, she was indeed a demon.

"That is one option," the woman said, smiling coyly again. "But hardly the smartest, don't you think?" Something about the expression reminded him uneasily of Rosa. Did this woman look…familiar? Vaguely, albeit, but still…

Tal huffed in irritation, glaring at the demon. "I'm just going to wake up in a minute so you're wasting your breath."

The woman stepped out of the trees, trailing gossamer tassels that floated on ether. "You may not learn the truth before the moment comes," she said, an edge of urgency underlying the sultry tone. "I wish to help you."

"Fuck off," Tal growled and made the same gesture at her. He turned his back on her and stared up at the sky where the blue gave way to an orange-green where the Black City hovered like a sickly moon. Tilting his head, Tal squinted at the flickering lights in its windows and shuddered. He'd always wondered if someone or some_thing_ was up there, camping. Waiting.

A whisper came directly in his ear, complete with the puff of warm breath. "When the Darkspawn Magister falls before your sister she must claim the orb as her own."

Tal whipped around, fire crackling in his palms. He lashed out, pummeling the grass with a fireball—but the elven woman was back within the shadow of the trees.

"…the fuck?" Tal asked, shaking his head, spooked. He lifted a fiery palm, ready to unleash more fire at her—but the woman's shape dissolved into shadow. Then, as he watched spellbound, she dropped to all fours and grew in size. The black shape swelled until the trees cracked and splintered, falling over. The fire Tal had set off on the grass went out with a gutter of pale smoke.

"_She must claim the orb,"_ a voice speaking in elven echoed through the Fade, rumbling straight into Tal's very bones. Fear clutched at his throat, choking him. He stumbled backward, the fire in his palms went out as he stared wide eyed and mouth gawping at the enormous shadow.

It had become a wolf, black as night, taller than the tallest trees. The forest smashed beneath its bulk and it lifted a huge head to reveal a gargantuan maw lined with foamy red blood. Triangle ears sprang up and then folded back. A tail stood out and bristled as it swung its head to glower down at Tal. Six crimson eyes blinked simultaneously at him and Tal's heart hammered in a panic within his chest as he started to scramble backward.

The wolf's mouth opened, revealing white fangs longer than Tal was tall. The voice rang out again through the Fade. _"Claim the orb to stop the Dread Wolf. You will have his power. _She_ will have his power."_

The wolf snarled, blood-tainted saliva dripping in a sick waterfall to splatter the grass. Then it lifted its head and stretched until it blocked out the artificial sunshine. The darkness of the Black City swelled, swarming like a cloud of insects, and flowed toward the wolf, joining with it.

"_Take his power or he will swallow you and the world."_

The wolf had become a tide of darkness and rushed toward Tal. He screamed, lifting his hands to defend himself—but his mana wouldn't come. _This is a dream,_ he remembered. _This is just a dream!_

Six blood red eyes opened and glared just as the blackness crashed down on him.

Tal woke up bathed in sweat, flailing at the soft furs and woven blankets on his pallet and panting. Nola groaned at his side and then shot upright as well, gasping. The aravel was dark except for the faint white light of moonlight coming in through slats in the roof, designed specifically to allow illumination inside, but closable and watertight for rain and snow. Tal summoned fire in one hand, brightening the interior as he searched the shadows. His heart gradually began to slow.

"Tal?" Nola called from beside him on the pallet. "What's wrong?"

"A nightmare," he replied, closing his palm to extinguish the fireball. "Just a nightmare." He closed his eyes and his shoulders sank.

A moment later he felt Nola's hand on his bare chest, laying over his heart. "It's racing like a halla fleeing a wolf."

The comment chilled him and Tal shuddered. "Yeah."

"Are you worried about rejoining the Inquisition?" she asked, a tight edge to her voice that was subtle enough Tal would probably have missed its deeper meaning before they bonded. Nola was afraid and feeling vulnerable. She was usually more of a stoic leader, strong like Rosa but more patient, unruffled by most rudeness or disagreement. She was more likely to let someone take advantage of her, yielding to more willful people. She was a peacemaker. It was why she hadn't said a word when he claimed to prefer men and ran from responsibility when she should have challenged him and told him that she cared for _him_, not just duty to the clan. That was what Tal had always wanted—to be _wanted._ _Needed._

"A little," he hedged. When she scooted closer to him on the pallet, resting her chin on his shoulder, Tal heaved a long contented sigh. "I'll miss you, honestly. And I'll worry about you."

"I'd come with you," she murmured. "But I cannot. The clan needs me."

He nodded. "I know. I wouldn't ask." Turning, he kissed her briefly, then pulled back and said, "You know I won't be away long, right? And Rosa will probably come back with me for a brief visit. She needs to see the temple back north."

Nola nodded, but in the dim light Tal saw her mouth twist. "I did not like the feel of that place. I do not wish to take the clan back there."

"You don't have to," Tal reassured her. "Rosa and I will visit on our own. We have to make sure the Red Templars haven't returned."

"And after that you will return for the winter?" she asked.

"Yep," Tal promised and then, frowning, added a caveat. "At least, unless Rosa needs me for something really important."

Her jaw clenched as she nodded. "I understand." But Tal knew she was appeasing him when she looked away, as if she would lie down on the pallet and let the matter drop.

He took her arm before she could lay down. "I won't stay away long. Only as long as I have to. Rosa won't keep me late into the spring. She'll understand."

She nodded again and then came the twist of her lips once more and, when she spoke, her voice wavered slightly. "Tal…there is something you should know."

Tal waited, swallowing to keep himself from speaking aloud what he'd already guessed for weeks now. "Yeah?"

"I am with child," she admitted, a tentative smile curling her lips. "Come the late spring I'll give birth." She rested a hand over her middle.

A mixture of excitement and dread twined inside Tal. He grinned at her as he tried to quash the dread part. "I knew it!" He pulled her into an embrace and whispered into her ear. "I promise I'll be here when it's time."

"I know," she said, sighing into the crook of his shoulder.

They laid down together on the pallet, snuggling under the furs. Tal wrapped his arms about her, holding her close. Nola drifted off to sleep almost immediately—he could tell by the evenness of her breaths puffing against his neck. Sleep was elusive for Tal, however, as he tried to wrestle with the anxiety and fear within. Fear that he would be a terrible father. Dread that soon he would have to confess his heritage to Nola so she understood the danger that came with it. But most of all the shadow of the wolf from his dream loomed, solidifying the awful certainty that somewhere out there Fen'Harel slumbered and plotted. And when he woke, it would spell doom for everyone.

He had to save Rosa from it, somehow.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

The seamstress approached with a belt roughly matching the leather adorning Rosa's shoulders. She cinched it in place, only to find that the smallest rung left a bit too much slack. Rosa sighed, frowning down at her middle. "Damn, I should have had more cake before we left Skyhold." She snapped her fingers and motioned at a pair of soldiers standing near the exit. "One of you, quick! Run to the nearest market and buy something smothered in frosting. Oh, and something with cheese."

* * *

I am a bit more caught up now on writing! Next chapter we will be in the winter palace! I'll be skipping pretty much all the stuff we see in game because, while I like playing Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, I can't make it exciting retelling the Inquisitor's part. I mean, I guess I could, but it didn't tickle me and I was having trouble with it so I thought exploring the off-screen stuff would be better.


	54. The Winter Palace: Wicked Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa must navigate the Orlesian court to stop Corypheus. Behind the scenes, Tal has been tasked with making contact with Briala as Solas take advantage of all the chaos to reclaim mastery of the eluvians. 
> 
> Elven used: 
> 
> Dirthara-ma: a curse, it means "may you learn"
> 
> Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris: Fen'Harel's secret greeting his agents use with each other. Meaning is unknown. I've tried to translate it before and it has something to do with time, freedom, knowledge/promising something. So maybe like "I promise to give my time to the goal of freeing everyone" or something. It's really unclear as we just don't have the vocab to translate fully. As I don't know what it means, I had Tal not know what it means either, as elven needs context and magic sometimes for meaning clarity and he's missing it here.

"The sash looks stupid," Rosa grumbled. Vivienne and Josephine stood close by, both adorned in their own matching formal military dress. They actually filled it out, Rosa noted. Unlike her scrawny ass.

The seamstress stuck her with a pin and Rosa hissed at the pain. "Seriously? Stop it. Nothing you do is going to keep this ridiculous sash in place. I'm a skinny elf with a bony ass. You're wasting both our times."

The seamstress was red faced and apologetic, but also stubbornly persistent. "Apologies, your worship." She glanced at Josephine and Vivienne. When both women nodded encouragement, the seamstress set to work again, tugging on the blue silk sash and positioning the pin.

They stood in an oversized dressing room inside a chateau Gaspard had lent to them as his guests. It was spacious, with more than enough rooms for everyone the Inquisition had brought. Rosa spent the hours after their initial arrival exploring the chateau with Tal and Sera in tow, mischief-makers in reconnaissance. Sera had half a dozen spots she wanted to toss crème pies from, or trap doorways with water pails. Tal raided the gardens, plucking flowers and leaves, chasing down gardeners and asking what each unknown plant was and if it was merely decorative or served a medicinal purpose. Rosa, for her part, spent her time eyeing the grounds and the chateau for secret entrances and exits, as well as escape routes.

Now they were all dressing for the ball and she was bored out of her mind. And more than a little tense for the coming evening. Not _just_ for the ball where she would almost certainly have to save the empress from assassination. Tonight she would also help Solas claim Briala's eluvians—though she wasn't certain _how._

And after that Solas would introduce her to his master. The idea made her blood go icy with dread.

Shuddering, Rosa pushed those thoughts away. Focusing on the seamstress' work, she sighed. "Are you sure I can't just bust in there wearing my Keeper armor shouting _'Dirthara-ma,_ bitches! That's right, get uncomfortable, because I am _so_ elven!'"

Vivienne let out a longsuffering sigh. "I'm afraid not, my dear. It's bad enough you wear that around on the battlefield when Commander Cullen and Cassandra commissioned you perfectly acceptable Inquisition armor."

Rosa scoffed facetiously. "You mean those glorified pajamas? I think you guys made that for me when you kind of still hoped I'd die and make life altogether simpler. Your people do the opposite of my people by making the mages wear the lightest armor."

Josephine gasped at Rosa's comment. "Inquisitor! No one _ever_ wished you ill! How could you think such a thing?"

"Well," Rosa said and shrugged, making the seamstress still working on the placement of the sash grunt with irritation. "Corypheus wants me dead. So I think he counts."

"You know what I mean," Josephine protested.

"She's toying with us, darling," Vivienne soothed the flustered ambassador.

Rosa groaned and pushed the seamstress away. "Just put a fucking belt on me to keep it in place. I'm going to look like garbage by the end of the night anyway." She grinned mischievously at Josephine and Vivienne. "But we'll be _matching_ garbage. That's what counts, right?"

Vivienne sighed while Josephine pinched her lips together, probably unsure how to answer. But after a moment the ambassador said, "Andraste have mercy on us."

"I second that, my dear," Vivienne added, her eyes raking Rosa with condescending disapproval. "We are going to need all of heaven's favor tonight to make a good impression."

"Have faith, Madame," Rosa said, tilting her head back and adopting a snooty, nasally accent. "I am the Herald of Andraste. Haven't you heard the Grand Clerics? I fart rainbows and shit miracles. Everything's going to be fine."

Josephine grimaced and pinched the bridge of her nose, praying a bit more fervently. Vivienne, meanwhile, merely smiled her courtly smile and said, "Absolutely, darling."

The seamstress approached with a belt roughly matching the leather adorning Rosa's shoulders. She cinched it in place, only to find that the smallest rung left a bit too much slack. Rosa sighed, frowning down at her middle. "Damn, I should have had more cake before we left Skyhold." She snapped her fingers and motioned at a pair of soldiers standing near the exit. "One of you, quick! Run to the nearest market and buy something smothered in frosting. Oh, and something with cheese."

The Inquisition soldiers tensed, shooting each other uncertain looks. Vivienne turned and said, "She's not serious. You'll do no such thing."

"What if I am serious?" Rosa challenged, arching a brow.

"We do not have time, Inquisitor," Josephine chided.

"Damn," Rosa said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. She was silent a moment as she watched the seamstress stick the leather belt with a knife tip, carving out a custom hole with a steady hand. Rosa hummed as she watched the work and then said, "Please put a note on my itinerary, Josie."

The ambassador lifted her pen, ready as always to take notes. "Yes?"

"Should we survive this ball, whatever its outcome, I want two—no, three frilly cakes delivered personally to my room." She paused a moment and then smirked as she tapped her chin and added, "And deliver a plate of bacon to the Iron Bull, a sweet-glazed ham for Sera, and for Solas, please send him _six_ of the same frilly cakes. All different flavors. And on one of them you need to have the baker draw something obscene. Like a cock. With balls. And write something like 'from Sera' on it."

Josephine made a face but scribbled the note down. "Anything else, your worship?"

"Send Cassandra a meal that's traditionally Nevarran. She'll either love or hate it, so either way that'll work out great. Oh! But on her meal you have to include a note saying it's from Varric with love."

Josephine snorted, withholding a laugh as she wrote. Even Vivienne smirked before adding, "You're playing with fire, my dear."

"Every day," Rosa said and winked. "Now…where was I? Oh! I forgot _da'isamalin."_ She paused a moment, thinking as she felt the seamstress cinch the belt tight and then adjust the free end. "For Tal I need you to send him just one frilly cake, but you need to write 'Big Daddy' on it."

Josephine paused and arched a brow, but it was Vivienne who asked, "Are you to be an aunt, Inquisitor?"

"Absolutely, but you didn't hear it from me," Rosa said as the seamstress finally finished and stepped back. Rosa patted at her midsection and wrinkled her nose. "I still _hate_ this sash. And the shoulder pads. And the gaudy red color. And everything, really. I hate everything."

"I do believe you are beginning to channel Master Tethras," Vivienne quipped.

"Well," Rosa said, chuckling. "I could do worse." She tugged at the uniform and fiddled with the belt one last time as the seamstress glared at her, daring her with her eyes to mess up all her hard work. Rosa grinned as she let her hands flop back to her sides. "Let's go."

* * *

The hat the seamstress had fitted to Solas itched. The metalwork portions of it also caught the light so much that he frequently saw the glint of it on walls or reflecting back at him from gleaming gold frescos. The winter palace certainly _gleamed_ enough that he fit in.

Still, it was times like this he really resented the permanent baldness uthenera left him with. The seamstress had insisted he should wear _something_ over his pallid pate. This was Orlais, after all, and the Inquisition party would be virtually the only ones besides the elven servants not wearing masks. They'd stand out.

It was that comment ultimately that convinced Solas. He didn't want to attract much attention tonight.

That role would be Rosa's.

Watching her join the Grand Duke Gaspard in the gardens outside the winter palace made his stomach twist with anxiousness. He, Tal, Sera, Iron Bull, Vivienne, Cassandra, and the Inquisition advisers all marched straight into the palace behind Rosa and Gaspard. Orlesian men and women, all wearing masks, stared and whispered behind gilded fans. Water tinkled in an enormous fountain before the white marble stairs ascending up.

As grandiose as it all was, Solas couldn't help but sigh. This grandeur was nothing compared to the world long lost. The world _he_ destroyed.

Panic and indecision wrestled inside his gut, as they had for weeks now. Whatever the outcome tonight, he must complete his goal and retake the eluvians. After that…

The truth.

Whatever the outcome of his revelation, Solas knew it would be bad. He just didn't know _how_ bad.

Rosa could spurn him entirely, turning into a bitter enemy he would have to counter or avoid at best. At worst…well, the thought of killing her seemed inconceivable and unconscionable. But if it came down to it, could he kill Rosa or Tal to preserve the People?

He wasn't certain he could bring himself to do it, even if it was technically right. Rosa and Tal were only two people. If saving the elven people required the sacrifice of just two individuals, it would be a small price to pay. But the cost was so personal.

Even if Rosa, and assumedly Tal, sided with him and forgave his part in Felassan's death and the downfall of the People, that was a bittersweet thing. He was confident taking down the Veil and reshaping this world would kill him. If Rosa and Tal tried to aid him they'd just wind up dead with him. It wasn't a victory.

He pushed those dark thoughts aside and instead watched the crowd. He was only mildly interested in the plot to assassinate Celene. Spies like Lyris had already fed him information on the layout and secret goings on here at Halamshiral. In dreams he walked the servant's halls with his agents Lyris and Mathrel, learning the layout and where he must go to access the mirrors. Lyris was trusted enough within Briala's network that she had walked through the network more than once. She had seen the red keystone gem Briala used to take control of the eluvian network.

But Briala was too clever to let that gem stray from her side. She produced it now more for show than anything else. Most elves could feel the powerful, ancient magic residing within it. It manufactured prestige and respect for Briala as much as it allowed her control of the eluvians. She probably had copies she carried on her person to trick pickpockets and spies, only using the real ones for the most important meetings.

Like the one Solas setup with Tal unknowingly acting as bait.

A distraction. Sleight of hand.

But the target was never the red gem, as Briala would likely imagine. Just to get her and her people away from the eluvian long enough for him to access it.

He watched Tal and Sera across the ballroom, nonchalant and idle. Servants came and went, offering him drinks and food. He accepted both occasionally to keep up appearances. Rosa stopped by once, bringing covert stares from the Orlesians with her. She appeared sweaty, tense, and fidgety. The sight of her distress at the ball made his heart sink with sympathy.

"Have you seen anything suspicious?" she asked.

"No," he told her truthfully. "Although I have been mistaken as one of the hired help three times now."

Rosa huffed in irritation—not at him, but at that frustration that was so common to elves. "You know," she said, shaking her head. "That happened to me, too. Earlier a snotty Orlesian woman asked me to help her find her ring in the courtyard. She called me rabbit." Rosa chuckled dryly. "I usually get called knife-ear. But without the vallaslin the _shems_ can mistake me for a flat-ear."

"Scandalous," Solas told her sardonically, then returned to the topic at hand. "I will alert you should I see anything." He jerked his chin, indicating the ballroom. "I would suggest you not linger near me. It will not improve your approval with the court for you to be seen with an apostate."

Rosa rolled her eyes, defiant. "Fuck court approval. I have a Qunari, a Red Jenny, a dispossessed Nevarran princess with anger issues, and a Dalish savage who also happens to be my brother." She lifted one hand, examining her nails with a mock-snobbish expression. "I'm _clearly_ just the hired entertainment with that kind of entourage."

Solas chuckled and lowered his voice to speak more quietly. "I must admit, with those companions you would certainly have been a spectacle even in Arlathan."

They smirked at one another, enjoying the shared secret of Elvhen knowledge. Rosa's was only secondhand, true, but it was enough. Enjoying himself, Solas almost missed the red form descending on them. Almost.

_Vivienne. _

He straightened and steeled his spine, clearing his throat. "I do believe the Enchanter has come to rescue you, Inquisitor. Forgive me, I have stolen enough of your time."

Rosa shot a quick glance over her shoulder and then sighed. "Duty calls, I guess." She spun on her heel and strode off to meet Vivienne with a graceful, sinuous sway of her hips that kept Solas' eye despite himself—as was her intent, doubtless. Solas tore his gaze away far too slowly, but still managed to catch the disapproving look from Vivienne as she took Rosa, linking forearms with her but glowering briefly over one shoulder.

The eyes of the court were indeed on Rosa. Where Solas was invisible moments before, he now saw numerous masked faces turning away. More than a few didn't bother hiding their curiosity and kept staring. Solas ignored them, pretending not to notice. He checked across the room, casually, and saw Lyris standing before Tal and Sera. His breath involuntarily quickened.

It was time. Lyris was only to approach uniformed elves—of which there'd be a grand total of _four_, himself included—when she had Briala in position away from the eluvian. When Lyris fed some _interesting_ information to the elven spymaster Briala leapt at the chance to verify it. Lyris was her go-between and spy for this. Little did she know her spy was a double agent.

Solas took off toward the back of the room, weaving nimbly through the crowd to the short stairs at the far end. A group of dwarves—an unusual clique of guests here at the palace—eyed him with interest before returning to their own animated conversation about lyrium markets. Solas headed up the stairs toward the royal wing. Sashes in lustrous blue cordoned off the space, but a half-drunken courtier stood nearby, swaying in placer and admiring a portrait on the wall.

A quick check over his shoulder revealed Solas was alone with this man…

The man hiccupped and turned a half-masked face to stare at Solas, mouth hanging open slightly. He had only time enough to grunt before Solas laid a gentle hand on his bicep, enacting the sleep spell. The courtier lost consciousness, falling into Solas' arms. Solas lowered him to the ground and then drew a tiny bit of mana for the invisibility spell.

A moment later he'd used magic to pick the lock and slipped into the royal wing.

* * *

An elven serving girl approached Tal while balancing a tray covered in dozens of delicate, colorful food bits. Each was speared with a toothpick and sitting in its own tiny porcelain dish. "For you, ser?" she asked.

"What is it?" Tal asked, grinning. Sera was at his side, sneering at the food or the serving girl, Tal couldn't be sure which.

"Smoked salmon on dill pikelets with spindleweed garnish," she replied.

Tal shrugged and took one. "Thanks." Before popping it into his mouth he grinned at the girl and said, _"Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris." _The girl smiled sheepishly and shook her head, clearly not understanding.

As she turned away Tal popped the food bit into his mouth, drawing his lips over the toothpick. But as he chewed he grimaced. "This fish is raw!"

"Coulda told you that, Treeface," Sera said, guffawing. "Rich codgers think a bellyache is fun, I guess."

Tal held the wad of half-chewed food in his mouth, panic fluttering in the back of his head as he searched for somewhere to spit it out. A potted plant stood out along one gilded wall and he strode over to it, desperately trying not to retch or gag on the spit he didn't want to swallow that was ever-accumulating in his mouth. He spat into his glove and then pretended to admire the potted plant as he tossed the spit wad into the soil at its base.

Sera followed him, snickering at his expense. "Cory-fi-bits trying to poison us. Can't stop him if we're stuck sitting on the pot, yeah? Right brill plan, that. And you fell for it."

Grimacing as he swallowed, Tal resisted the desire to fan his face. His cheeks were hot. "Vivienne raved about the food here."

Sera laughed again. "Shoulda known then," she said and leaned closer, lowering her voice to add, "She's evil."

Tal wiped at his mouth and then, casually, wiped off his glove on his dress pants—only to see the smear was marginally visible. He sighed, making a face of revulsion. "Great. I come along to support Rosa and just wind up embarrassing her." Since entering the palace he'd heard far too many mutterings of _savage_ behind his back. His vallaslin were prominent, showing these snooty Orlesians that he wasn't merely a knife ear or rabbit. He was full-on Dalish, the worst kind of elf. Now he'd look stained on top of his already assumed uncouthness as a "savage."

"Stand with that side to the wall if you're worried bout it," Sera told him, shrugging. "Anyone looks at it wrong I stick an arrow in 'em."

"Thanks, Sera," Tal told her, smiling with real affection.

They stood together near the potted plant, watching Orlesian nobles walk by, full and partially masked alike. Silk rustled and heeled slippers clacked on the marble floors. Music played from an orchestra on the ballroom floor and couples took turns dancing. Tal and Sera's orders were the same as everyone accompanying Rosa to the ball: watch for suspicious characters. So far nothing stood out. Even Tal's secondary task, which was to watch the elven servants, was turning out to be a bust.

Still, it seemed Rosa was staying occupied. Tal watched her make her way around, navigating the crowd with grace that _almost_ looked like real mingling. She stopped and spoke with each of her advisors and guests, even with a few Orlesians in passing.

Eventually Sera giggled next to him, side-eyeing him. Tal smirked, curious at her amusement, which seemed to have sprung from nowhere and was somehow at his expense. "What are you on about?"

"You," Sera said and sniggered more.

Tal shifted his stance. "What about me? Do I have a booger hanging out of my nose or did you hear me fart just now?"

"You let one off just now?" Sera asked, wrinkling her nose with disgust.

"Nope," Tal said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Or _did_ I? I have such a terrible memory."

Sera giggled again. "Not going to get any better, Treeface. From what I hear, anyway."

"You lost me," Tal told her, shaking his head. He cocked his head. "What are you getting at?"

"Been sticking it, I hear. Leaving in the gravy, right? Now the missus tossing up her cookies." She grinned and nudged him with her elbow before she mimed vomiting.

Now Tal stared at her hard as the realization set in she was talking about…something she shouldn't know about. He shook his head again. "Rosa told you."

"What?" Sera said, drawing back. "No. Guessed it. Honest. Bit obvious, innit? It's what you do when you go off an' get hitched. Least when you have mommy-daddy bits bashing together."

"Well," Tal said, fidgeting as he tried and failed to fight off the blush spreading over his cheeks. "Don't go spreading it around. The last thing I want is for all of you to embarrass Nola when we meet up with her again after this." He frowned. "She's keeping it quiet for now." He didn't specify why, though he guessed Sera thought it strange based on the speculative look she sent his way. Nola was very private so she wasn't likely to announce her condition to the clan until it was better established. Everyone knew pregnancies were fragile for the first few months. But it was more than that, too. Tal was sure Nola didn't want to discuss it around Rosa. Little did she know Tal had long since spilled the beans.

He wasn't certain he believed Sera hadn't heard the news from Rosa. It seemed like something a gossipmonger like Sera would ferret out quickly. He wondered, gazing around the ballroom, how many more of their companions knew now.

It…still didn't feel real, yet. And sometimes the idea of fatherhood left Tal deeply unsettled. His own father was so often absent and the idea of him now brought pain, imagining his father suffering silently under the yoke of slavery. With that as an example, what kind of father could he hope to be?

"Right," Sera said. "Yeah. Course." She lifted one hand and motioned at an elven serving girl carrying a tray of drinks. "Yo! Here! Dying of thirst here."

The serving girl approached, her eyes darting uncertainly between the two elves. A hesitant smile curled her lips as Sera snatched up two glasses from the tray. Tal reached for one of his own but Sera clucked her tongue at him. "Nah, you don't get one, Treeface. Fun days over for you, now." She looked to the serving girl and said, "He's a daddy now. No fun allowed."

Tal snorted and snatched two glasses from the tray as Sera chortled. He downed them in quick succession and then deposited the empty glasses back on the tray. "Fun is back on the menu." Then, considering the elven woman a moment, he added, _"Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris."_ He waggled his eyebrows to make the phrase suggestive even though it absolutely wasn't.

Sera let out a scoffing laugh as the serving girl frowned with confusion and then turned and walked away to the next group of partygoers who were calling for her. "What was that, Treeface? Sick of sticking the missus already?" She slurped on her drink before adding, "Don't think she knows that rubbish."

"Nope," Tal agreed, sighing as his gaze swept the ballroom for other elven servants, but all of them were far away. The phrase he'd used was one Solas had given he and Rosa. It was supposed to be a greeting that would mean something to Fen'Harel's handful of spies within "Ambassador" Briala's operation. Tal didn't understand what it was supposed to mean, despite fluently speaking elven. It could have different meanings, depending on the user's intent. Tal hoped that by trying to pass the phrase off as flirtation he wasn't grievously destroying the Dread Wolf's intended understanding from it.

_Revas,_ he thought, and frowned. No wonder Solas had chosen that alternative name. Apparently the Dread Wolf was fond of it. Just like the wolf god must have enjoyed the tale of the Slow Arrow enough that Tal's father chose it as his new name when he woke from uthenera.

Yet another elven serving woman appeared then, walking through the corridor, weaving deftly between partygoers. She carried a tray of finger foods. The sight of them set Tal's stomach churning, remembering the first one. Still, he lifted an arm and waved to her. "Hey! Flat-ear!"

The woman turned, brow furrowing slightly with the faintest hint of annoyance before a placid smile spread over her lips instead. She walked close, balancing the tray. "Would you care for some, ser?"

Instead of take one of the finger foods, Tal leaned closer and put on his best leering grin to pull the same fake-flirt again. _"Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris."_ He winked at her to further sell it.

She was blonde, with blue eyes and a long face and prominent cheekbones. She stared at him, freezing in place. Then she smiled, fluttering her eyelashes as she repeated the phrase back to him, but with a smoother, flowing cadence. _"Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris."_

"Ugh," Sera said, rolling her eyes. "Gross. Take it somewhere else if you're gonna stick her." Sera slurped noisily on her drink.

Tal's grin lost its tacky humor as his chest constricted. He'd expected another failure and instead he'd apparently found the unicorn amidst all the horses. He cleared his throat awkwardly and then rubbed at the back of his neck. "Uh…nice to meet you…"

The woman glanced to Sera a moment and then seemed to dismiss her. Her demeanor had changed from a sort of mousy nonchalance to something authoritative, as though she was accustomed to being respected. That sealed Tal's findings. This was Fen'Harel's inside man…or woman, rather. "A pleasure," the woman said. "I am Lyris."

"Tal," he replied. "Maybe…ah…" He floundered, unsure what to do with this unicorn he'd found.

Lyris spoke then, "Would you care for a tour, ser?"

"Sure," Tal said, grinning tightly before more rambling escaped. "I'm Dalish and all this is new to me. I'd like to see as much of it as I can before I have to leave again."

"Ugh," Sera whined again, gurgling on her glass. "Smooth, Treeface. So smooth. Just go bang her and be done with it."

Lyris smiled slightly and averted her eyes, as though sheepish or bashful. "You can come with me, Ser."

"All right," Tal said, clapping his hands. He started to follow Lyris as she walked away and then turned at the last moment and called to Sera, "Hey! If my sister asks for me, tell her where I went!"

"Yeah, yeah," Sera said, waving at him dismissively.

* * *

Under the invisibility spell Solas moved swiftly past the multitude of luxuriant bedchambers and then beyond them. The royal wing expanded and contracted as needed to house the Empress' family and closest friends. That meant the rooms experienced frequent renovation, both large and small, and some spaces inevitably were transformed into impromptu storage.

It was inside one of these rooms, behind a locked door, that Solas felt the eluvian like a weight at the edge of his mind. It was intact and waiting, patient as Mythal while waging war on the Pillars of the Earth. Like a lover, it needed only his touch to awaken it.

A pair of Orlesian guards stood watch outside the locked door. Solas slowed his tread, tiptoeing catlike to be as silent as possible. The men's posture revealed they were bored, slumped with fatigue. Both wore full-face masks, part of their ceremonial armor. Red and yellow feathers splayed from their helmets. Neither registered him as he drew within arm's length of the first.

Summoning up the sleeping spell for the second and third time that night—one spell per palm—Solas reached out and touched both guards. The men jerked back, yelping with surprise and reaching for their swords. They fell limp in a clatter of metal, colliding together as the spell put them both to sleep simultaneously.

Though he was confident he had hours before the two guards awoke, Solas didn't risk dropping the invisibility spell. He'd expected Celene would have guards on the eluvian. She had traveled the eluvians thanks for Felassan's bungling of that mission. She knew their value. It was both blessing and curse. Blessing because Celene wouldn't destroy the mirrors, knowing how valuable they might be should she gain control over them. Curse because she also understood their threat and tried to mitigate it.

Briala used the network to employ hit and run guerilla attacks, destabilizing Orlais. She'd also used them for some cursory interest in tracking Imshael. It seemed she'd run into him before to get the gem she carried that unlocked the mirrors. All of that came to an end tonight. Solas cared little for destabilizing Orlais in its silly civil war. It was counterproductive considering Corypheus needed that chaos. He would use the mirrors for far greater things…in due time.

Drawing on his mana, Solas used raw spirit magic to act as force, pressing a palm to the lock. It clacked as the mechanism unlatched. The gilded double doors opened into a dark room that smelled of dust. Solas wrinkled his nose, fighting off a sneeze as he stepped inside and shut the door behind himself. Covered furniture stood around him, still and undisturbed for months or years. It was hard to tell.

Solas maneuvered through the retired furniture: dining chairs, sitting chairs, tables, statues, dressers, nightstands, and enormous vases. Some were shrouded in cloth while others were free to collect dust. Near the far wall, alongside several floor to ceiling windows, Solas saw the mirror standing upright and pressed to several decorative boxes.

Smirking, Solas saw the dust on the floor was disturbed by footprints that emerged from the mirror and then curled around the boxes to the windows. Strolling over that way, Solas saw the windows weren't latched as they should be, though they were closed. Outside was a narrow ledge where withered ivy leaves shivered in the chilly wind from the courtyard below. Briala's agents were using this mirror periodically then, coming and going through the window rather than the door.

He'd guessed as much. And he'd also suspected Briala's people wouldn't be foolish enough to use the mirror tonight. The dust had been disturbed recently, but Solas had no way to know _how_ recently.

Shaking his arms out once, Solas released the invisibility spell and drew a deep breath. He walked back to the mirror. Standing before it, he stared at his reflection and frowned. That hat truly was atrocious.

Thrusting his palm up at the top of the mirror, where the metal border curved elegantly in an oval point, Solas let his mana flow, connecting to the ancient magic hidden deep inside. The mirror thrummed, letting out a low pulse. The glass rippled, turning translucent and permeable, like water. The power inside the eluvian bent to him, leaving behind the influence of its most recent mistress like a tree shedding its leaves. It snapped in place deep inside him, resounding and familiar and comforting.

Smiling with triumph, Solas withdrew his palm. The light of mana faded as he stared at the now blue glowing eluvian and saw not his reflection but a glimpse of the far side. The Crossroads waited.

Solas stepped through nimbly and out the other side. The groan of the Fade filled his ears, though he knew this was a construct, not truly the Fade. The ambient light glittered in a rainbow, fractured like sunshine through stained glass. The path was gritty under his feet. Water sighed, falling from rock slabs overhead.

He blinked, registering the fractured paths, and sighed at the reminder of how much destruction he wrought with the Veil. This place wasn't supposed to be a world of floating islands and eluvians. The paths weren't supposed to be sundered by treacherous voids.

Clenching his jaw, Solas stayed on task. Following both memory and his inner senses, Solas walked toward the most recently used eluvian, using a path that curved away to the far left of the island he'd emerged onto. Briala's people doubtless found this world intimidating. They did not wish to walk far within it and, according to Lyris and Mathrel, Briala was clever enough she'd learned to _feel_ the pathways and manipulate them with the red keystone gem. New paths established themselves to acquiesce to her wishes. The Crossroads evolved to suit her whims, much as the Fade did with dreamers, both passively and actively. That meant she'd organized this network to suit her and her people's needs.

Eluvians further out in the Crossroads, those still connected by nearby, stable paths, led to the Dales where Briala and her people could reach old ruins and sabotage battlefields in the same area. But here, this close to the palace eluvian, Solas knew he'd find the one Briala was using as her master mirror. According to Lyris and Mathrel, Briala's people moved the mirror about, hiding it in Halamshiral or within the palace grounds secretly.

It was this mirror Solas needed to reclaim to take possession of the whole network permanently, locking Briala out. It was also this mirror he knew they'd be guarding.

He took a steadying breath, summoning the invisibility spell again, and then thrust his hand up to the top of this mirror, just as he had with the first he encountered. It pulsated, activating and awakening at the touch of his magic. Blue light rippled over it and Solas saw a hazy glimpse of the opposite side: dirty, dusty tiles and earthenware walls. A root cellar, perhaps?

Two lithe elven figures appeared, whipping about to gawk at the mirror. One drew a dagger. They shouted, mouths moving, but to Solas they were soundless. On their end they would see the Crossroads, but Solas was still invisible.

Solas waited, heart pounding, for the trap to spring…

* * *

Lyris led him through the party, still balancing the tray. They left the ballroom and entered the hall of heroes, where pale marble statues of Andrastian figures stood taller than life. A few Orlesian nobles stood staring at them, admiring as they sipped their drinks. Another elven woman scurried by and Lyris hissed, catching the other woman with a motion of her free hand. "Lynette. Stop."

The younger woman halted and stiffened, eyeing Tal warily. "What is it?"

"Take my tray," Lyris told her. "This one needs to see the mistress."

Lynette frowned but made no argument as she accepted Lyris' tray. But, as she started walking away, she called over her shoulder, "Mistress won't like it."

Lyris ignored her and Tal took his cues from her as they trotted down a flight of stairs to a door that read Servant Wing. Lyris produced a key from inside her pants pocket and shoved it into the lock. It clacked as it slid home.

"I could have just picked it," Tal told her. "If you're going to get in trouble doing this, I'm willing to take the fall. Just say I made you do it and picked the lock…"

Lyris shot him a curious look over her shoulder but said nothing as she opened the door and passed through it. Tal scurried after her, catching it before it could swing shut. Lyris locked it behind him and then they were in the kitchens. Elves were everywhere here, all dressed in tattered and stained clothing, rushing to and fro. Those who were better dressed, with combed hair and pressed clothing, hovered over trays laden with food, anxiously waiting to dash out again.

"Scallions!" a man shouted from a different room where steam hovered in the air and the scent of rich food wafted out. "I need scallions, dammit!"

Tal scrambled to keep up with Lyris as she wove through the kitchen and out into a courtyard. A fountain bubbled somewhere, gurgling despite the chill in the air. The scent of roses made each breath Tal took sweet.

At a darkened side corridor Lyris motioned him close. Tal bent near her, like a lover as she whispered in elven, as neat and clipped as Solas'. _"An assassin waits here. Servants are dying or chased off._ _We have little time. You are not safe, but I will bring you to Briala."_

Tal nodded his understanding, though much of this plan wasn't clear to him. He'd gathered Rosa knew little of it as well. He didn't bother trying to hide his anxiety and confusion from Lyris, but she seemed unfazed as she motioned for him to follow. Tal obeyed, staying close and hunkering low. His mana bubbled eagerly inside, ready to be used.

They passed through an open doorway and into what seemed to be a worshipping space. Stained glass windows stood out, each showing an Andrastian figure. One of them looked elven and Tal slowed, eyes drawn to it for a moment before Lyris hissed at him and waved him on.

Up on the second floor it was dark and the furniture had been covered in cloth for storage. Tal stiffened, tense with the memory of Deceit tricking him in the haunted chateau. But Lyris lead him on, down a short hall and then to the right into a small bedroom. Unlike the rest of the furniture throughout the building, this room was clearly being used. A few stodgy Orlesian paintings lined the walls and, sitting on the bed, was a dainty elven woman wearing a green dress with a shiny half-mask.

Lyris dropped into a bow. "Mistress," she said. "I apologize for the intrusion. I've brought the Inquisition man we discussed."

Tal tried not to show his confusion at this strange introduction. Watching Briala, he tried to puff out his chest and square his shoulders as she scrutinized him. Oddly, Briala's lips parted, as though she was surprised.

"It's true, then," she said, speaking more to Lyris.

"Of course, mistress," Lyris replied.

"Your name?" Briala said, addressing him now.

"My name is Tal," he said and then, sweeping into a bow, he decided to try for a more dashing introduction. "Talassan, son of—"

"Felassan," Briala interrupted, nodding. There was the slightest hitch in her voice.

Tal lifted his head and arched a brow inquisitively. "That's right. How do you know that? Did you know my father?"

"Very well," Briala told him, reaching out to idly touch a red gem sitting on the nightstand beside her. The sight of it prickled Tal's skin with a hint of ancient magic. He quickly looked away from it, rather than risk revealing that he'd sensed anything. "Your father saved my life when I was a girl over twenty years ago now. He was my mentor."

"I see," Tal said as he flashed a nervous grin. "He got around, it seems. He liked to save elven girls. He met my mother the same way."

Briala chuckled. Her eyes narrowed behind the mask, scrutinizing him. "You have the look of him. I thought Lyris was mistaken and brought him at first, somehow."

Tal frowned and dropped his eyes to the floor. "I'm afraid he's passed away."

"I had reached that conclusions as well," Briala said, her voice sorrowful. "I shall miss him—but I'm pleased to meet you." She indicated Lyris with a jerk of her chin. "Lyris informed me that we had many reasons to reach out to you—and your sister, the Herald. I did not believe her when she brought me the rumor that you were my mentor's son."

"It's true," he said, grinning. "And R—the Herald, my sister, is his daughter. I'd forgive you for thinking otherwise, though. She takes after her _mamae._"

"I would very much like to meet with her," Briala said, lips curling in a closed-lipped smile that was as friendly as it was calculating. The news that Rosa shared the same father did not surprise her. She likely already knew, but Tal had no doubt she would hide it well even if it did surprise her. "Perhaps you could arrange something?"

The question was light and gentle, a suggestion only, but Tal felt the manipulation behind it. Lyris—or Fen'Harel, in reality—was taking advantage of the situation. Briala thought Lyris was her agent and had come across a tip whispered among the elven people and with the Dalish, connecting the Inquisitor with the roguish wandering mage Felassan. Now she was leveraging her relationship with their father to secure a private meeting with Rosa. But in reality Fen'Harel was playing them both off each other.

No wonder Tal was left in the dark. Lyris—and Fen'Harel—needed his genuine confusion for this meeting to sell it.

Playing along as Tal felt Lyris' blue eyes pinning him, Tal swooped into another exaggerated bow. "It would be my pleasure, milady."

Fast footsteps came outside and soon another elven servant appeared, breathing hard. "Mistress," she said, her voice thick with an Orlesian accent. "It is not safe. A harlequin assassin is here."

Briala nodded and got to her feet, reaching with one hand to snatch away the red gem. It was gone, tucked into her skirts so fast Tal almost missed which pocket she deposited it in. "Lyris," she said and motioned for the door.

"Yes, mistress," Lyris said and, without bothering to bow again, made a shepherding gesture to Tal. "Quickly, ser, we must return to the party."

"Lead the way," Tal said, letting her ahead of him. The servant at the door moved to walk with Briala, heading into the hallway behind them and then further in toward what appeared to be an assembly hall or a ballroom, furniture covered in pale sheets.

"Where are they going?" he asked, muscles rigid with tension. He didn't know much about the plan to retake the eluvians, but keeping tabs on Briala seemed wise.

"To help the servants escape," Lyris answered after a pause. "And to fight the…assassin."

Something seemed just slightly _off_ in that answer, but Tal had no chance to consider it before he heard a male scream and, as they entered the courtyard again, saw a lithe elven servant fall dead onto the cobblestone. A dagger stuck out of his back, blood coated his clothing and had splattered onto the cobblestones. The air shimmered further back, near the fountain.

"Shit," Tal cursed as he reached for his stave only to have his hand close on air. "Double shit." He looked to Lyris and saw she had frozen in place, staring with an expression that was not fear as much as indecision. "Do you have a dagger or a bow hidden in your dress or something?" he asked. "Cuz I can see there's a hidden—"

A dagger flew at them, glinting as it caught the light. Tal flung up barriers over himself and Lyris with one fist while the other called fire with a crackling _whump._ The dagger thwacked metallically on the blue barriers, bouncing off and clattering onto the cobblestone. He gritted his teeth, pulling on his mana for a big fireball as his eyes scanned the courtyard for the telltale shimmer of an invisible assassin. "C'mon, fucker, show yourself."

Lyris sucked in a breath at his side and then lashed out with one arm, as though with a whip. Tal felt the mana, tasted it, and gawked. The way his skin tingled told him it was ancient magic, Elvhen.

A bluish light glittered for an instant, shooting in a straight line from Lyris' outstretched hand toward the fountain where Tal had last seen the shimmer of the cloaked assassin. It struck something with a flash and then Lyris jerked her hand backward. The assassin, uncloaked now, was visible. It was a strangely dressed creature with a painted face, or a mask. Hard to tell. Lyris' magic dragged it over the cobblestones in the blink of an eye straight toward Lyris and Tal.

Yelping with surprise, Tal flung fireballs at it. The assassin screeched, burning and flailing. The blue string, magic rope—whatever it was Lyris had cast—snapped as the spell severed. Lyris pulled out a dagger from a sheathe on her ankle and lunged forward in a martial form, striking the still burning assassin dead. The screams went silent and the body fell to the cobblestones, reeking of burnt hair and clothes, still smoldering.

Tal turned, breathing hard, and gawped at the servant. "You're a mage?"

Lyris wrinkled her nose, whether at his question or at the smell from the burning corpse, Tal couldn't say. She sheathed her blade and grabbed his elbow without speaking, pushing him toward the doorway to the kitchens. _"Tell no one of what I did,"_ she said. _"You killed the harlequin. Alone. I cowered behind you." _

"Sure," Tal agreed in common. "You got it."

The kitchens were empty now. A pot still boiled on the stove, hissing as water frothed over the top and into the burner. The servants knew better than to loiter when there was an assassin about. There was no way Briala had been through here first to warn them. Word either spread faster than their mistress or Briala wasn't concerned with evacuating her people and instead left them to fend for themselves. So what Lyris said earlier was nugshit after all, but Tal didn't dare call her on it.

At the door leading out to the hall, Tal blocked Lyris from opening the door. "What about the eluvians?"

Lyris stared at him a moment, annoyance flashing in her blue eyes before she blinked it away. She shook her head. "You have done your part."

"I didn't do shit," Tal pointed out in a hushed voice. "Are you sure—"

"Arrange the meeting Briala wants," Lyris interrupted him, grabbing his hand from the door latch as she spoke. "That is all you must do and nothing else." She yanked open the door with a creak. "You must go. There are more harlequins."

Tal resisted a moment longer even as Lyris pushed on his elbow, trying to hurry him through. "But the eluvians—"

"It is already done," Lyris hissed.

For the second time that night Tal's mouth fell open in astonishment and in that moment Lyris pushed him through the doorway and it swung shut with a slam.

* * *

A flash of color erupted behind the two elven guards standing on the other side of the eluvian from Solas. A harlequin had appeared, wearing the checkered pattern, the mask in red and white, and the hooded headdress. Yet, a keen-eyed observer would see the figure was male, and too lithe to be human.

A long rapier flashed as the harlequin lashed out, cutting one of the guards in a flawless, graceful lunge. The man cried out, silent on Solas' side of the eluvian, and fell clutching his chest where he'd been stuck. Blood spurted, arterial spray. He would be dead within moments. The harlequin was well trained, it seemed, and knew just where to strike to kill swiftly.

The other guard spun to face the threat, letting his dagger fly.

The harlequin lifted one palm, casting a barrier that knocked the knife harmlessly away. The guard gawked, stunned into a stupor.

Solas stepped through the eluvian then, spirit magic in his hands. As soon as he had one foot on the floor through the mirror, Solas unleashed a veilstrike with a shoving motion of one fist. The elf trying to face off with the harlequin fell with a brief cry, skidding over the dirty floor and crashing into a wooden door.

"Run," Solas growled, still invisible. "Before I kill you."

The guard scrambled, pale as a sheet, getting to his feet. He threw open the decrepit wooden cellar door and ran out into the dingy, dank hall beyond. Solas used another small veilstrike to smash the door shut.

Solas allowed the invisibility spell to fade. The harlequin nodded once to him. _"Hahren,"_ he said in a deep, hoarse voice.

"A pleasure to see you in the flesh, Mathrel," Solas greeted Mathrel and then turned to face the eluvian, setting to work. Lifting his palm again, he shut his eyes to concentrate as he heard Mathrel adopting a guarding position at the door. Shouts erupted beyond it as the man Solas allowed to escape warned his fellows who weren't accompanying his mistress to the important meeting with Tal.

"Was it wise to let him escape?" Mathrel asked.

"I saw little reason to condemn him for being unlucky." The eluvian bent to Solas' will, thrumming several times in quick succession—like a cat purring.

"And the other?" Mathrel asked. "Should I have spared him?"

"No," Solas said, smiling with triumph as the eluvian switched over and came under his control. "Some death is necessary to make your identity as harlequin believable. Ideally, Briala will think this is an attempt by either Celene or Gaspard to subvert her control." He motioned at Mathrel, indicating the mirror. "Come, I will take you somewhere safe."

Mathrel hesitated. "Lyris?"

"I will see to it she is smuggled out of the palace tonight," Solas said. It was true. He'd already sent Lanalle, one of his Inquisition Elvhen spies, to intercept the other arcane warrior.

"_Ma serannas, hahren,"_ Mathrel thanked him and then stepped through the mirror.

Solas passed through it moments after him and then whipped back around to shut off the mirror behind them with a wave of one arm. The eluvian thrummed once and then the blue light died. The watery surface became just glass again.

As he turned back to the fractured paths of the Crossroads, Solas swayed as something jerked hard on him deep within. He steadied himself in an instant, but not before keen-eyed Mathrel noticed and halted. _"Hahren?"_

Something was wrong. Somewhere. The call for help, transmitted through the Fade and directed at him, was so powerful here in the in-between that it felt stronger than anything—than any_one_ else could manage. Yet he still had the same two possibilities for this sort of summons: Rosa or Zevanni. Considering the circumstances, it could be either of them.

"Follow me," Solas commanded the harlequin-impersonating arcane warrior. "I may yet require your assistance within the palace."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor," Leliana started. "What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the empire must be strong. This evening, someone must emerge victorious from the civil war."

Cullen, who'd been staring at Leliana with mounting excitement at her revelation, finished the thought. "And it doesn't need to be Celene. She's right."

Rosa huffed irritably. "_Fenedhis_, you both have such hard-ons for Gaspard. I can go make formal introductions with you if you want. I'm sure he'd be up for a threesome."

* * *

I read a lot of other fics that dress Inky in some glorious formal wear. Gossamer and seamless and shimmery and pick your adjectives. I stuck to the game here because we all know what it looks like and I usually get annoyed reading about the Inquisitor's fine dress. Besides, I have never understood how the winter palace scenes work contextually. Like it's a ball but you're traipsing around in your armor fighting baddies a lot. Where and how are they smuggling their armor and weapons? So I decided to address this. Rosa doesn't have her armor. She doesn't have her stave because you can't hide that convincingly in your clothes unless you have Felassan's magical shrinking stave and she hasn't had that before so why would she have it now? And that's why no one here wears anything super glammy. We stick to red because as Deadpool says, you don't want baddies to see you bleed. Or to have the courtiers in Orlais see the blood on you from other people either.


	55. The Winter Palace: Wicked Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa takes a turn running through the servants' wing of the palace and ultimately deals with Florianne. Meanwhile, Solas learns one of his agents has gotten into serious trouble. Confrontation with the Forbidden Ones is inevitable now. But what do they want? What are they planning?

When Rosa saw Sera approaching with Cassandra at her side, she frowned. "Where are Tal and Solas?" she asked in a quiet voice. She was waiting with Vivienne and Iron Bull in the hall of heroes, standing beside the closed door to the servant's quarters. Both the iron lady and the Iron Bull looked nonchalant, easygoing compared to Rosa's straight-backed spine and fidgeting hands. They were the first to join her after she met "Lady Morrigan," the empress' "occult advisor."

Sera answered before Cassandra could, speaking a touch too loudly. "Treeface went off to bang bits with a blond elfy-elf. Droopy ears?" She snorted. "No clue."

Cassandra shot the elven woman a glare and spoke much softer. "We have not seen either of them in some time, your worship."

"_Fenedhis,"_ Rosa snarled under her breath, hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I can't delay and wait for them." She sucked in a steadying breath, closing her eyes a moment and then opening them again. "Do you have everything?" she asked, glancing around at her assembled team.

"You bet, Boss," Iron Bull said and patted one enormous hand at his pants.

"Good," she muttered, keeping her words quiet. "Because smuggling staves in here was a little more than even Leliana could manage. I have it on good authority that there's Venatori or some other type of assassins running around the servant wing. Vivienne and I will have to be the group's defense and hang back. Everyone else will—"

"Boss," Iron Bull interrupted with a grunt. When she looked at him he jerked his head, using a horn to indicate the closed servant wing door. "You hear that?"

She went silent, straining her ears. The others around her followed suit. Sera and Cassandra both edged closer, past the white marble Andrastian statues.

From the other side of the door came muffled voices, hard to distinguish—but Rosa felt a flutter of both relief and surprise as she recognized one of them. _Tal._

"But the eluvians—" Tal's voice hissed, shushed.

A faint and probably female voice replied, but Rosa couldn't make out the words. Then, abruptly, the door to the servant's quarters squeaked and swung open. Tal stumbled out, back toward them. For an instant Rosa saw the flash of blond hair peeking around a headscarf. Then the door slammed shut.

"Treeface!" Sera greeted him, grinning.

Tal spun round, blinking. His posture suggested he was tense, ready for a fight. He scanned their group until his eyes landed on Rosa and stayed there. "What's going on…?"

"It was unlocked the whole time?" Cassandra asked, then winced at the way her voice carried in the hall.

"Nah," Tal replied, shrugging with one shoulder. "It was locked before the blonde let me in." He winked suggestively at Vivienne and then elbowed Iron Bull. The Qunari chuckled and knocked him playfully with one huge fist.

"If you're _quite_ finished," Vivienne said, lip curling just slightly with disgust. "We have business to attend to."

"Agreed," Cassandra growled.

"Hey," Tal said, grinning. "So did I when I met up with so-called Ambassador Briala." Striding over to Rosa, he sobered. "She wants to meet. You going in now?"

"That was the plan," she said stiffly. She arched a brow. "Any advice? I've heard there's trouble behind that door."

"You heard right," Tal said, nodding. "Some kind of assassins they're calling harlequins."

Vivienne sniffed. "Court assassins, often employed by the nobility. These might work for the Grand Duke or Empress Celene, or some other player we have yet to unmask."

"Well," Tal said, rolling his shoulders. "They're killing servants so I think they're not Briala's."

"I would not assume anything, my dear," Vivienne chastened him in a mild tone. "From what I've heard, Briala is a formidable player of the Game herself. Killing her own people wouldn't be out of the question under the right circumstances."

Rosa scowled. "What right circumstances would those be?"

Vivienne turned a cold, snobbish expression on Rosa. "Numerous, my dear. She may wish to rid herself of upstarts or suspected spies while playing the innocent and blaming the Grand Duke. She may also merely wish to lure you from the ball under some pretense of danger for a personal interview. Acquainting herself with you would be no small victory, I am sure."

"Huh," Tal grunted and then, looking suddenly pallid, whipped back toward the servant's door. "Let's get moving, then."

Rosa caught her brother by the shoulder, pulling him back and gesturing Iron Bull forward first. "We don't have staves," she told him in a hushed voice. "So our roles will be mostly defensive."

"Uh-huh," Tal said, smirking knowingly at her. Neither of them needed a staff to harness their power and be deadly in a fight. Rosa preferred to hide that, at least a little. No sense in drawing too much scrutiny from the humans around them, who might start asking about the strange spells she and Tal knew. Knowing the _shemlen_ they'd immediately suspect blood magic.

After Iron Bull and Cassandra, Sera followed. The mages entered after her, tossing barriers over everyone. As they entered the kitchen, over the crackling of the fire and the hissing of an untended boiling kettle, came the scream of someone calling for help. Iron Bull roared and charged forward, drawing the short sword Leliana smuggled in for him through a hidden gap in the seam of his pant leg. Cassandra did the same and Sera had already produced a dagger. It wasn't her usual fare, but they had to make do with whatever Leliana could smuggle in.

Rosa laughed before she could stop herself and Vivienne shot her a curious stare.

"I just realized why Leliana picked red for our formal attire," she said. "We're going to get dirty."

Vivienne smirked knowingly. "Of course, my dear."

* * *

Having left Mathrel inside the royal wing to lurk under the invisibility spell as a fake harlequin, Solas rejoined the ball as smoothly as he could. Absently checking the hat he wore to ensure it was straight, he walked down the stairs from the royal wing doors and past the clique of dwarves again. Now they were arguing rather heatedly over something to do with Orzammar's economy.

Searching the ballroom for any sign of Rosa, Solas felt his stomach sinking. She was absent, though her advisors were present. Spotting Leliana leaning against a wall beside an ornate end table and engaged in people watching like any good spymaster, Solas made his way over to her. The redhead saw him coming from far away and feigned disinterest for most of his approach until the end when her blue eyes snapped to him and narrowed.

"Solas," she greeted him, smiling closed-lipped. "You look dashing."

"You mock me," Solas said, smiling dryly. They both knew she did. This hat was horrid.

Leliana's smile widened to show teeth, but she didn't reply.

Solas cleared his throat and edged close enough to her that they could speak without lifting their voices overmuch. "I do not see the Inquisitor. Has she returned to the vestibule? Or perhaps she has taken the Iron Bull for a delightful waltz?"

The spymaster chuckled. "Knowing our Inquisitor, I would not put it past her." Her levity faded. "But no. She and the others are following a lead in the servant's quarters. I'm sure she was distressed when she could not find you. Where did you go?"

"I thought to seek out information we might use for blackmail in the royal wing," Solas lied, frowning with feigned embarrassment. "Unfortunately I was discovered and chased out by a clucking gaggle of Celene's ladies in waiting."

Leliana chuckled. "An A for effort," she said before sighing. "It is just as well. Better for more of our people to be visible for the moment to distract from the Inquisitor's absence."

"Has she been gone long?" Solas probed.

The small twitch downward of her mouth was the only sign she gave of her worry as she said, "Long enough to be noticed." Turning to look down the length of the ballroom, Leliana smirked and jerked her chin to indicate where a cluster of Orlesian noblewomen giggled and fawned on Commander Cullen. "Poor Cullen. I don't think there will be much left of him before the night is finished."

Solas felt a brief pang of empathy for the ex-Templar. Although he and Cullen were nothing alike, there was something similar on the surface watching the handsome man fidget under the unwelcome attention and advancements of his female followers. When Solas first made his appearance at court he'd been overwhelmed much as Cullen was now. He'd wanted to retreat too, but he handled it better and wound up forming some lasting alliances from those early connections. He never bonded with any of them, of course, though he was far from averse to spending a few hours, nights, or weeks mutually slaking passion. Cullen seemed far too innocent and naiive in his own way for that.

"If you'll excuse me," Leliana said, pushing off the wall. "I'll go rescue our gallant commander before the noblewomen breech his defenses."

Solas nodded to her and made his way back into the crowd of Orlesian revelers, heading for the hall of heroes and the servant's quarters. That tug on his innards still haunted him, making his palms sweaty with anxiety. He _needed_ to get into the Fade to answer that call and check on his agents. But the ball here was no place to bed down unless he wanted to embarrass the Inquisition by pretending drunkenness and just claiming a spot on the floor or a bench in the garden.

He weighed the risk as he walked and eventually stopped on the upper level of the hall of heroes, staring down into the lower level and the door to the servant's quarters. Resting a gloved hand against the marble pedestal nearby, Solas tapped his fingers in a steady, slow beat. His eyes gradually lifted upward, over the pristine snowy white of the marble statues and along gold gilded wall decorations and railings. The gorgeous blue of curtails partly obscured the open second floor, darkened as it was, but Solas made out the glow of moonlight through enormous windows and spotted floor to ceiling bookshelves.

A library? Darkened and abandoned for the evening, cordoned off…

He could reach the space if he Fade-leapt. It was a stronger spell than Fade-stepping and would carry him across greater distances. If he aimed it properly he could leap the distance, magically phasing out of this reality for a moment. With the Veil in place, however, it would be incredibly draining—even for him.

He had not expended a great deal of mana in a more powerful spell in some time, but every day he gained strength. Albeit slower and slower now that he had reached the full potential of a mage expected for this post-Veil world. Still, he might have the reserves to perform the spell. Months ago he'd managed to turn an assassin into stone when Rosa was under threat and it put him in mana burnout. This spell was comparable to that and in the months since then he'd surely grown in strength, though he had no occasion to test it.

Now was as good a time as ever.

Solas checked the hall around him and discovered it was empty. A few people lingered in the corridor leading to the gardens in a spot where they would be able to see him if he suddenly vaulted forward in a flash of pale blue. On light feet, Solas treaded down the stairs into the lower level and stared up, craning his neck as he envisioned the spell and eyed the second floor—what little of it he could see.

Drawing in a breath, Solas reached deep inside for the well of mana within him and pulled hard on it. The spell was rusty, slower than he remembered, but he lurched forward and up. For a moment his vision went blue and then black as his body phased out of the physical world and shot straight through the palace walls, streaking up. An instant later he popped out of it, landing with a thump on clumsy, shaky booted feet.

Heart pounding, Solas swiftly looked around and found himself alone. He waited a few moments, exploring his core to see if the spell had left him in burnout. Long moments passed and his core seemed unaffected. The realization of that power made him dizzy with relief and primal, almost sexual enjoyment. He'd been weak so long that discovering he could access some of his more powerful talents was still something of a shock.

Smiling smugly to himself for just an instant, Solas quickly and quietly started walking for a dark place between two long tables, all laden with books. Laying down here he would not be immediately seen from the entrance or from below. Before laying down Solas quickly laid invisible wards down nearby that, if triggered, would snap him awake at once. Then he settled down on the cold floor between the tables and, despite the uncomfortable helmet still on his head, willed himself asleep.

The tug on his soul came again the moment he opened his eyes in the Fade. He inhaled with surprise as he saw a statue of Fen'Harel before him, discolored after ages of exposure. Lichen grew on the base and dead vines, brown from cold, rustled dryly in the wind. The air was cold and Solas saw his breath fogging.

Stepping back, Solas walked around the statue to see ancient chipped stone bricks in a crumbling wall and collapsing stairway. Vines grew along the walls, still green. Enormous trees grew up out of large cracks in the stone on the opposite side of the courtyard, where a statue of an enormous stag stood tall and proud despite the passage of time. Dead leaves lay around its base, shed by the tree in the season change.

Confusion made Solas hesitate, trying to place the location. Were these ruins new constructions in the Dales or old ones from before the Veil? But then the Fade channeled other senses to him—of Dreamer and demon.

He felt Zevanni's presence inside this dream, but she was a dim echo of what she should be, far too weak to have summoned him. Rosa, meanwhile, was not within the Fade. Unless Rosa had died within the servant's quarters—which struck Solas as highly unlikely considering she was accompanied by numerous allies—she couldn't have been the one to summon him. That left Zevanni again, but…

Stiffening, Solas snarled to himself with recognition as his skin prickled with the nearness of the demon. "Gaxkang," he growled under his breath as he searched the courtyard with a sweep of his eyes. "There is little sense in hiding."

"Fen'Harel," called the demon's smooth voice behind him.

Solas turned, taking his time, refusing to show unease, and found the demon standing behind him beside the base of the wolf statue. Gaxkang leaned an elbow on the stone, his hand buried in the full head of his pale blond hair.

"How good to see you again," the demon said, deadpan. "Do you like the dream we've created for your dear Felivetani?"

Hearing Zevanni's formal court name took Solas aback for a moment. She had not used her full given name in ages, not since before the fall. He quashed the desire to ask the demon where exactly this was, preferring not to reveal his lack of knowledge, and instead cut straight to the point. "What have you done with her?"

Gaxkang gestured with his idle hand. "Look for yourself, wolf."

Solas felt the Fade warp and change, shifting just behind him. Pivoting round, Solas saw the area beneath the trees in the overgrown section of courtyard had changed to include two golden _sou'adahl, _power trees. The branches crackled and flickered with light and, strung up on twining silver rope between them, was Zevanni. She was on her knees, slumped forward. The silvered rope glowed, the eerie light undulating in waves as it flowed from her and into the _sou'adahl._ Clasped in the circle of the golden branches, Solas spotted two foci, spinning as they gradually collected power.

He had not seen this kind of barbarism in ages as it was long forgotten. The _sou'adahl_ sucked Zevanni's mana from her, draining her dry and channeling all she had to give into the orbs. With the power from the orbs, derived as it was from a physical being, Gaxkang or one of his fellows had used it to summon Solas. This method disguised the _feeling_ of the summoning and enhanced its power. The demons knew he wouldn't be able to resist investigating, especially with the only two Dreamers capable of summoning at all both being important to him.

Nausea and rage both churned his stomach. Snarling, Solas turned back to Gaxkang. "Release her," he growled, pouring cold authority and the promise of retribution into the words. "Now."

Gaxkang's closed-lipped smile was cruel with cool satisfaction. "We cannot do that, wolf. She was caught trespassing and she must pay the price." His smile widened slightly, showing a glimpse of sharp white teeth. "You know about crime and punishment, don't you? She must pay for what she's done—or someone else must pay for it in her stead." He pushed off the statue, light and semi-transparent. "Do you know anyone that generous who'd pay for her crimes?"

Solas clenched his jaw, his mind spinning as he thought. The last orders he gave Zevanni were for her to uncover the Forbidden Ones' plot. Clearly she'd miss-stepped somewhere and wound up imprisoned by them. Yet, interestingly, the demons did not kill her when they easily could have. If the Forbidden Ones no longer cared whether he brought down the Veil or not and just wanted to annoy or hamper him, why wouldn't they kill her?

Opening his mind, reaching out to the Fade to let impressions from the demon flow to him like scents on the wind, Solas returned Gaxkang's cool smile. He would play along for now. "What is the price for her freedom?"

"From her?" Gaxkang asked, arching a brow slightly. "The orbs will be enough. It'll take the rest of her life to fill them with the Veil strangling her."

"And the price from myself to free her?" Solas asked calmly. He squared his shoulders and allowed dry humor to edge into his voice. "I suppose you want the location of the Black Mirror where your masters are hidden." He paused a moment, feeling a flash of insight from Gaxkang leak through the Fade: green light streaking up into the sky, filling the heavens with the crackling roar of the Veil splitting. He didn't react to it except to laugh and add, "Perhaps you would also hope to receive a vial of my blood to unlock it?"

"A nice offer," Gaxkang said, pausing a beat. Then he shook his head. "No deal."

"Then make your offer," Solas said and just barely managed not to cringe at the urgency in his voice. He knew from experience that every moment on the _sou'adahl_ was torture. A strong enough _sou'adahl_ could suck enough mana to leave even an Evanuris gasping with pain from mana burnout. The Veil itself drew power from the seven trapped Evanuris inside the Black City in just that way, leaving them stuck inside the torturous pain of mana burnout for ages without end. It was Solas' own brush with that spell as he fled it when the trap sprung that left him weak as a newborn upon waking from uthenera.

Gaxkang smirked slightly and tilted his head to one side, staring around Solas at where Zevanni sat with the silvered ropes binding her to the power trees. He wrinkled his nose once and shook his head. "No deal, wolf. If you want her, you'll have to come and take her. Yourself. In person." He leaned forward and Solas heard the demon's voice whisper directly in his ear in the impossible way of a dream. _"Alone."_

Solas forced himself to remain impassive as more flashes slipped through the Fade to him—unclear, short, and hazy. He felt Gaxkang's excitement pressing on him like a solid thing, swelling in his chest for an instant as though it was his own. He heard the echoing boom of an explosion racing over Thedas as the Veil crashed down. He saw a black mirror in the Crossroads shatter.

Gaxkang withdrew a step backward and finished. "Do anything else and we'll kill her."

Heart hammering, Solas drew a little mana to close his mind off. He didn't want to risk letting the demon sense his sudden panic. He forced himself to smile. "Is that all you require?" He took in the surrounding ruins again and inhaled deeply, trying to pick out the scent and recognize the tree species to pinpoint this place.

"You have a day," Gaxkang told him. "Suledin Keep."

Another lance of panic stabbed at Solas. _They know I have the eluvians._ Gaxkang and his brethren wouldn't demand he make the journey in a day otherwise. _They've been watching me closely._ They knew his plans. It could be through Zevanni. As their prisoner she would be defenseless to hold anything back. Any agent would break under the right torture and these were demons. They could read the truth right out of her in the Fade.

But there was another, alternative source of information for them, and, deliberate betrayal or accidental, it chilled him to the bone.

Tal.

"Goodbye, Fen'Harel," Gaxkang said then, smiling still. "For now." He lifted both hands and the dreamscape disappeared. Zevanni vanished with it. Both demon and woman were still within the Fade, but Gaxkang had willed them away. Solas could give chase—the Fade was his demesne more than anyone else's—but he had to be aware of the passage of time in the waking world.

And so, gritting his teeth in frustration, Solas willed himself awake.

* * *

_I am _never_ coming to Orlais again,_ Rosa vowed.

After traipsing through the servant's quarters, collecting as much blackmail on all of the major players for the Orlesian throne as possible along every step of the way, Rosa was knee deep in skeletons from their various closets. From power-hungry, raving hothead Gaspard, to Celene's double-crossing 'ends always justifies the means' scheming, and to Briala's complex and morally questionable involvement with the Orlesian empress while her people suffered in alienages.

She was done with the lot of them, especially seeing the way their stupid squabbling up top cost the lives of dozens of innocent servants whose only crime was being employed here at the wrong place and wrong time. Sera was in agreement with her, sneering at Briala when they encountered her fighting a harlequin and a few Venatori. Normally Rosa would have rolled her eyes at the archer's hate and thought of it as stemming more from Sera's strange elf-loathing and self-denial. But now she saw it in a different light and found herself agreeing with Sera's perspective.

Briala was a self-made noble, still claiming a connection and familiarity with the elven servants when in fact she'd lost sight of their reality. While the servants fell to the harlequins stalking them and her own agents vanished repeatedly entering dangerous areas to spy, Briala sat removed from it. Like a spider in a web, she tugged on her connecting strings, working her courtly machinations and using her not-so-secret connections to the empress and the eluvians to get her way.

_Am I like that?_ She wondered as Briala leapt off a balcony ledge to stalk away through the darkness and return to the ball. _Creators, I hope not!_

At Vivienne's encouragement ("The court will have noticed your absence by now, darling.") Rosa hurried to return to the hall of heroes. She and her party had to stop and hide their weapons and freshen up as much as possible without a bath and a change of clothes.

"You've got a little something…" Iron Bull told Cassandra, motioning at one cheek.

The Seeker curled her lips with disgust as she wiped furiously at her cheek, smearing a droplet of blood around. After a moment she looked up at Bull. "Did I get it?"

Iron Bull shrugged at the same time Vivienne sighed and said, "No. Come here, my dear." She reached into her formal attire and pulled out a handkerchief, passing it to Cassandra.

"Thank you," she said and spat into it. Vivienne grimaced and stared up at the ceiling, as though she could pretend she hadn't seen the Seeker doing that.

Rosa watched the scene unfolding with a smirk. Her own clothing had remained unscathed in her defensive role, thankfully. But Tal had managed to fall into an ivied trellis, staining his red formal attire with green plant juices. She motioned to him when Cassandra had finished with the hanky and said, "Tal needs it next."

Cassandra glanced at Tal and made a face. "I am unsure I have enough saliva to get those stains out."

"Could all spit on it together, yeah?" Sera suggested, grinning. "I'd give it a go. How bout you?"

Vivienne sighed and muttered under her breath. "Maker."

"Don't worry about cleaning me," Tal protested, waving the proffered hanky away. "I can be the savage tonight. No one's going to care."

"I'm afraid they _will_ notice, my dear," Vivienne corrected him tartly. "Fortunately yes, you do already have that reputation, so there will be little harm done."

"Act drunk," Iron Bull suggested. "That should make it funny. Less suspicious if you just passed out in a bush."

"All right," Rosa said, growing impatient. "I have to get back to the ball before this assassination happens right under my nose."

They made their way back inside and almost immediately the grand duchess Florianne accosted her..._wanting to dance._

_Shit._

Though, she had to admit that using the ballroom's dance floor to drop a lead about the royal wing was clever, even if she knew it was a trap from a mile away. Total trap. Rosa even felt the lie twist a few times as the duchess spoke with her. It was nothing short of a miracle that she didn't slip up and start taking the wrong steps with the other woman.

_Royal wing. Gaspard's general._

Her advisors circled her in a huddle immediately after she left the dance floor. After she revealed what Florianne told her, Leliana decided to fuck with her head when she declared, "Perhaps we should let Empress Celene die."

As everyone stared at the redhead, Rosa blurted, _"Excuse_ me? Did I hear that right?"

"Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor," Leliana started. "What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the empire must be strong. This evening, someone must emerge victorious from the civil war."

Cullen, who'd been staring at Leliana with mounting excitement at her revelation, finished the thought. "And it doesn't need to be Celene. She's right."

Rosa huffed irritably. "_Fenedhis_, you both have such hard-ons for Gaspard. I can go make formal introductions with you if you want. I'm sure he'd be up for a threesome."

Leliana frowned at her while Cullen flushed red and stammered. "Inquisitor!"

"What?" Rosa asked, shrugging. "I mean, if we're going to start suggesting something as immoral as tacitly supporting assassinations of sovereign leaders, then I don't see why sucking Gaspard's cock is more shocking of a suggestion. At least no one is murdered in that situation. "

"At least keep your voice down," Josephine hissed.

"I'm going to take the others and bust into the royal wing to get to the bottom of this," she growled. She started to turn to walk away and gather her party up again but stopped, crossing her arms and cocking one hip out as she asked, "Have any of you seen Solas?"

"I'm afraid I have not seen Master Solas," Josephine said.

"Nor I," Cullen admitted, shaking his head and rubbing anxiously at the back of his head. "Unfortunately the only thing I've seen tonight is a bunch of Orlesian noblewomen who won't leave me alone."

Leliana smirked at Cullen's comment before saying, "I spoke with Solas a short time ago, while you were in the servant's quarters. He must have just missed you. Did you not cross paths with him there?"

Rosa shook her head. "No." She gazed around the ballroom, trying to catch sight of that ridiculous hat they dressed him in.

"I am sure he is safe, Inquisitor," Josephine reassured her.

"It's true, Solas seemed surprisingly at ease here for a—what is it Dorian called him? A hobo apostate?" Leliana asked, sharing a mischievous smile with Josephine. The ambassador covered her chuckle with a hand.

Rosa smirked, aware of what her advisors weren't: that Solas once attended a court far grander than Orlais'. "All right," she said. "I'll look for him and then I'll be off."

Gathering the others in her entourage was easy. Vivienne stayed close the entire time so Rosa needed only to nod at her and the enchanter was at her side. Tal and Sera resumed their same spot along one wall, staring at the appetizers and drinks and the overdressed, masked Orlesian nobles as if they were all snakes about to strike. They seemed all too happy to rejoin Rosa.

Next she found Iron Bull chatting up some Orlesian women whose eyes were huge behind their masks. He seemed to be regaling them with bloody war stories from Seheron. One of the women was a redhead and Rosa wondered if Iron Bull really had a chance at seducing any of them or if he was just working the crowd for the thrill of it. Regardless, the Qunari nodded to her and excused himself as soon as Rosa came by.

Cassandra was in the hall of heroes, in the lower level—with Solas, stunningly. The two spoke in hushed words, postures stiff. Rosa, leading her pack of misfits, slowed her approach as she saw them. Cassandra registered Rosa first, cutting herself off and pinching her lips together as she called, "Inquisitor."

Picking up speed again, Rosa saw Solas turn and felt a twist of alarm inside her at his paleness and the faint sheen of sweat. But more than that was the urgency and anxiety she saw tightening his mouth and darkening his eyes. "Inquisitor," he greeted her, nodding respectfully. "I apologize for my absence. I sensed an artifact in the library above." He pointed up, beyond the statues. "I sought to investigate it."

The feel of the lie buzzed like an angry wasp in the back of her head. She clenched her jaw and waved it away. "No harm. We're off to the royal wing. Care to join?"

"Of course," he replied, smiling tightly.

Just behind him, Cassandra frowned with disapproval. Was she just irritated that Solas would—supposedly—leave the ball to venture into an off-limits area alone, placing himself into danger and weakening the party with his absence? Or was there something more?

It didn't matter right now. They had to focus on stopping the assassination and ending Orlais' stupid civil war one way or another.

"All right," she said, keeping her voice low. "Here's the plan: we stagger our entry to the royal wing so it's not _obvious_. Sera goes first to pick the lock." Making eye contact with the rogue drew a quick nod and a mischievous grin. "Then Iron Bull follows so she isn't alone without protection for long. Then Cassandra, same reason. Then Vivienne, and Solas, and Tal and me—in no particular order. Sound reasonable?"

"Might I suggest that it would be better for not all of us to disappear," Vivienne said. "We must maintain a presence."

"Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine are doing that," Rosa pointed out.

"Yes, my dear," Vivienne agreed. "But others such as myself are also quite high profile. It may be better for me to remain in order to manage court approval."

Rosa nodded, agreeing. "Fine. So you'll stay behind to schmooze." Glancing to Cassandra, the only other member of their group with significance to Orlais through the chantry, she asked, "Did you want to—"

"Absolutely not," the warrior grumbled. "I have had more than enough of this ridiculous ball. Let us get to business."

Rosa grinned. "Couldn't have said it better myself. Let's go."

As they separated to mingle for a few minutes while Sera picked the lock to the royal wing, Cassandra followed Rosa with a stiff gait. Solas also followed at first before seeming to think better of it and returning to the ballroom instead. The Seeker, meanwhile, took a firm hold of Rosa's elbow and steered her into the alcove around one of the large statues in the hall of heroes.

"Inquisitor," she said in a hushed voice, "I must tell you something. A few moments before you arrived, I saw Solas…" She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, consternated. "_Blink_ into existence." She pointed at the tiles. "Right here. It is a spell I have never witnessed."

Rosa stared at the Seeker, struggling to affect a confused expression, or dubiousness. In reality she wasn't the least bit surprised that Solas would know spells the Seeker had never seen before. It didn't bother her in the least. "Can you describe it for me?" she asked.

Cassandra huffed with frustration and stared down at the tiles for an instant, brow furrowed as she thought. Then she looked up and motioned from the upper level library and down to the tiles of the lower level of the hall of heroes. "It was…similar to a Fade-step, I suppose. There was a streak of blue, accompanied by the blast of cold. It was very faint." Her lips pinched together. "I have never seen a spell that could travel that far."

Rosa let her posture ease, pretending to be reassured by what Cassandra told her. "Solas has researched some strange techniques from the Fade and the ruins of my people." She shrugged. "He's bound to have picked up a few unusual tricks."

Suspicion narrowed the Seeker's eyes. "Then why has he not displayed it before?" She edged closer, dropping her voice even quieter. "Inquisitor, he denied it when I confronted him. Clearly, he did not wish for others to see that spell."

Rosa nodded. "I'll speak with him," she promised. "But it doesn't sound like much to me. He probably just had a kneejerk reaction with you because you're a Seeker." She shrugged. "Remember, he was trapped in a Circle for a time. So was I. I can understand why he'd be guarded with you, but if Vivienne saw him do it he'd probably gloat about knowing something she doesn't."

This argument seemed to strike home with Cassandra as her lips parted and her features went slack with surprise. "I did not think of that," she admitted. "You are right, Inquisitor." Her brow furrowed now with concern. "I hope you and Tal do not feel the same way about me."

Rosa opened her mouth to say something soothing and then snapped it shut, aware of the lie it was. She _had_ been chronically worried about revealing too much to the Seeker. Letting out a breath, Rosa dredged up a soft smile. "I _have_ been a little wary, before. I'm sorry. It wasn't fair of me."

"No," Cassandra said. "It was fair. My reaction here proves my suspicion of mages. It is unacceptable. I will try to do better, Inquisitor."

"That's all any of us can do," Rosa said, gripping the other woman's arm and squeezing in a friendly gesture. "Now, let's go save the empress."

* * *

Solas was tired when they returned to the ballroom. Anxiety twisted in his chest and in his guts, a tight ball he couldn't dispel.

He should be pleased with the night's outcome so far. With his help and the rest of the party, Rosa had survived an attempt on her life by Florianne, the assassin and Corypheus' puppet at court. She'd also acquired enough blackmail on all three major players that she could conceivably force them into a public truce—the cleverest and hardest outcome imaginable for this evening, though not necessarily the best long-term resolution.

But, as he and the others watched Rosa close in on Florianne in full view of the Orlesian court, confronting the other woman, the only thing Solas could think about was Zevanni. She was suffering at this very moment while he did nothing. He could slip away, use the eluvians, and get to Suledin keep in a matter of moments and rescue her. Yet, it was clearly a trap. Was it better to do nothing, then?

He'd sent Mathrel to the storage room with the eluvian, to wait until later when Solas could sneak under cover of his own invisibility spell back into the royal wing. Then perhaps he could send Mathrel to rendezvous with Lyris while he traveled to the keep to face the demons and reclaim Zevanni. It had been surprisingly easy to fall back as the Inquisition party made its way through the royal wing and then, when he sensed Mathrel's presence nearby, invisible but following them, whisper his instructions in elven. Still, he worried that Tal or Rosa might've sensed Mathrel's presence in the royal wing as both elven mages seemed especially on edge.

Out on the dance floor, in front of everyone, Rosa raised her voice to Florianne. "I seem to recall you saying, 'All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.'" The Orlesians gasped in shock and whispers rocked the ballroom, echoing off the gilded walls.

Even as pride warmed him, watching her unravel the assassination attempt before it could spring, Solas fidgeted and resisted the desire to scratch at his itchy head. Every moment he delayed Zevanni suffered. She was a valuable agent…but was she valuable enough for him to walk into this obvious trap?

_The Forbidden Ones cannot kill me,_ he thought with consternation. _Why are they doing this? _They should know better than to antagonize him. Was it all just to force him to into a position where they could claim his blood and extract the knowledge of where the Black Mirror was?

His hands clenched to fists at his side as he recalled the Fade-leap spell he managed with ease. His power was such that he felt confident he could take out half a dozen Templars in one veilstrike or mindblast. He could incinerate just as many, reducing them to ash in seconds—all without going into burnout. He was strong enough he could surely take on the demon. And, considering he knew of only one of the Forbidden Ones on this side of the Veil at present, that made the challenge even easier.

That meant he must leave for Suledin keep. The sooner the better—but not before he spoke with Rosa first. He'd promised her the truth now. She'd need a very valid reason why he was putting off her meeting with Fen'Harel. Fortunately, he had one.

So he waited, every minute passing in excruciating slowness as first Orlesian guards dragged Florianne away and then the empress, Gaspard, and Briala joined Rosa for peace talks. Solas lingered near the balcony, waiting for a sign of movement. Any break in the meeting of leaders he would seize to quickly tell her what he was up to. Unfortunately none came until an hour or so later when Celene addressed the entire assembly, announcing a public truce between herself and Gaspard. Briala lingered in the background and received a title for her supposed role in exposing Florianne. Most assembled would think that more a concession by the empress to Rosa for the elven people, or a way for the empress to legitimize her relationship with Briala. Solas cared little about it, ultimately.

If he had his way the People would soon live very different lives and it would have nothing to do with sleeping with the empress or earning titles.

Finally, at long last, he found Rosa alone on the balcony, leaning over the railing and gazing out to the mountains far beyond. He approached gingerly, hesitant out of trepidation. The boots the Inquisition seamstress made him wear scratched on the hard balcony floor, alerting Rosa to his presence well in advance. She turned, glancing over her shoulder, and smiled wearily. "Solas, I hoped you'd come to see me."

He smiled, moving to rest his elbows on the railing with her. "It is always a pleasure to see you, _vhenan,"_ he told her and meant it, even as the anxiety swam in him, wriggling like a fish caught on a line.

Keen as ever, she caught his underlying tension. Leaning close to him, she quietly asked, "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so." He lowered his eyes, staring into the hazy night at the land below and sighed. "I apologize for my absence earlier. I felt a call for help." He swallowed as he heard her shift, edging closer, listening. "One of my peers is in grave danger. I must go to free her as soon as I can."

"What about the eluvians?" Rosa asked. "You can't go before we take them."

He smiled wanly, turning to look at her now. She was beautiful, lit by the silvered moonlight. Soon he might never see her staring at him like this: unguarded, trusting, affectionate. He swallowed, tamping those fears down. "We have already taken them."

Relief and surprise flashed over her face. "Oh." She chuckled. "That seems like it was too easy."

"It was well planned," he said, trying to keep the smugness from showing. She would believe his "master" planned this, not him, so he must not appear unduly pleased with himself. "Tal provided the distraction while I and a few other agents stole into Briala's sanctuary and reclaimed the lead mirror."

She smirked and turned back to the railing, idly running the fingers of one hand along the edge. "So you have to go rescue someone. Do you need any help?"

He shook his head. "I cannot bring others." Hesitating a moment, he weighed his next words before deciding to reveal them. "It is the Forbidden Ones who hold her captive. They have demanded I come to them alone to rescue her."

Rosa frowned, shooting him a sidelong glance that he couldn't quite read. "Who is this exactly?"

"A fellow survivor of Elvhenan," he told her somberly. "She serves Fen'Harel." As Rosa nodded her understanding, Solas added, "She was the one who agreed to rescue Tal from the Templars taking him to the other Circle."

Now Rosa turned her head to stare at him again, surprise widening her eyes. "She's in danger?"

"Yes," he said, nodding.

"Then absolutely go save her," she said, reaching out and grasping his bicep, squeezing. "But hurry back to me." Her eyes narrowed. "You owe me that meeting. With you-know-who." She released him, her gloved hand flopping back to the railing as her lips twisted in another unreadable expression. "You're not going to leave me again, are you?"

Solas stiffened, wincing at that question. Steeling his spine, he reached for her hand, squeezing it in his own and tugging her closer to him. "No, _vhenan._ I will return—assuming I am still alive. I do not anticipate failing in this rescue, but it is possible. Remote, but possible."

The worry in her eyes lanced at his heart, but Rosa didn't fight him. "She helped me and Tal. I'd be a right ass if I tried to keep you here." Snorting, she added, "Honestly, I should be going with you. But if that's not possible…"

Struck by the idea that backup from Rosa and Tal might actually be a good fallback plan, Solas grinned. "Come with me, _vhenan._ I will show you the eluvian." He lifted her gloved hand to his lips, kissing it. "That way, should I find myself in true danger, I can call upon you. Through the mirrors you will never be more than mere minutes away."

Rosa smiled at him, some of the tension leaving her body language. "I think that's a great idea."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Tal mimicked her, raising his free palm and closing his eyes to concentrate. Immediately the mirror in front of them pulsed. The pale-silvered metal gleamed white. The glass went black until a spattering of fine stars appeared. Rosa saw colors exploding in its depths—maroon, cerulean, teal, periwinkle—all of them brilliant and resplendent. Her heart swelled in her chest and suddenly tears pricked her eyes at the beauty.

"Tal," she whispered, shaking. "Is it showing you the sky? Is it showing you colors?"

"Yes," he answered and, when she looked quickly to him she saw tears streaming down his face, too. "It knows us. It's welcoming us." The Crown glowed on his head and had transformed. A red bead had dropped low over his forehead and fine metal shapes twined to form Falon'Din's vallaslin.

* * *

So...if you didn't realize it...next chapter things are going to quickly progress. The Truth Bomb is coming!


	56. The Choices We Make: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas uses the newly acquired eluvian network to mount a rescue for his agent. Meanwhile, Rosa and Tal decide to take the eluvians for a very different purpose: a return to the temple of Dirthamen and the Void Mirror.

There was an eluvian somewhere within the ruins of Suledin keep, which was obviously the closest to Zevanni. Yet Solas knew better than to take it and instead chose an eluvian some miles away in a different set of ruins.

Stepping through it he found himself dizzy, head spinning with vertigo, as gravity changed from one spot to the other. He realized the mirror had tipped over against a wall so that it was no longer vertical but closer to horizontal. He had to grip either side and haul himself out into the utter blackness of the ruin.

Cold stones bit into the skin of his feet, along with a trace of moisture. He summoned veilfire and, in the eerie green light, saw snow in the cracks of the stone. A low, uneven ceiling stretched over him. He couldn't stand without slamming his head into it. He crouched low, stooping to walk forward.

As his veilfire orb floated about the caved in room, Solas saw an opening in the ceiling ahead. He hurried for it and pulled himself out. The orb moved with him, but the light soon proved unnecessary as luminous moonlight illuminated the desolate, cold landscape of Emprise du Lion.

Solas scaled a half-collapsing wall of white stone bricks and landed in bitingly cold snow that crunched too loudly under his feet. He drew mana for warmth, dispelling his own shivering. The snow began to melt around his ankles as he oriented himself with the moon and the position of nearby mountains. The keep was miles away yet. It would take a few hours to hike there.

He set off for it.

* * *

"So, right now, Solas is walking through a bunch of those creepy mirrors heading to rescue another agent of Fen'Harel?" Tal asked, arching a brow when Rosa had explained where their "Fade expert" was for the night.

They were in Rosa's safe haven dream—the pale stone ruins in the Brecilian forest during a warm summer night. She walked through the half-collapsed pillars, running her fingers along them. Green-white magic flickered as her hands passed over them, reacting to her touch just the way they had when she was a child and here physically with her birth clan.

"That's about the gist of it," Rosa told him, circling round to walk on the opposite side of the line of columns. The temple had once been devoted to Dirthamen and Falon'Din. Or maybe it was just Dirthamen. It was hard to tell because so much of it was overgrown, ruined.

"And when he gets back you're going to meet the Dread Wolf himself," Tal said, scowling. "I don't like it, _asamalin._ Don't meet with him. The son of a bitch can't be trusted. He killed _babae._ What if you're next?"

"I'll kill him myself if I think his way isn't the best for the People," she muttered.

"Fuck the best way for the People," Tal snarled. "He. Killed. _Babae._ You can't let that go." He was silent and then, screwing up his face, he blurted, "I think you should send Solas away. You can't trust him, either."

Rosa's violet eyes flashed as she lifted her head, meeting his gaze with irritation. "Why is that? Because some demon masquerading as _lenalin_ in a mirror inside a decrepit temple told you not to trust him?"

"Yeah," Tal snapped. "And because of what he did to you two years ago when he abandoned you. He broke his promise to come back to you then. He isn't trustworthy." He stopped, his voice softening. "I know you love him, but until the Dread Wolf is dead you can't trust him. He's a spy. You're _fucking_ a spy."

Rosa frowned and turned her head, staring off into the pine forest. The scent of the trees swelled in her nose, calming and reassuring. Tal was worried for her. Anger wasn't the right response. She had to see his perspective and try to learn from it, because he _had_ a point—as much as she hated to admit it.

"I think people are capable of change, _da'isamalin._ I want to meet the Dread Wolf, look him in the eye, and decide for myself if I think he's up to no good." She drew in another calming breath, then let it out in a huff. "I fully expect I'll have to kill him. I can't send Solas away when he's my ticket to meet the old trickster."

"Rosa," Tal said, grimacing. "I know you love him. That's more to do with it than anything else. But…" He shook his head. "I had a dream a while ago. Before I met up with you again for the ball."

She shot him a wary look but said nothing.

"A demon came to me. I told it to fuck off, of course, but it didn't try to possess me. Instead it turned into the Dread Wolf and _ate_ the Black City. And while it did that the demon told me _you_ have to take the orb Corypheus is currently using to screw with all of Thedas." Stabbing a finger at the grass underfoot, as if the orb was there, Tal added, "You know—the orb Corypheus got from _Solas._ The one Solas says he got from Mythal? That one?"

Rosa scoffed. "That's not new news. Your demon friend is behind the times."

"It wasn't my friend," Tal snapped. "Just _listen, asamlin. _The demon said you have to take the orb to stop Fen'Harel. It said if you take the orb you have his power." He clenched his jaw for an instant and then said, "Do you really think Solas got that orb from Mythal? Because I think it belonged to his master from the start. And we know Solas is going to be the one to sacrifice himself and that somehow saves the People." He shook his head. "Where is Fen'Harel in all this? Is he just going to lord over us once Solas has done all the hard work? How can _that_ be a good path for the People?"

Rosa stared down at the grass, rippling as a gentle breeze stirred them. The moonshine caught the seedpods at the top of each blade, making them glow. She nodded in mute agreement with Tal. "I agree, like I said. I think I'm going to have to kill him to save the People." She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself. "And to free Solas."

"Then you're going to need to know _how_ to kill a god," Tal told her stiffly. "And that means you need to talk to _babae._ If anyone knows something, it will be him."

"If your demon friend is right then I won't need to do anything but kill Corypheus and take that orb," Rosa muttered.

"I told you," Tal growled. "It's not my friend. But you know I'm right."

She did and she hated it. A hot lump started in her throat. "I'm not going to force _lenalin_ to talk. I promised I would go back to the temple to say goodbye. That's all."

"Sure," Tal said, shrugging. "I understand that. I don't want to _make_ him talk either. But I _am_ going to ask him again." Silence reigned for a few moments before Tal asked, "You said Solas taught you how to use the eluvians?"

Rosa glanced to him and cleared her throat. "Yes. A little. It's a lot like the Fade. You reach out and _feel_ the mirror." She smiled warmly, remembering how he'd held her hand, guiding it up to the top of the eluvian. His touch was warm, gentle but confident with experience. When she felt the magic connect readily she grinned with delight and Solas laughed with her, also thrilled.

_You are a natural, _vhenan.

"I wonder," Tal murmured, his features gathering with curiosity. "Do you think we could open the mirror in the temple of Dirthamen? Do you think it's a doorway for the living _and_ the dead?"

Rosa shot her brother a wary look. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I'm guessing if anyone could open it…"

"It'd be me," Tal finished for her. He hummed in his throat. "Nola doesn't want to go back to the temple. And I don't want to make her do that—or you. It's a long journey…if we could use the mirror instead we could be there tonight and back before dawn."

A chill passed through Rosa. She shook her head. "I have midmorning meetings with the empress, Gaspard, and other Orlesian nobles. I can't go on a walk through the eluvians across Thedas and risk missing those appointments. If I did I'd offend _all_ of them and—"

Tal interrupted her. "If Solas can go rescue his friend from demons over the course of just a few hours I'm sure we can do the same before your meetings." Walking up to the pillar that separated them from one another, Tal laid a hand over it and watched as the green-white magic lit up the symbols just as it did for Rosa. "Don't you want to get this over with? Because I definitely do."

The energy and urgency in his face and demeanor made Rosa sigh with reluctant acceptance. She nodded. "All right. I can't promise it will work, but let's try." She clenched her jaw. They were guests now within the palace. It was a bit of a walk to where Solas had shown her the eluvian in storage. Still, Tal was right this was a golden opportunity. It would be weeks before they had access to another eluvian, the one hidden somewhere around Skyhold according to Solas. It'd be even longer before she and Tal could set off for the temple. This truly was a chance they couldn't pass up. "I'll meet you at the royal wing."

* * *

Cloaked under his invisibility spell, Solas stalked into Suledin Keep as a mere shadow. With every sense alert, he walked slowly through the wandering paths of the crumbling keep. Snow fell gently from thin, wispy clouds that did little to obscure the moonlight.

Red lyrium Templars patrolled the keep and Freemen of the Dales huddled about the occasional fire hearth, trying to stay warm in this bitterly cold night. None of them noticed Solas pass, though if they'd been more observant they would have seen the tracks he left behind in snow and dirt. Fortunately the darkness provided enough cover that his barefooted, nimble tracks were easily lost amidst the chaos of the humans' booted feet.

He passed by enormous cages where giants sat hunched over, sickened by red lyrium. Red clouds hovered over them, a clear sign of their misery. Distant pity tugged at him, along with dull horror. What were they up to with such experiments? Was it just cruelty for cruelty's sake? Or did it all have something to do with what the Forbidden Ones were planning by antagonizing him? Or did it serve Corypheus in some way? Did the Forbidden Ones think Corypheus actually could tear down the Veil and somehow release their masters, the Forgotten Ones? Their support otherwise of the darkspawn magister seemed more like an idle game to pass the time, but if not…were they truly foolish enough to think Corypheus could do what Fen'Harel intended?

Pushing those thoughts down inside, Solas pressed on into the keep. His heart drummed in his ears as he skirted around groups of Freemen and Templars. He hugged the shadows in courtyards and stayed crouched around overgrown sections of wall. Although invisible, it was possible a Venatori mage or someone else with magical talents might sense his presence if he was careless.

His luck ran out when he found himself in a relatively narrow corridor—a wooden construction where the Venatori were storing crates and barrels and other provisions—and a red Templar stomped in through the doorway he was headed for. Solas froze for an instant, then pressed himself flush to the wall alongside an unused wooden table. He held his breath.

Invisible as he was, in such close proximity a Templar was likely to sense the use of magic. In the Circle, ironically, a Templar would ignore the faint sense of mana as meaningless because he was in a tower full of mages. Background low level magic was expected. But here, in the keep, there would be few mages and it was not a confined space. The Templar had a much higher chance of realizing something was off.

Solas reached for mana, preparing a spell even as he hoped the Templar would pass him by. No such luck.

The red Templar sniffed, stopping midstride. He stiffened and his hand fell to his sword. Solas saw the glint of his eyes, reflecting red from their poisoned depths. Almost reflexively, Solas turned the Templar to stone. The spell went off with a harsh ring and crackle, leaving the gray shape of the Templar standing in the corridor, frozen forever.

Sweating but not in mana burnout, Solas let out a breath and slipped by the stone Templar to continue on his way. He could shatter the statue and scatter the evidence, but a Veilstrike or mind blast would make noise and draw attention. Better that he aim for silence and swiftness. The statue might go undetected for minutes or hours. It was hard to say.

Outside he entered another stairwell, half-crumbling and overgrown. The night air was frigid and a harsh wind had begun, bringing the snow whipping in faster now. The increased chill as he left the stairwell and entered another courtyard did nothing to stop his skin prickling with painful heat as he sensed wards ahead of him.

Halting in place, still invisible, Solas observed the courtyard and clenched his jaw as recognition hit him. This was the spot Gaxkang had shown him in the Fade. A statue of the Dread Wolf sat ahead and an enormous, proud stag stood adjacent to it. One corner was overgrown with massive, snow covered trees and an ivy-laden wall.

There were no visible patrols here of Freemen, Venatori, or red Templars. Gazing at the snow, Solas saw the booted tracks skirted along the outside of this courtyard. No one walked through it near the statues or toward the overgrown patch. Yet, through most of the courtyards Solas had seen up until this the men used spaces such as this for tents and bonfires for warmth. Why was this one so barren and empty?

_An illusion,_ he thought. More powerful than the simplistic barriers used by mages in this age, the illusion required quite a lot of mana to sustain it. Imshael, the only Forbidden One outside of the Fade at present, might have manifested himself as a mage, but Solas doubted he possessed the strength to do it. Besides, it wouldn't suit Imshael's personality to be standing out here in the cold maintaining the illusion spell. He had a keep to run for Corypheus.

No, the answer was obvious. The _sou'adahl_ were here and Zevanni was strapped to them just as she was in the Fade version of this place. It was Zevanni's mana, extracted by force against her will, that powered this illusion. And Imshael placed wards to protect it, warning the Venatori, red templars, and Freemen to steer clear.

Solas had found the trap meant for him, then. But how could he spring it without being caught? Dispelling the wards, the illusion, or both would reveal his presence and raise the alarm. Perhaps there was a way around them?

Retracing his steps back to the stairwell, Solas perched up on the railing, catlike. Crouched low, he walked along it as far back as he could, getting as near as possible to the enormous tree growing from the corner of the courtyard. The branches, skeletal and leafless currently with the winter season, grew near enough that he could jump to them and climb the tree. He might find a spot in the perimeter under the tree that Imshael missed or drop from above _inside_ the perimeter of the illusion and its wards.

The branch clattered, dry and rasping, as Solas sprang for it. The tree shivered with his weight but Solas pressed on. He shimmied along its length, heading for the central trunk, which grew very close to the ivy-covered wall. If Imshael had warded this spot at the base of the tree too thoroughly for him to sneak through Solas could still explore along the wall.

At the trunk Solas wrapped his legs around the branch and hung from it to dangle close to the cracked courtyard stone below to sense wards. He picked them out and found that indeed, the area directly at the base of the tree trunk was bare of wards. As carefully as he could, Solas pivoted about and lowered himself down to the ground—which actually amounted to the uneven, twisting, and partially exposed roots of the tree.

Sucking in a breath for concentration, Solas tiptoed through the gap. Magic prickled his skin on either side, dimpling him with gooseflesh and raising all the fine hairs on his arms and legs. He was so close to it he could _just_ taste it without setting off the wards. It _was_ Zevanni's mana. The knowledge curdled his stomach acid with both horror and hate at what Imshael and his brethren were doing to one of his most useful agents and a longtime friend.

Once he was through the narrow gap in the wards—and the illusion boundary with them—the real scene hit him like Fade rock straight to the head.

The _sou'adahl_ buzzed and crackled with mana drawn from the poor, pathetic elven woman strung up between them. Zevanni's head drooped and her shoulders hung limp against the tension in the silvered ropes binding her. Gold and white energy crackled along the ropes and leapt between the coppery branches of the power trees. Two orbs floated in the branches slowly spinning as they absorbed power, just as he'd seen in the Fade. From them issued the raw magical power to sustain the illusion. Removing Zevanni from the _sou'adahl_ would destroy the illusion and raise the alarm by triggering the ward.

But freeing her, _rescuing_ her, was why he'd come.

If only he had enough mana for a long distance teleportation he could take her and streak out of the keep faster than Imshael and his thugs could blink. As it was he had the invisibility spell, which Zevanni also knew, though she'd likely be too weak to use it currently. Solas could extend the spell to her, rendering her invisible too, but they'd be slow. Once the wards went off or someone discovered the petrified Templar everyone in the keep would be looking for him.

Edging closer to Zevanni, with his mind still swirling with plans and possibilities, Solas extended a hand out to the nearest branch of the _sou'adahl._ The mana crackling through it connected in tiny flickers of white lightning, drawn to him. Zevanni's siphoned mana trickled into his core. His heart lurched and pleasure coiled in his belly. Blood pounded in his ears at this taste of power. It was like stretching muscles after a long period of disuse and finding them still well-toned and eager for use. The Veil may strangle his draw from the Fade but the _sou'adahl_, in robbing Zevanni, artificially increased his own power.

As he drew nearer, letting more mana flow into him—but not so much that it would deprive the orbs and disable the illusion or its wards—Solas sensed Zevanni's anguish through the magic. Burning, stinging pain pulsating through the blood as she endured an endless mana burnout. _Ir abelas, falon._

Committed now, Solas lifted a palm up to the left power tree and used spirit magic to suck the orb out of its branches. The crackling draw of mana went wild for a moment, lightning and power arcing between Solas and the freed orb and then back to Zevanni. He raised his right palm and did the same to the other power tree. The right orb flew to his hand. They crackled and glowed, ready to unload the collected magic into Solas if he wished. He rebuffed the orbs, letting them keep the collected mana, and instead quickly tried to shove one into his pack.

He kept one eye on Zevanni as the wards failed and the _sou'adahl_ went dead. The silvered ropes vanished into thin air, being nothing but a part of a spell for the _sou'adahl. _Zevanni's arms fell flat to her sides and she slumped forward, falling onto the cold bricks of the courtyard. She shuddered, breath fluttering and muscles twitching.

Solas knelt and, one-handed, rolled Zevanni onto her back. With the orb he'd not shoved into his pack, Solas pressed it to her belly and laid her hand over the orb. He tried to channel the stolen mana out of the orb and back into her, rather than into himself. It worked as the orb crackled and glowed, then the light spread to Zevanni's hand. But would it rouse her in time?

Her breathing was fast and erratic. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips moved in a grimace of pain. _"Wake up, _falon," he encouraged her in elven, scanning the courtyard for danger. _"Please."_

His temple suddenly flushed hot with a tension headache as his senses picked out a demon's presence nearby. Tensing, Solas drew on mana, ready to cast a firestorm or a blizzard in defense. The courtyard was empty and eerily silent. Snow fell from the dark sky, desolate and depressing. His fast breaths fogged the air in front of him with each exhale. Where…?

And then the back of his scalp prickled and he whipped round to stare at the ivy-covered wall behind him as fire ignited in his palm. His gaze landed at once on Imshael, seated at the top of the crumbling wall.

* * *

Rosa found Tal waiting beside the door to the royal wing, having already picked it with ease. They took on invisibility as they slipped inside, as silent on their now bare feet as they could be. If the empress could see them, shoeless and in their Dalish armor, Rosa thought she'd be disgusted. The idea made her smile to herself.

"They really need to improve their security on the doors," Tal commented in a whisper to her as they walked down the halls. They held hands to keep from losing each other while invisible. "I swear I sensed another person using invisibility while we were here during the ball."

Rosa hummed in the back of her throat, agreeing. Solas had solved that mystery for her when he explained that another of Fen'Harel's agents was with him when they took the eluvians from Briala.

The royal wing was darker now, but Rosa's keen ears could hear the distant sounds of a couple making love. She tried to tune out the sounds, unsure whether she was hearing the empress having a dalliance or some servants meeting in a closed off room. Or maybe Gaspard had a room here and was indulging himself. Hopefully with someone willing. He didn't seem the type to care for such niceties. But the noises she overheard, albeit brief, sounded like mutual enjoyment.

They reached the storage room Solas had shown her earlier. The door was locked but otherwise there were no guards. Apparently the empress felt the threat of danger had passed with the ball over.

Tal picked it to gain them entrance. Inside they wove their way around covered end tables, couches, bedframes, elaborate dressers, chairs, and tables. Finally, near the windows, they found the still uncovered eluvian. The glass was dark, showing no sign that Solas had come and gone this way—other than the disturbed dust around it. But many of the prints were from Briala's people, as evidenced by the small slippered tracks.

Rosa lifted her palm to the mirror and shut her eyes, concentrating. It only took a moment before she sensed the mirror, like another consciousness inside the Fade. It caressed her, embracing her like an old friend. The eluvian thrummed and the glass rippled like water, then glowed as the magic began and the connection to the crossroads started in earnest.

Satisfied, Rosa lowered her palm and shot Tal a triumphant, smug grin. Her brother stared, clearly impressed. He let out a soft whistle. "Nice. How long did it take you to learn?"

"I did it the first try," Rosa admitted. At Tal's skeptical look she shrugged. "Maybe it likes Dreamers. Solas said it responds best to strong mages. And turning it on does feel like connecting to the Fade."

"Can you show me on the next one?" he asked, brows lifting to emphasize the question.

"Sure." She motioned at the mirror. "After you, little brother."

He snorted but then, sucking in a breath, stepped forward. Rosa went after him and, on the other side, she lifted her hand to command the mirror to turn off. Behind her, Tal gasped as he took in the crossroads for the first time. "Holy shit."

"Yep, you can say that again." Rosa walked up beside him, staring out at the sky that wasn't quite a sky. The air carried a groan, a distant grinding that made her think of a giant breathing unfathomably slow. The light fractured in brilliant colors and something about this place reached inside her, listening and waiting. Solas had told her she could use that to navigate and create new paths at will—sometimes, anyway. The crossroads was fractured and broken. It was just as likely not to respond to her will.

Across the void, on other islands, Rosa saw more eluvians stretching on into infinity. She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath that was thick with water vapor from the waterfall roaring off to her right. Solas had told her to listen and feel for the right mirror. If one existed, it would answer. Probably. If none existed she could override the connections, sometimes, and through sheer force of will forge a new pathway.

A lot of his brief lesson was couched with uncertainties. A lot had apparently changed in the ages that this place lay unused. Solas wasn't certain how much of it would still work as intended. He also wasn't certain how much of it Rosa could make work for her with such little experience.

Now Rosa found none of the mirrors called to her. The crossroads were quiet.

She sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Tal. I don't think your mirror is connected here." She twisted at the waist to look back at the now dead mirror leading to the palace behind her. "I might be able to connect it, but—"

"Are you sure?" Tal interrupted her, frowning. "Because…I think I feel something."

Rosa's mouth fell open. "You do?"

Tal nodded, brow beetling with concentration. Shrugging, he shifted his small pack onto one arm and dug through it until he pulled out the Crown. He flashed a sheepish smile at her as he put it on. He winced as it settled on his head, as though with pain. "Ow…"

"What?" she asked, reaching for his shoulder. "You shouldn't put that thing on. You don't need it here." As he blinked, still wincing, Rosa saw his pupils swell as though he'd just snorted blood lotus or some other hallucinogenic. Her skin crawled and she bit her lip, fearing that protesting more would only harden him.

Tal's posture eased then and his pupils shrank, returning to normal. "Ok, it's passing. It just made everything really bright for a minute and my skin was hot." Raising his hands to touch the Crown gingerly, he chuckled dryly. "It's really powerful here, apparently."

"I'd be more comfortable if you took it off," Rosa grumbled, unable to keep completely quiet though she knew it'd likely do no good.

Sure enough Tal ignored her and pointed to a path leading off around the waterfall to their right. "It's that way."

Gazing in that direction, Rosa saw a distant island, a craggy rock hanging impossibly over the void. The pathway did not appear to connect with it, but Tal strode forward confidently anyway. Rosa trailed after him, each step stiff with her tension. As Tal neared the break in the path it crackled and light shone from the end, then more rock appeared miraculously from thin air. Rosa gawked, trotting to keep up as Tal outpaced her. He seemed fearless of the void, as though he had walked this path before many times. It had to be the Crown's doing, instilling him with confidence.

The distant island drew nearer, faster and faster, regardless of their speed on the pathway. It was dreamlike and impossible, apparently coming nearer because it _wanted _to, or because _they_ wanted it to. Rosa saw slimy mosaics in gold tile coated by algae and desiccated remains lay scattered about the base of the dark mirror. The metal along the edges of the eluvian glinted and changed from bronze to silver as they came closer.

Soon they were on the island itself and Rosa cringed with disgust at the wet slime she felt underfoot. "Yuck."

"What?" Tal asked twisting to stare over his shoulder at her.

"The slime," she complained.

Now Tal's stare lingered, confusion clouding his brown eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked and then, tensing, he asked, "What do you see?"

Rosa frowned. "I see slime. It's dank and decrepit, just like the temple." She pointed to the mosaic of Dirthamen standing to the left of the mirror. "The tiles are grimy and disgusting and there's bones—"

"I don't see that," Tal told her. "It looks…" He faced forward again, head swiveling left and right. "New. It shines. It's inviting."

"This place is a little like the Fade," Rosa murmured. "It might be showing you what you _want_ to see."

"The same could be said for you," Tal pointed out blankly. "You see it the way you _expect_ to see it." He sniffed, shoulders rising and falling. "I think, maybe, this mirror is enchanted with some wards. It didn't call to you the way it did to me. And to you this looks ruined. I think it's disguised." He strode toward the massive mirror, craning his neck to gaze up at it.

A chill rushed up and down Rosa's spine. "Was the pathway broken for you or was it whole from the start?" she asked, tentatively walking after him toward the enormous mirror.

"Broken?" Tal repeated with a laugh. "No. Not at all. It's a solid bridge tiled in gold…" He smirked. "You didn't see it that way?"

"No," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't like this, _da'isamalin._ This island clearly doesn't like me."

"You're being paranoid," Tal told her, his voice gentle and reassuring despite his words. "Remember Dirthamen and Falon'Din thought of each other as brothers. Their acolytes had to work together in the temple to summon the dead."

When she looked away, chewing her lip with anxiety, Tal reached out and laid a gentle hand on her forearm. "I know that's the truth, Rosa. _Babae_ told me as much. And it was in the frescoes and murals inside the summoning chamber in the temple. When we get there you'll see." He moved closer to her, dropping his voice into a quiet whisper. "They _relied_ on each other. It wasn't always the way Solas remembers it, with that civil war they fought."

Rosa nodded, smiling tightly. "Yeah. The one over our father." She shuddered, holding herself tighter as she gazed past her brother to the mirror. "I'm just worried this mirror won't let me pass. I'm not…what is it called again?"

"Lethanavir," Tal answered. "Kin of the inevitable way." He took her hand, tugging it away from her closed-off arms-crossed posture. "It will let you through. I can feel it. You and me together are what they wanted in _babae._" He squeezed her hand. "Trust me, _asamalin."_

She sighed, letting her body relax as her other hand returned to her side. Nodding, she walked with him to the base of the mirror and lifted her free palm up to it, trying to connect. "You have to reach out, like you would if you want to shape a dream," she instructed him. "You'll feel it inside…"

The mirror reacted to her, touching her core and feeling her, searching. A warm sensation flowed through her—recognition. Yet it hardened, resisting her will. This was what she'd anticipated. The mirror knew her, but she was not Lethanavir. Only someone like Tal could open it.

Tal mimicked her, raising his free palm and closing his eyes to concentrate. Immediately the mirror in front of them pulsed. The pale-silvered metal gleamed white. The glass went black until a spattering of fine stars appeared. Rosa saw colors exploding in its depths—maroon, cerulean, teal, periwinkle—all of them brilliant and resplendent. Her heart swelled in her chest and suddenly tears pricked her eyes at the beauty.

"Tal," she whispered, shaking. "Is it showing you the sky? Is it showing you colors?"

"Yes," he answered and, when she looked quickly to him she saw tears streaming down his face, too. "It knows us. It's welcoming us." The Crown glowed on his head and had transformed. A red bead had dropped low over his forehead and fine metal shapes twined to form Falon'Din's vallaslin.

The sight of it made her tense, wondering if this was some sort of trickery from the old world—a seduction of the spirit. But she did not feel coerced or lured. She could walk away from the mirror. She could turn back. Yet, seeing this display and _feeling_ the mirror's connection to her opened the well of old grief inside her. She'd feared for a long time that Tal really _could_ summon _lenalin._ Now she didn't doubt what he said at all, as much as she liked to pretend she doubted him. He would take her to the temple and summon their father's soul. She would have to face him and say goodbye and apologize for her last words, spoken in anger.

The mirror rippled and the stars vanished. Blue white light glimmered over the glass, making it translucent like water. On the other side, hazy through the glass and magic, Rosa saw a dank, slimy space ruined by the ages: the summoning room Tal had visited before.

Tal's hand in hers was sweaty. He squeezed and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said.

They walked forward and stepped through, Tal first and Rosa second.

* * *

"Calm yourself, Old Wolf," Imshael said to him by way of greeting, lifting a palm out in a pacifying gesture. His lips curled in a slick smile. "I just want to chat. Attack me and I'll have to involve all my boys in this little mess."

Imshael hadn't raised the alarm for the whole keep?

Cold dread broke out over Solas in a cold sweat. _Why?_ Was it a bluff for time just so he could summon his minions? Yet, it didn't make much sense. Solas was already trapped. Imshael didn't have any reason to stall.

Something wasn't right. He had to get out. Fast.

Without taking his eyes off Imshael, Solas reached with one arm for Zevanni, resting a palm on her cheek. The mana from the orb had sunk into her flesh. She'd not yet woken, however. Had Imshael done something to her? He sent a little bit of healing magic into her, probing. It bounced back, revealing nothing. It could just be the prolonged torture of burnout. Or it could be more. Poison? A sedative? It probably wasn't magic-based, however, or he'd have felt it.

"I really do find it so fascinating the choices we make, Pride," Imshael went on, still seated almost casually atop the ivy-covered wall. "Let's take you, for example. You had to make a choice between turning loose one of your finest agents with all the secrets he knew about you and killing him in cold blood. You know the one I'm talking about? The Slow Arrow. My little nephew?" The demon shook his head, eyes alight with glee from within. "A tough choice, I'll admit—but you and I both know it could only go one way with you. So interesting then, isn't it?"

The demon's tone told Solas he expected a response. Through gritted teeth, Solas asked, "What is so interesting, desire demon?"

Imshael huffed, just as Solas knew he would. He hated being called that. But, to his credit, Imshael didn't correct Solas the way he usually did. "It's interesting that for one of your underlings who _hasn't_ betrayed you—or just spurned your infamous pride—you'll go to great lengths to preserve her." He spread his arms wide, indicating the courtyard. "Like walk into a trap for her without really knowing where the trick's hidden."

_The trap is not here,_ Solas realized. _Why? Where is the true threat? _Heart pounding and blood pulsing, Solas let the fire go out of his palm. He pivoted to Zevanni, gathering her into his arms as his mind still spun. _This is a diversion. _

"Interesting the choices we make, like I said," Imshael went on, almost giggly with malevolent humor. "You kill one underling and fight to save another from her own blunder. But there's a cost to everything, Wolf." He laughed. "I wonder, what will the Inquisitor do when she learns one of _her_ 'underlings' has betrayed her?"

Balancing Zevanni in his arms, Solas freed one hand just enough to cast a precision Veilstrike on the crumbling wall where Imshael sat. "Away with you!"

Imshael flickered green, going incorporeal as the spell hit. The wall cracked, dust and dead ivy stems falling in a rubble and clatter. Imshael did not reappear. Someone in the keep blew a horn of alarm.

_Fenedhis._

Reaching deep inside himself, muttering under his breath to shape the powerful spell, Solas summoned the Wolf. Shape-shifting in a flash of mana that left him dizzy, Solas became a wolf the size of a horse. Zevanni rested on his back along with his pack, which was altered enough to cling to him and secure his unconscious passenger astride him as well.

As the first two red Templars came jogging into the courtyard, swords and shields in hand, Solas raced forward on swift paws. The men, even high and crazed on red lyrium, yelped with shock and staggered away. Solas leapt clean over them, scrabbling the stone wall of the staircase beyond them with his claws. He bounded up, vaulting onto the wooden ceiling of the storage fort within the keep where he'd earlier petrified a red Templar.

It was easy in this form to cover the keep so fast that the Templars and Freemen could not engage him. It was mere minutes before he was out of the keep and racing in a black streak through the snow, heading for the crumbled Elvhen ruins where the eluvian he used earlier waited.

* * *

Veilfire braziers lit up in a chorus of _whumps _and faint crackling as Rosa stepped through the mirror into the summoning room. She still held Tal's hand clasped in hers as she took in the dank space. Mosaics lined the walls, glittering green and gold in the veilfire light. Water tinkled and lapped, dripping somewhere in a steady beat. Scummy mold made her grimace at the foul, bitter taste in the air.

"This place is horrid," she said, repressing a gag.

"I know," Tal agreed. "This time I think you and I are seeing the same scummy place." He sighed, shoulders slumping. "It was probably beautiful but scary when it wasn't a ruin."

She could agree with that. The magic here felt heavy, oppressive with lingering power. It caressed her, welcoming in a grave way.

"Do you want to see the murals back by the stairs?" Tal asked, gesturing toward the exit. They'd have to wade through the foul water to reach the stairs.

She snarled with disgust. "No. I don't have time to sightsee." Releasing her brother's hand, she turned back to the mirror, steeling herself. "Do what you have to do, _da'isamalin."_

Tal drew in a deep breath and walked closer to the eluvian. It glimmered blue-white, as was apparently normal for a mirror when it was connected to another for travel. Tal lifted his palm to the glass and the eluvian groaned, the deep sound echoing through the ruins. Ripples flowed out from the dais they stood on, bouncing off every hard surface in the watery room around them. The eluvian went dark.

Breathing hard already, Tal advanced on it even closer. Over his shoulder, in a strained voice, he said, "No matter what happens next, don't _touch_ the mirror."

Rosa squared her shoulders and jaw. _"Ma nuvenin." _

Tal pressed his palm to the glass. The Crown gleamed bright with light for an instant, making Rosa wince and shield her eyes. Then, suddenly, the Crown atop Tal's head went black. The eluvian responded similarly as the metal lining the sides of the glass went dark until it matched the lightless mirror. Slowly, Rosa saw pinpricks of light, some white while others were reddish or bluish.

_Stars,_ she realized.

Tal's hand fell to his side with the quiet thump against his armor. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath. "I have to rest," he said, "for just a minute."

Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing. Her stomach flip-flopped and her guts twisted on themselves. She watched the mirror warily, as though it was an enemy about to strike. The stars glittered, beautiful and serene and distant. The lump in her throat formed and she swallowed, trying not to think so she could maintain her composure for what was yet to come.

"Same thing again," Tal told her. "Don't touch the mirror. It draws from me and I don't want it to hurt you." He raised his hand again and, softly, pressed his palm to the glass. His touch sent a little ripple through the mirror, but something about it was hardened and instinctually Rosa knew that to walk through this mirror now would kill her. Only Tal could touch it and live.

The glass went black and the Crown on Tal's head brightened in a white-gold glow. Rosa's eyes smarted, dazzled. The eluvian let out another deep, menacing groan that shook the room. Stones fell and tumbled into the water on one side of the chamber, splashing. Water sloshed and rippled, lapping at the dais and the mosaics. Rosa watched the ceiling, worried that the chamber might give way, but as the groan quieted the ceiling held steady. It must be reinforced. The builders knew it would endure this kind of stress.

Tal's lips moved and Rosa read their father's names: _Felassan. Ivun. The Slow Arrow. Evunial. _Silently, she added another: _Eolas._ The name she knew their father was given at birth as the son of Dirthamen and grandson of Falon'Din. The forbidden name he never wished to claim.

She saw Tal shaking and felt the enormous transfer of mana, drawing her brother dry. Her hands twitched at her sides; desperate to help and share her own deep well of mana, but knowing she dare not interfere. Tal had done this once alone. He would have to do it again.

The Crown's light faded and the mirror's black depths began to change. It showed Tal's reflection—and her own, standing behind him. Tal opened his eyes and looked into the glass as reddish mist appeared in the mirror, but a white fog swiftly overtook it. And in it, Rosa saw a bipedal form appear.

She gasped, covering her mouth with a hand. Tal dropped his shaking hand from the mirror and took a stumbling step back before dropping to his knees on the dais. They watched together as the figure walked forward through the fog. His outline was male, lithe and lean, narrow at hip and broad at the chest. He wore a travel-worn cloak, complete with a hood that shadowed his features. The sight was achingly familiar. It was the way _lenalin_ always presented himself in dreams to her, as he so often did while he mentored her.

"He might not remember the first summoning," Tal said to her over his shoulder, his voice croaking.

Rosa didn't answer, eyes glued to the approaching figure. He walked with speed now, urgency, approaching the mirror without caution until Rosa could see the glint of his violet eyes beneath the shadow of his hood and the dark lines of Mythal's vallaslin on his chin. He stopped just on the other side, frowning as he stared through the glass. His eyes moved between them, searching and…wary?

"_Baba,"_ Tal said, finding his voice first. "I—"

"You summoned me again," their father said, his voice sharp. That answered that question quickly. "And you've brought Rosa. Why?"

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"_Baba,"_ Tal said, swallowing. "Please. Rosa has spoken with Solas and he's promised to take her to meet with the Dread Wolf. She's going to kill the wolf god if she doesn't think he's doing the right thing for Thedas or the People. If you care about us, you'll help."

Felassan reeled two steps back, shaking his head. His violet eyes widened and darted back to Rosa. "Is this true?"

* * *

Oh snap! Shit's getting real, yo!


	57. The Choices We Make: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and Tal come face to face with Felassan in the Void Mirror, seeking answers on how to kill a god. 
> 
> Some elven refresher (all credit to FenxShiral):  
Ghilin: Mentor, what Rosa calls Felassan when she's feeling affectionate toward him.   
Lenalin: Male parent. Rosa and Tal use it more like "sperm donor," acknowledging that Felassan is their father but he wasn't there the way they wanted/needed.   
Babae: Father. Baba is daddy, less formal. Tal is mainly the one to call Felassan by either of these terms.   
Ashalan/Ishalen: Daughter/Son
> 
> *Note for Zevanni's part: The high priest she's talking about is from the temple of Dirthamen. In a previous chapter, to learn about the locked away sections of the temple of Dirthamen, Zevanni kind of let the priest's trapped soul possess her to gain the temple's secrets regarding the Mirror of the Void. See Chapter 52

Rosa stared at Felassan in the mirror, her throat full and her heart aching. The suspicion and wariness she saw in his face cut at her. The encounter Tal had described was not like this. Did he resent her? The last thing she'd said to him was brutal and cold.

_We don't need you. We never have._

The sharpness in his voice became anger as he spoke again: "You know of the ritual. You could not accept my refusal and have come to _force_ the answer from me." His eyes leveled the accusation at Rosa, sharp as needles. "You have Dirthamen's compulsion, don't you?"

Rosa stood mute, unable to answer. The silence did it for her as Felassan sneered and looked away from her to the floor. "You've convinced your sister to force the truth from me. Is that it?"

Both siblings answered at once. "No." "Yes."

Rosa blinked, looking down at where her brother sat on his knees before the mirror, his head bowed. "What?" she asked Tal and then curled her lips, shaking her head vehemently. "No. That's not why we're here."

In the mirror, Felassan watched them with a dark scowl—wary, but intrigued.

Tal sighed and finally lifted his head to gaze into the mirror. _"Baba,_" he said, tears glistening in his eyes unshed. "Do you remember I told you I bonded? Well, Nola is pregnant." His hands wrung themselves together in his lap. "I don't know how to be a father. I'm terrified. But most of all, I'm scared shitless of what's coming. You told me we would be safer the less we knew." He shook his head. "I cannot accept that. Not for Nola and not for my child. How can I protect my family and Rosa against a threat I don't understand?"

The plaintive vulnerability in Tal's voice tore at Rosa's heart. She shook, holding herself tighter and clenched her jaw to try and keep her chin from trembling. Her eyes stung but she fought the tears back.

Felassan was silent for a long moment. Then, slow and deliberate, he lifted his hands to his hood and pushed it down. Now Rosa and Tal could see his pallid hair and every familiar crease and freckle, every branching line of vallaslin. His expression softened as he stared down at Tal and then, with mounting pain, he glanced to Rosa.

"_Aneth ara, da'len,"_ he said, voice thick with emotion now.

Rosa sucked in an uneven breath. "I didn't come here to make you talk." She hesitated a moment and then, blinking, felt the first wayward tear escape and crawl down her cheek. _"Ghilin,"_ she said, using her most affectionate term for him. "It's good to see you again, even if it's just for a little while." She choked and covered her mouth with one hand.

Felassan's shoulders slumped. _"Ashalan,"_ he said, calling her what she was to him, though she always tried to deny it and distance herself. "Tal has told me some troubling things. I'm…" He closed his eyes and looked away. _"Ir abelas, _for your loss. The child, I mean. I wish that I were present. I might've known a spell to save it."

Rosa shook her head. "No, please don't talk about it." Shutting her eyes, blurry with tears, she blurted, "I am the one who's sorry. I never meant what I said the last time we spoke. I always needed you. I would have been possessed by a demon long ago as a child if you weren't there. _Mamae_ kept us apart. When the Keepers forced you away at the last Arlathvhen, when they scorned you and _mamae_ never stood up for you, I hated her. I wanted to go after you…"

Felassan's smile was sad. "Better that you did not." His eyes shone now with pride. "You are as courageous and vibrant as the first time I laid eyes on you." He dropped his gaze to Tal and added, "Both of you."

"_Baba,"_ Tal said, swallowing. "Please. Rosa has spoken with Solas and he's promised to take her to meet with the Dread Wolf. She's going to kill the wolf god if she doesn't think he's doing the right thing for Thedas or the People. If you care about us, you'll help."

Felassan reeled two steps back, shaking his head. His violet eyes widened and darted back to Rosa. "Is this true?"

Rosa stiffened, standing up as straight as she could and sniffing through her ongoing tears. "I cannot believe Fen'Harel has the People's best interests at heart after what I've learned of him. And…" She frowned, red-faced at the admission but knowing she had to make it. "I don't think Solas will be free unless Fen'Harel is dead. He means to die doing whatever the wolf god intends. I have to set him free of that slavery."

"No," Felassan said, stepping closer to the mirror again, as though he would pass through it and rejoin them physically through sheer force of will. "You mustn't do that." His lips trembled as he spoke and his eyes were wide with fear. "Have you told Solas your intention?"

"No," she replied, sighing with sadness. "I know I can't trust him. He's a spy. Whatever happens and whatever I tell him will be reported back."

Felasan broke out in tight, anxious laughter. "More than you know, _ashalan."_

Tal scowled. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Their father winced and then shook his head. "Never mind. It's not important." The lie of those words sizzled in Rosa's head and she felt her stomach lurch as he went on. "What _is_ important is that you stop this ridiculous plan." His eyes leapt to Rosa, desperate and pleading. "If you value your life, Rosa, do not do this. Tell Solas you have changed your mind. Tell him you wish nothing to do with Fen'Harel. He will honor your wishes. I am certain of it."

"And then he will die serving the dark god," Rosa snapped, gritting her teeth. She sucked in a trembling breath. "I saw how weak Solas was when he woke from uthenera. The Dread Wolf will be the same. I can kill him, I'm sure of it."

"No," Felassan repeated, panic contorting his features and making his voice shrill. "Please, _ashalan._ You cannot do this. You do not understand…"

"Then make us understand, _baba,"_ Tal interjected sharply. "I have a partner to protect now. And in the spring, a child. Your grandchild, _baba._ You told me the only thing you wanted was for us to be safe and protected. You thought keeping us ignorant of the danger would be enough. It's not. The danger comes for us regardless." He gestured at Rosa. "The Forbidden Ones want our blood. They want us to stop the Dread Wolf and take his orb. I don't see why we shouldn't when everything I've seen from Fen'Harel is terrible. He killed you and he enslaves Solas and he was responsible for the Conclave."

Felassan snarled, baring his teeth. "The demons are at your back to make you fight Fen'Harel. To make you _become_ him because you are far easier to manipulate." His eyes flicked again to Rosa. "You must warn Solas. Tell him the Forbidden Ones intend you to replace him."

"What?" Tal asked, frowning.

Rosa frowned too, blinking. The phrasing of that sentence…it suggested…something. Something _impossible._ They must have misunderstood.

Felassan had gone motionless in the mirror, frozen. His skin, already pale by nature, seemed white as a sheet now. His eyes were round, as though stunned or horrified. As though he had let something slip and made a grave mistake.

_No, that _can't _be right_…

"What did you say? About Solas?" Tal asked in a strangled voice.

Felassan withdrew a step, as though intimidated. He lifted both hands in an almost pleading motion. "To replace Fen'Harel. The demons want you in his stead. Solas will tell the wolf—"

"That wasn't what you said," Tal interrupted. He shot to his feet, so close to the mirror he almost obscured Rosa's view of it. Her stomach was in her throat and she felt suddenly like she would vomit. _No, this is a misunderstanding. It _cannot_ be. We just heard _lenalin_ wrong._

Tal whipped round to speak to Rosa. "You remember what I said? I asked where in the void Fen'Harel was in the plan they have that involves Solas sacrificing himself and that _somehow_ restores immortality to the People?"

"I remember," Rosa said, her voice tinny and distant. Her heart pounded on her breastbone. She stared past Tal to Felassan and saw he had covered his face with both hands, shoulders hunched with great turmoil. He wasn't sobbing, just…tormented. "You're wrong. He isn't…he _can't be."_

"Why the fuck not?" Tal demanded, spreading his hands wide. "It makes _sense._ The orb is _his._ It was never Mythal's and never given to him by Fen'Harel. It's _his_ _fucking orb!"_ Tal was breathing hard and fast, nostrils flaring and cheeks mottled red with mounting rage. "That son of a bitch! Do you know what this means?"

_He killed _lenalin.

In the mirror Felassan had not moved and remained hunched over with his hands over his face, shoulders shaking.

She shook her head, nauseous and dizzy. "No. No, you're wrong." Her mind spun wildly, grabbing for logic and finding it. "Solas told me the Creators were Evanuris, super-powerful mages. He said they could tear open and reshape the earth itself. There's no way Solas is one of them." She laughed, though the sound was thin and breathless. "You saw him in the Circle. He was weak as a lamb. He couldn't conjure even a spark. He's powerful now, yes, but no more than _lenalin…"_

Tal hesitated now, calming at this. The horrible certainty of moments ago had faded. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, he was weak…"

From the mirror, Felassan spoke. "Come, both of you." They turned to look at him. Felassan had straightened, staring at them with round, dark eyes. Grief and a dozen other conflicted emotions clouded his features. "I will tell you what I know, but before I do you must both swear to me that you will not make the mistake I did and challenge Fen'Harel. I would not reveal what I knew of him to either of you because your ignorance would protect you. But it appears that will no longer work."

"You can't make us promise that," Tal protested, glaring. "We have to defend ourselves." Rosa stood at his side, mute as her heart still pounded inside her, echoing in her ears with every beat.

"No," Felassan said in a low, dangerous voice. "What you intend is vengeance. For me. And that is what the demons want. It must not come to be." He thrust out his chin, stubborn and proud. "Swear it to me on your mothers' lives. On each others' lives. On my memory. If you ever cared for me, if you honor any of my wishes for you, I ask that it be this." He dropped into a crouch, leaning perilously close to the glass separating life from death. "Do _not_ antagonize Fen'Harel." His voice shook as he added, "My greatest wish is that you both live long lives, as brimming with joy as possible. Fighting the wolf will only bring your deaths."

* * *

About a mile from the crumbling Elvhen ruins mana burnout threatened Solas, forcing him to end the wolf spell. He stopped beneath tall pines, shadowed from moonlight and shuddered as his body shrank and morphed. Moments later he was on his knees in the thin, crusty snow, carrying Zevanni in his arms and with his pack on his back once more.

Zevanni's head lolled, limp. Solas rested her legs halfway onto the ground to free up one hand and laid a palm on her cheek. She was cold, damp with sweat. Solas channeled a little of his own gradually recovering mana into her, offering a minute amount of warmth.

"_Wake up, _falon," he implored her, tapping gently.

Zevanni groaned. Muscles in her neck tensed as she rolled her head from side to side, trying to rouse. Her hand, pressed between his chest and her body twitched, fingers moving until she grasped at his vest.

Shifting positions, Solas rested her on the ground gently and shrugged off his pack. Pulling out the orb he'd saved from the power trees in Suledin keep, Solas pressed it to her and moved her hands to clasp it. "Take back what is yours, _falon."_

She was conscious enough that her fingers gripped the orb and activated it. The orb glowed and that power passed into Zevanni's hands. She shivered, her breathing picking up as precious seconds ticked by. Finally she gasped and sprang upright, dark eyes wide. _"Garas quenathra?"_ she shouted into the trees before turning to him.

"Zevanni," he called, reaching for her tentatively. "Are you well?"

She stared at him, nostrils flaring and chest heaving. She didn't recoil from his touch, however, and a few seconds later began to blink as the tension left her body. Her shoulders slumped. "You…rescued me?"

"Of course," Solas told her, smiling. "But I must know how you came to be the demons' captive."

She stared at him, features slack for a moment before her brow beetled and she frowned. "I…" She shook her head. "I don't know." Lifting trembling fingers to her temple, she hissed through her teeth. "I can't remember."

It could be the mana burnout still causing this difficulty. Solas himself had some shady memories from just after erecting the Veil that were so tainted with pain and weakness he couldn't be sure if he dreamt them from the Fade or truly recalled them from the moment. The same might be true now for Zevanni. But this could also be a sign that the demons tampered with her. In the Fade they could have overpowered her will, possessed her, or—

A glint of red reflected from Zevanni's eye, caught in the moonlight.

"_Fenedhis,"_ Solas cursed. He reached for her, firm but gentle, laying his hands over her cheeks. Zevanni inhaled sharply, freezing in place except for her shaky breath. Her brown eyes lifted to his and fear warped her features.

"I would never betray you, _hahren,"_ she said and her lips trembled as she tried for levity. "Well, not _consciously…"_

She was afraid he would kill her as a traitor. But there was a difference between giving into torture and willful or foolish betrayal. Yet that was not what drew his interest now. "Keep your eyes open, _falon,"_ he ordered her softly. "Look at me. I will not harm you."

She swallowed but obeyed. Rich brown eyes lifted to his, dark with the pupils wide for nighttime vision.

_There._ He saw the flash again.

"_Hahren?"_ she asked, fear obvious in her gaze and her face now. He'd let slip his reaction more than he intended but after ages working together as master and agent they knew how to read one another's moods well enough, too.

Solas released her and adopted a calm affect for her benefit. "You have been poisoned, _falon._ I can see the red lyrium in your eyes."

Horror and rage flashed over Zevanni's features. "Shit." Her head drooped and she grabbed her head in both hands, groaning. "That fucking explains the whispering in the back of my mind. I thought it was just that stupid high priest still in my head. Void take that poor fool."* Her shoulders heaved as her breaths came faster. "What will you do with me, _hahren?"_

The Blight strain in this lyrium was Dirthamen's, modified from the original Blight used by the Forgotten Ones. In Elvhenan Blight was the only means, other than war, to curtail population in immortal elves. The Forgotten Ones used it like gardeners, keeping a balance so that immortal Elvhen did not overrun the world in times of peace. But over time the Evanuris, Dirthamen specifically, coopted it for their own use.

Only Dirthamen, his select acolytes and generals, and Falon'Din had gained control over this power. The "brothers" refused to share it. Solas had been violently opposed to such reckless abuse of the natural order. His vocal protests, however, worked against both himself and Mythal as Dirthamen and Falon'Din strenuously restricted knowledge of it.

One thing he _did _know about it, however, was that while normal Blight might be cured with the aid of a willing spirit, Dirthamen's Blight, in being tied to the lyrium and altered as it was, could not be cured. Zevanni would slowly slip into madness as the red lyrium spread like a cancer throughout her body. She was strong willed and might fight it longer than most, but eventually she would give in and become insane. Red lyrium was master-less with Dirthamen and Falon'Din asleep as they were, but Solas suspected Corypheus and the Forbidden Ones could exert some measure of control over it—as evidenced by their use of it on Templars to corrupt them. If so, soon Zevanni would betray him.

His heart sank even as anger boiled his blood. This was Imshael's style, through and through. They'd let him walk out with Zevanni, only to learn in the end death was the kinder choice.

Zevanni still stared down at the snow around them—melting as it was when Solas summoned mana to warm the both of them against the bitter chill. She swallowed audibly and then repeated, "What will you do with me, _hahren?"_ She was silent a moment and then asked, "Is there a cure? There _must_ be…"

"Only Dirthamen, Falon'Din, and a few of their acolytes could control this strain," Solas murmured and then stiffened, freezing as his own words hit him anew. _A few of their acolytes…_

Had the "brothers" tied the control of the red lyrium Blight strain to their blood? Perhaps it was not that they controlled the secrets of the magic as much as they controlled _who_ could physically learn and command this dangerous magic. For years the other Evanuris sought to learn how to use it and never could without sanction from Dirthamen and Falon'Din, and any control they did gain was miniscule and usually required a trinket as a focus. Such trinkets were long vanished, harder to find even than foci orbs.

Sensing his unspoken revelation, Zevanni lifted her head and stared at him. Her face twisted with concentration and brightened with hope. "The high priest of Dirthamen knew how to control it," she murmured, eyes glazing over as she probed the dead Elvhen man's knowledge still hidden within her. "There _is_ a cure…"

Solas clenched his jaw and nodded, solemn as he agreed with her. "The Inquisitor and her brother." He extended his hand out to her. "Can you walk on your own? We must hurry. There is no way to know how much time you have."

She nodded, determination hardening her. Grunting, she heaved herself up, only to sway dangerously. Solas darted in, wrapping an arm about her for support. Together they began marching for the ruins where the eluvian waited.

* * *

Brother and sister stared at Felassan, stiff and silent. Rosa shook, holding herself as her mind reeled with the lingering possibility of what they'd both caught in their father's words earlier. But…_no, it _cannot _be…_

Tal sighed, head drooping. "Fine. I swear it, _baba._ I just want to know what's coming so I can protect myself and my family. That's all I've ever wanted." He smirked with melancholic humor. "That and to belong somewhere. Now that I have that I don't want to lose it."

"Then honoring this vow to me will be the smartest thing you can do, _ma ishalen,"_ Felassan said with a somber smile. Lifting his eyes to Rosa, he said, "And you, _ashalan?"_

"Just tell me," Rosa said, her voice strangled. "Is what Fen'Harel wants to do good for the People? Will it save us?"

Felassan's eyes were heavy with sadness. "Yes. It will."

It was easy to read the underlying subtext, so she spoke it aloud. "But the cost will be grave, won't it? Like the Conclave, but worse."

Felassan dipped his chin in a single, short nod. "Yes."

She let out a choked sob, feeling as though she would vomit or cry out. Covering her mouth with one hand, Rosa nodded and forced herself to make the promise. "I swear, _ghilin._ I trust you."

Love cut through Felassan's stormy, anxious expression. His shoulders relaxed slightly. He motioned at her. "Come, sit together and listen. I'll tell you what's coming—or at least, what I knew was coming before I left your world. It is possible his plans have changed."

Numb and cold, Rosa moved to sit on the chilled, slimy stone and tiles of the dais at Tal's side. Inside the mirror, Felassan's gaze dropped low and his eyes slid shut.

"First, I'll tell you simple and plain. My teacher and mentor, Solas, and the Dread Wolf, are one and the same. _Ir abelas,_ Rosa. I know this will hurt you most of all."

Shock slammed her like one of her own Fade rocks. She shook her head in denial. "No—no, you're lying. He's just a powerful mage, like you. He can't be—he couldn't have…" She broke off, fighting to swallow the sobs pressing into her throat.

"What he said about the Evanuris is true. They _are_ as powerful as he described. But what he didn't tell you is that with the Veil in place an Evanuris may not be very different from any above-average strength mage in Thedas. Evanuris are not invulnerable. They are not gods. Their power is not immune to the mana strangling of the Veil. So, Solas can hide the extent of his talent." Felassan smiled dryly. "He's used to that, anyway, because he spent most of his early life hiding how powerful he truly was to escape notice by the upper classes."

The casual familiarity in Felassan's tone left Rosa hollow with ongoing shock. Her heart hurt as though stabbed with betrayal, but her eyes were dry now as she absorbed what _lenalin_ had to say. Tal at her side stared, wide-eyed and boyish, just as shocked.

Felassan sobered then, letting out a short sigh. "When the Veil is destroyed, he will become nearly limitless as he was before uthenera." His violet eyes darted between his children. "And both of you will grow immensely powerful, as well. And you, and all of the People, will be immortal as you were meant to be."

"I don't understand…" Rosa murmured, finding her voice. "The Veil keeps us mortal and strangles our magic…? But then, how were our people immortal before?"

"Thedas has long forgotten, but…" He pinched his lips together. "The Veil is a construct. It's _fake._ It divides the Fade from the waking world, but in Elvhenan they were one. We drew our strength directly from the ether overlaying the earth. Spirits and demons lived among us and integrated into our society." His face fell, the wonder of recalling the past fading from his eyes. "Fen'Harel sundered us with the Veil to stop the Evanuris. He did not care that he robbed himself of power in doing it. But he didn't realize the toll it would take on the People. Without magic we died slowly, aging for the first time. We fell to disease and then war."

"The Conclave was supposed to tear the Veil down," Tal said, piecing it together. He grated his teeth together and snarled down into his lap. "But _Solas_ fucked up and just killed thousands instead."

Rosa stared at her brother, numb, unable to process the enormity of this horrible revelation. The Veil was artificial? Solas was the Dread Wolf? An Evanuris? _Solas killed Felassan?_

"He was too weak to unlock the orb himself. I didn't realize it," Felassan said, speaking softly, "that he woke weak, I mean. I realized he was not at his full strength after speaking with you, Tal, before my death. When you told me of the mage you encountered in the Circle. I realized you were sharing quarters with Solas, but he was using a different name. I was frightened that he knew I'd begun to question our plans. I thought he had moved to hold you both against me as hostages. It was unlike him, but he can be ruthless just as much as Mythal or Elgar'nan or any of the rest. I thought him too weak to fight me and that was why he had taken you hostage." He chuckled sadly. "It never occurred to me he did not know you were my children—until it was too late and I was already committed."

Looking to Rosa, he said, "It was when I met Rogathe that I learned Solas did not know you were my children. I was stunned. I could have changed my course then and gone to him in supplication. I had a task to complete, you see. I was to reawaken the eluvians in the Dales. But when I traveled with my ward, a young city elf named Briala, I realized I couldn't continue. Fen'Harel's plans would see the world you were born into destroyed. When the Veil comes down, the People will rise up empowered and immortal, but many will die. The cultures and nations of Thedas will falter. The People will return to power, but what use is it all in the end?"

He shook his head, eyes bright with unshed tears. "How long before we begin enslaving each other again? And if Fen'Harel miscalculated somewhere, as he did when he put the Veil up in the past, none of this might come to pass. The Evanuris are trapped now, in the Black City. Their bodies and mana power the Veil."

Rosa gasped at this revelation and Tal at her side cursed under his breath. _"Fenedhis."_

Felassan nodded knowingly. "Yes. I knew that would shock you. Sorry. You see, to stop the Evanuris, Fen'Harel locked them away with the Veil. It is a torture they endure, but they deserve every moment of it. With his orb and the Anchor he planned to cut into the Fade, walking physically to the Black City. Inside he would kill the Evanuris, one by one. But after the first few the Veil will fail. It takes all seven to power it stably. So then Solas will face up to six other Evanuris. They will be dazed and weakened, but the odds of his survival are somewhat poor."

Rosa covered her face with shaking hands, finding she had trouble keeping her breathing steady. Her head swam. _This is why he is sure he will die. This is why there is no future for us…_

"Should he survive killing them," Felassan continued. "Then he will have to reshape the whole world. A single Evanuris doing that…" He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "It will be so taxing it is unlikely he will survive."

"You're saying _Solas_ destroyed Elvhenan," Tal snarled. "And now he's going to bring down the Veil and destroy our world, too."

"To save the People," Felassan said. "Yes. He is determined. So determined that when I challenged him that perhaps this world should be given a chance…" He spread his arms, indicating his current place within the mirror. The Void. But then his gaze flew to Rosa. "But since then it is obvious he has changed. In all the ages I knew him, Solas has never had more than a passing dalliance. He was too guarded for anything more. Rosa," he said, almost whispering. "You may change his heart where I could not."

"He killed you," she blurted, choking on the words. "He _truly_ killed you, _ghilin?"_

Felassan slumped as he nodded. "Yes, _ashalan._ He did. But I chose this death. Please, do not blame Solas. I expected he would execute me for my betrayal. I went anyway, because I dared not risk you both. I thought to bargain with him. I had the passphrase he needed to seamlessly take control of the eluvians. I had decided not to give it to him, until I met with you, Tal, and realized you knew Solas. Even after I knew he did not know you were my children, I knew the truth would emerge quickly. I needed leverage to convince him to leave you both alone. I'd give him the passphrase and promise to walk away forever."

He clenched his jaw, his eyes both angry and sad simultaneously. "He did not allow me to get that far. His wrath was swift and cold. I knew too much. I knew it and he knew it. He could not let me walk away. I knew that, but I also knew if I was dead he would have no reason to take interest in you both."

He chuckled wryly. "I was wrong, it seems. He took an interest in you despite me. Perhaps it was even _because_ of me. However he learned it, I am certain he knows you are my children now. It must have shaken him. To him, and to me when I first woke, this world seemed a shadow realm. Nothing was real. Nothing mattered." He smiled sadly and motioned to them both. "I tried very hard not to care for your mothers, but when I realized I made children with them, how could I stop myself? You are real. Your mothers are real. Everyone in this modern world is as real now as those from the old world."

Rosa stared at her father, trembling with a mixture of powerful emotions she couldn't name. "And now we're real to him," she snarled. "But you were real, too, _ghilin._ He killed you anyway."

"Yes," Felassan agreed gravely. "Because I knew too much." His violet eyes landed on Tal. "That is why I fought so hard to keep you ignorant. Both of you. The less you knew, the less of a threat you were to him. You could walk away. You could live out your lives free—until the Veil falls, anyway. Then you could live in the next world he makes for the People." He closed his eyes. "That was what I wanted for you both." His lips twisted down with despair. "It was what I _died_ for."

"I didn't know," Tal croaked. "I'm sorry, _baba._ I didn't know…"

"And now that you do you must honor the promise you made to me," Felassan said, his eyes sad. "Both of you. Don't hinder him. Don't oppose him. Seek his protection." His gaze shifted meaningfully to Rosa. "Love him, if you can and maybe that will change him. He intends not to survive his own plans. He thinks he has to sacrifice to atone for his part in the People's fall."

To hear _lenalin_ so calmly accept his death and counsel them to do nothing…

Her head swam as she considered the Inquisition. She thought she was sleeping with a spy. No, it was far worse. Her lover _was_ the enemy. A more suave, compassionate enemy than Corypheus who seemingly had no desire to swallow the world up in Darkspawn and red lyrium, but…

She groaned, covering her face with her hands again as a sob wracked her. Bending over, she shuddered as the tumult of emotions hammered her from within. She didn't know how to feel. It didn't feel _real_ yet. Solas was such a humble, soft-spoken scholarly man…he did not fit the image she'd begun to form in her head of the man behind the Dread Wolf. The man behind the Wolf had to be a trickster, callous and cold, conniving and manipulative. Intensely intelligent and yet horribly flawed. It just couldn't be…

Tal made a soothing noise and his arms wrapped around her from her left, pulling her to lean into him. "It's all right, Rosa. I've got you." His hand stroked her hair tenderly. "I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry…" His voice was clogged with tears. "I never should have brought you here like this. I was wrong…"

"No," Felassan said from the mirror. "You were right. I was the one who kept you ignorant when I should have educated you. I did you both a disservice. _Ir abelas."_

"It'd be better if she didn't know," Tal muttered. "She has a whole organization to run. The Inquisition I told you about."

"Yes," Felassan agreed, chuckling darkly. "With the Anchor to mark you as holy. Fen'Harel's mark." He sighed. "I have little time and there is yet so much I should tell you. I cannot advise you how to process all of this. I know it's overwhelming. And for you, _ashalan,_ heartbreaking."

At his mention of her specifically, Rosa forced herself to stare at him, dropping her hands away from her face. She sniffed, swallowing, trying to tamp down the horrible rampage of confused emotions inside.

"For what it's worth," Felassan told her, his eyes sad. "I believe Solas loves you. From what Tal has told me, he seems devoted to you. I have never seen him love unreservedly, recklessly even. That he has done so with you is a blessing you can and _should_ use to your advantage. He _wants_ to ally with you, I'm certain of it. For him to expose himself is a huge risk—and he is prepared to do it if he has promised you will meet Fen'Harel. This is not just a ploy to maintain control of his Anchor—though that will be part of it, of course." His sardonically amused smile was so like the living man she'd known that Rosa felt her heart tear at the sight. More tears blurred her eyes and she shuddered as she sobbed again.

Tal pulled her close to him, rubbing her shoulder and rocking with her in solidarity. "It'll be all right, _asamalin._"

Felassan spoke up again, "There is one last thing. You mentioned the Forbidden Ones. They told you to have Rosa take his orb." The gravity of his voice made Rosa look up again to see her father's face twisting with anxiety and cold fear. Those same emotions churned in her at the sight.

"I think, though I cannot be certain, that the demons have decided vengeance on Fen'Harel is more important than freeing their masters, the Forgotten Ones, who are also trapped like the Evanuris. They believe you both can be manipulated to fight and weaken the Dread Wolf." His jaw clenched as he looked specifically at Rosa. "You are a Dreamer. With Solas' orb you can walk into the Fade and fight the Evanuris, or destroy the Veil. Either way, the Veil will be no more and the demons will be free, even if their masters are not. They may hope to ally with either you or Fen'Harel."

"There is no way I could be that powerful," Rosa stammered. She remembered the high she felt when walking in the Fade, when she could shape it just as she did with dreams. And, in the dark future, when she could part walls. She'd thought she could take on a weakened Evanuris—the Dread Wolf—but to kill all seven? And then to reshape the world as Felassan said Solas planned?

"With the Veil down you will be powerful enough to reshape the world, at least in chunks at a time. There is no question of that. It won't be on the same scale as an Evanuris, but don't underestimate yourself, _ashalan. _I was no Evanuris, but I _was _one of the most gifted at court, and I suspect you are nearly my equal. But that is not the point. The demons will want chaos. Whether you kill the other Evanuris or not, Fen'Harel would be unlikely to overcome so many enemies. In the chaos, he may have no choice but to side with the demons—as he has done before."

"The Dread Wolf has no love for the People," Tal muttered. "So the tales are right."

"No," Felassan corrected. "He has great empathy for the People, but also with spirits and even demons. When faced with an enemy as terrible as the Evanuris, Solas is fallible, like any other man—as I'm sure you know already. He will grow desperate and make gambles when faced with insurmountable challenges. He did the same when he let his orb fall to the darkspawn magister. Whatever his name was. Solas will make the ultimate sacrifice when his plans come to fruition, but before and until then he will fight tooth and nail to survive." Felassan pinched his lips together. "That is why I knew I would very likely die swiftly at his hands for my betrayal."

"For that alone he deserves to die in this wretched, fucked up plan," Tal snarled.

Rosa couldn't bring herself to agree or disagree with Tal's opinion there. Felassan seemed to sense it, gazing at her steadily. "You might yet convince him of another way, Rosa. Where fire and swords will always fail against him, and clever plots he can anticipate and ferret out…love may be his weakness."

Shaking her head, Rosa cried, "I just can't believe this…" She sucked in a trembling breath, struggling to see through the frustrating blur of old tears. Her father's shape in the mirror was so achingly familiar and real. Every word he spoke carried the wisdom of his mentorship. The words she'd spoken to him on their last meeting in the Fade tore at her heart. _"Ghilin,_"she said, her voice rasping. "How am I to face this without you?" Another sob wrenched its way out of her as she let slip the one word she had refused to call him her entire life. _"Babae."_

Felassan's expression went heavy with grief. He reached out only to pull back and instant later, as though touching the glass could and had hurt him, despite being dead. His violet eyes were dark and simultaneously too bright with loss. "I'm sorry. I tried to turn him, bargain with him. I paid the price. But in my death I hope I have bought protection for you both. I know he will have mourned my death. We were close in life. That closeness will have passed to you both." His chin wrinkled with emotion. "Do not squander what I've given you. Honor your promises to me." He broke off, laughing sadly. "I don't want to find your souls in the Void. Live on."

He went silent then, shuddering, and glanced over his shoulder to the thick, swirling mists behind him. It was as though he could hear or feel something they could not.

Tal's arm around her tightened protectively and Rosa felt him sob with her. _"Baba,"_ he pleaded. "Don't go."

Felassan faced them both and smiled despairingly. "You know I don't have a choice. If I did…"

"I know," Rosa said, wiping at her tears and trying to be strong even as her heart ached with a pain just as fierce as what she'd felt for her child when she lost it. She wrapped her own arm around Tal, holding him and feeling his trembling as their father began to become translucent like the mist behind him.

"We know," Tal added, sobbing. "We miss you."

Felassan smiled again, soft and sad. "Give my love to your bond mate, Tal. And to my grandchild. And you," he said, glancing to Rosa. "Be brave, little raven."

She nodded once. _"Ma nuvenin." _For the second time in her life, she added, _"Babae."_

As his form dissipated Tal jerked against Rosa's hold, crying out plaintively. _"Baba—_please, don't…"

The mist in the mirror vanished, giving way to the blackness of stars spread across endless dark. The Void stared at them from it, cold and stolid and distant. And terrible in its beauty and permanency. Would they ever get to meet Felassan again in life? Where did souls go beyond the Void? Did they ever return as spirits or people again?

Tal let out a strangled noise of grief and the sound of it started Rosa's tears once more. Pulling him to her and simultaneously leaning on him as well, they sobbed together in front of the pitiless Void, mourning what they'd lost.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Will you send him away?" Tal asked, not naming _him. _

She swallowed. "I don't know. Honestly, all I want is to sleep for a week and _think_ about it, first."

* * *

And now the truth is out! Tal and Rosa have opened Pandora's box. You can't un-know it! Well, maybe you could with Cole's help.


	58. Can't Un-Know The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To save his agent from red lyrium poisoning, Solas must secure aid from either Rosa or Tal. Too bad that doesn't seem likely to happen as both siblings are reeling after learning a REALLY inconvenient truth at a REALLY inopportune time. 
> 
> *Reminder from Chapter 54: Rosa sent her party members funny gifts. Cassandra's was a traditional Nevarran dish with a note saying: From Varric with love.

"How long do you think I have?" Zevanni asked. Her eyes were frightened but her voice and her body language were both stoic as she lay down on a bedroll Solas' other agents, Lyris and Mathrel, had provided. They were in the Dales, out of the cold of Emprise Du Lion. This was a spot Briala's people created in the Exalted Plains, hidden away in a stand of trees. A small cave nearby led to buried ruins where an eluvian stood, hidden away.

"It is difficult to say," Solas told her honestly. "But I will do everything in my power to save you."

"Tal knows me," Zevanni said, grinning lopsidedly with a little of her old humor. "He owes me after I saved his ass when he fell out of a tree." She was reassuring herself that everything would be fine. Yet the truth was they had no way of knowing if Tal or Rosa could master the red lyrium in time to save her—or at all, if either even agreed to try. And, Zevanni did not know it, but both siblings might soon refuse to help when they learned who he really was.

And that he'd killed their father.

But sharing such dark truths now would only be cruel, worrying Zevanni needlessly. He smiled warmly instead. "Rest now, _falon."_ He brushed a hand over her forehead, letting the sleep spell settle into her flesh. Zevanni's eyes fluttered shut and she went limp on the bedroll.

Rising from his spot knelt at her side, Solas sighed. "Bind her and blindfold her," he ordered Lyris and Mathrel. The arcane warriors sprang at once to heed him. They all knew from long experience in the wars before the fall of Elvhenan that red lyrium made its victims into spies for the enemy. If Imshael or Corypheus or any of the demons knew how to exert control over the infected then they'd be able to see and hear through Zevanni's senses as the infection worsened.

"Move camp before she wakes," Solas added. "But stay within traveling distance of a mirror that I may reach you quickly." He pivoted on his heel and marched for the cave as he finished his instruction. "I will come for you in the Dreaming as soon as I am able."

Dread lay inside his stomach like lead as he returned to the Crossroads and made his way to the eluvian leading to the winter palace. The certainty lingered with him that something was still terribly wrong. Imshael's smug and sinister enjoyment as he sat upon the ivy-covered wall in Suledin keep niggled at him. _A diversion,_ he thought again. But was the trick Zevanni's poisoning by red lyrium or was there something more—something worse still!?

_Rosa._

He passed through the eluvian going to the winter palace and worked his way out of the royal wing, adopting the invisibility spell to ensure he wasn't seen. A few Orlesian guards in full, glimmering armor patrolled the halls. Each step clanked loud enough that Solas was certain they'd never hear his own soft footfalls over their own noise.

Although it felt like hours passed as he walked it was really only a few minutes before he reached his destination. He'd crept not to his chambers in the guest wing but to Rosa's. When the hall was empty of all patrols, Solas knelt and, damp with sweat, picked the lock on her door—only to find it wasn't locked. Horror made his skin flush cold. Had someone infiltrated her room as she slept? Had servants of the Forbidden Ones snuck in to kill her? Or perhaps it was just Corypheus' lackeys or the Venatori? Gaspard's allies? Briala perhaps?

It could be anyone. Rosa had almost as many enemies as he did.

Despite the press of his heart in his throat with anticipatory dread, Solas opened the door to her room and stepped inside. It was silent and undisturbed—and utterly empty. The bed was made, but not in the professional way of actual maids, more as though Rosa just tidied the covers after sleeping. There were no signs of a struggle.

She'd left of her own volition, then. Or she'd encountered someone in the Fade who forced her to leave, somehow. But who? And why? Where would she go?

Closing the door to Rosa's room as soundlessly as he could, Solas lay down on her bed to search for her in the Fade. If she lived, sleeping or awake, he would call for her. Dreamer that she was, Rosa would feel it even if she were awake as the Fade tugged on her mind and mana. The summons of an Evanuris was hard to ignore, even though she wouldn't realize that was what it was.

* * *

"What will you do now?" Tal asked, his voice scratchy. His eyes were puffy from crying and his shoulders slumped. Rosa imagined she looked just as wretched.

What she _wanted_ to do was crawl into bed and cry, preferably cuddling the man she loved. But that was impossible now. She thought of Rogathe in the Fade, wearing Felassan's face. _Be brave, little raven._

She didn't feel strong enough to be brave right now. It felt like losing Da'Assan all over again. That loss had been accompanied with physical pain and blood loss, though. Her clan let her grieve and rest. They let her cry it out and Mahanon was there to stroke her back and comfort her. If she suddenly withdrew like that as Inquisitor…no one would understand what she grieved or why. Unless she told them.

The very idea of it drew a little snort-sob out of her mouth. She covered her lips with one hand and squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

They'd stopped on the island with the Void mirror on it. The rock of land, floating impossibly in the not-sky of the Crossroads, still appeared disgusting to her. Mold and mildew clung to the rocks and mosaics. A slime-encrusted skeleton lay against one mural of Falon'Din. Slime coated the undersides of her feet. But none of that mattered as she and Tal stood before the rock bridge leading away into the void. Unspoken agreement made them linger, unable to easily move on from what they'd learned.

"It's all right," Tal reassured her, his smile as much comforting as despairing. He reached for her and tucked her into an embrace.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was just trying to think how I'd explain all this to my advisors."

Tal chuckled faintly. "Yeah, I'd pay to be there for that. What would a bunch of Andrastians do when their religious leader tells them she's the daughter of Elvhen gods and has to stop her lover, who happens to be _another_ Elvhen god."

She let out a strangled laugh of her own and then groaned, nuzzling closer to Tal as the momentary humor became grief again. Tal leaned his head against hers. His breath wheezed down on her ear. They stayed like that, motionless, together but also alone with their separate burdens.

"I'm afraid now," Tal started. "For Nola. For our clan. If what _baba_ thinks is true the demons will keep trying to manipulate us."

"They've already tried to use her against you before," Rosa reminded him. This had a simple solution. A step forward she _could_ comprehend. "You should bring her and the entire clan to Skyhold and start using herbs to ward them against dreams. They'll be safe then from both the demons and…"

She stopped, realizing anew that warding dreams might protect from the bogeyman Fen'Harel of Dalish lore but…unless she sent away Solas or confronted him the threat would remain.

_Threat?_ She probed her thoughts, trying to tamp down her emotions and see past the betrayal that hurt her heart like a knife wound. When she'd come to this mirror tonight she'd not thought Solas a threat and Fen'Harel was a danger but if he was, somehow, the savior the People needed rather than their doom or a cruel trickster, then she knew she could eventually overlook the fact he murdered her father. She could work with him, or she could double cross him. She could kill him.

None of that had changed. Yet _all_ of it had, too. Because now Fen'Harel wasn't some distant bogeyman. He was the man she loved. Living and breathing, compassionate and clever, secretive and stubborn.

"Will you send him away?" Tal asked, not naming _him. _

She swallowed. "I don't know. Honestly, all I want is to sleep for a week and _think_ about it, first."

"I don't think your schedule will let you do that," Tal muttered, his voice sympathetic. "But I feel the same way. Except I also just want to go through one of these mirrors and grab Nola. Like _now._"

"I'll order a contingent of scouts to retrieve your clan. You should go with them to make sure they come." She pulled back from him, smiling slightly. "Will they agree to come with you?"

"Probably," Tal said, shrugging. A sheepish expression crossed his face. "It depends, I guess, on whether Nola believes me when I tell her my heritage."

"You won't tell her about…" She didn't speak his name.

Tal frowned. "No. Telling people what we know would only get the both of us killed. I just need her to know that there are powerful demons after you and me because of our blood." He chuckled anxiously and rubbed at the back of his neck. "She might spit in my face and banish me for being a heretic for all I know."

"She doesn't seem the type," Rosa told him, managing a faint smile. "But she might not believe you."

Tal grimaced. "That's a risk I gotta take, I guess." He stared off at the rock bridge, eyes glazing over. "Will you even tell him you know?"

Rosa followed his gaze, staring at the Crossroads without truly focusing on it. She licked her lips, about to answer, when something tugged inside her. She inhaled sharply, wincing at the powerful pull. Her skin flushed hot. For a moment she heard nothing but ringing in her ears, deafeningly loud. Then, through that roar, she heard Solas' voice call her name. _Rosa. _

Swaying at the power of the call, Rosa almost toppled over the side of the island. Tal snagged her, pulling her back. "Whoa! Rosa! Are you all right?"

She clung to him, heart pounding. She felt nauseous. Gritting her teeth, she said, "He's calling me. From the Fade."

"Motherfucker," Tal snarled. "He knows."

The call carried a sense of urgency with it, tinged with alarm. But it did not feel like a trap. It was genuine. Was Solas in danger? Despite what she now knew, part of her still leapt with distress, worried for him.

"He doesn't know," she said, squeezing Tal's arm. "He was rescuing his…"

"His agent," Tal said, growling. "_His_ agent, not some fellow underling. _His_ agent."

"He might be in trouble," she murmured.

Tal snorted. "He's a god. How much trouble can he get into?"

Rosa shot him a look, torn between scolding him and agreement. Her emotions were a terrible, muddied mess. But she _did_ know one thing. "You can't honestly have forgotten all the times he was wounded? Do you remember in the Fallow Mire? The Revenant? When he took a sword for me and almost died?"

A conflicted expression crossed Tal's face. He looked away, reluctantly agreeing. "That didn't seem like he was faking it. Yeah, you're right."

Before she could answer another call hit her, like a mallet striking a gong. Her head rang and Tal grabbed for her again, steadying her. This time she caught a glimpse of his surroundings. Blue and white walls with gold trim, white and a blue bedspread. A pillowcase with gold embroidery over blue fabric. It was her bedchamber in the winter palace. He must have returned and found it empty.

"Demanding, isn't he?" Tal grumbled.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. "He is." _He's worried,_ another part of her protested. Felassan's voice spoke out of her recent memory: _Solas loves you. Love him, if you can. _

She drew in a breath and steeled herself. "Let's return. Pretend nothing has changed." At Tal's narrowing of the eyes Rosa frowned. "For now. I…I need some time to think. But I'll make the arrangements to bring Nola and your clan into Skyhold first thing tomorrow."

That seemed to satisfy Tal. He nodded; jaw squaring. "I'll do my best, _asamalin."_ He extended his hand out to her. Rosa took it, gripping it hard.

Together brother and sister jogged across the rock bridge to face reality beyond the Crossroads together.

* * *

After the summoning through the Fade, Solas woke despite the heaviness of his own exhaustion and seated himself at a small round eating table at the far end of Rosa's bedchambers. His heart beat on his breastbone and his palms were sweaty. Rosa was alive, he felt that much echoing back through the Fade—but she was not asleep. Where was she? What was she doing?

He stared out the gossamer curtains at the view of gardens beyond. Nature curtailed into neat little boxes, pruned and maintained by countless elves. Had much truly changed from Elvhenan? It was the same then as slaves washed flagstones and pulled weeds and tilled soil. For all their magic, the Elvhen needed blood and sweat as much as the Orlesians to maintain such pretty places.

It was both an eternity and far too quickly that he heard the latch turn on Rosa's door. He shot to his feet, turning smoothly to face it as the door creaked and opened. Seemingly no one was there, just air. Yet Solas knew better. The faintest shimmer betrayed his lover as she slipped into the room. The door shut, ostensibly of its own volition, and then Rosa stood there.

She wore her full Dalish armor, glinting in the moonlight reflecting dimly from the blue carpeting onto the metal in her shoulder guards and forearms. Her shoulders slumped noticeably and she stared unseeingly off to the bed rather than at him for a few beats before she drew in a breath and her gaze lifted to him. "Solas," she said. Her voice was oddly raspy, as though she had been shouting in a fight. Her eyes looked reddened, bloodshot.

Something was wrong.

Both concern and fear grabbed him in the guts. His first impulse was to step toward her, to offer comfort. He held back for an instant, wondering what had affected her so, but then thought better of restraining his own natural behavior. Whatever bothered her now she had chosen to heed his call for help. He should be wary, but not obviously so.

"_Vhenan,"_ he called to her, crossing the room in several long-legged steps. For a brief moment he saw her posture stiffen before he closed the distance and embraced her. Rosa's arms were slower than usual to rise around him, reciprocating. But her soft lips nuzzled at his shoulder and throat, her hot breath on his neck sending shivers of delight through him as his body reacted with instinctual desire, despite the lingering suspicion

"I feared the Forbidden Ones had come for you when you were not here," he began, sticking with the barest truth. He stroked her hair and found a trace of sticky moisture, as though she had been somewhere very humid for an extended period of time.

"I'm sorry to have worried you," she replied, her tone blank. The dryness to her voice was still there, too. What had she been doing?

He pushed back from her, staring into her face, searching. She took a second longer than was normal to raise her eyes to him. No smile tugged at her lips until finally she smirked at him—but it did not touch her eyes. His stomach was cold, as though he swallowed a block of ice. Something was _very_ wrong…

Before Solas could find the right words to question her, Rosa said, "So, how did your rescue go?"

The urgency of Zevanni's condition wiped away his concern over Rosa's strange reaction. He dropped his gaze to the floor, letting some of his grave concern for his longtime friend and agent show through. "I was able to rescue my friend, but the demons have poisoned her with red lyrium."

Rosa's expression warped now with both horror and pity. "Shit. I'm sorry." Genuine sorrow flashed through her violet eyes. "She was the one who saved Tal, right?" At his somber nod she cursed under her breath again. "Maybe Dagna can come up with something to give her more time or…" She shrugged. "Maybe there's a cure…" Her eyes narrowed suddenly with suspicion. "Is there a cure? You know one for Blight. What about red lyrium?"

The resentment in her voice wasn't hard to pick out now. She'd long begrudged him for not being forthright about his valuable knowledge. The information he carried could have saved thousands fighting the Blights. He'd tried to tell her the cost was not worth the gain, but she never seemed to believe him. Perhaps now she would. What he was about to ask her was contrary to he'd always professed before…but if it could save Zevanni he had to try.

Drawing in a breath, he started with the truth. "I do not know of a cure, but that does not mean one does not exist. Only Falon'Din and Dirthamen could command this strain of Blight within the red lyrium." He shot her a meaningful look. "The secret to its use was hidden from everyone else. I believe it was tied to them by blood. I believe only those of their close blood kinship could gain control of it."

As he spoke Rosa scowled. She withdrew a step from him and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked away. Her lips pinched into a hard line. Solas went on anyway.

"You told me Tal could control those infected with red lyrium in the dark future you saw at Red—" She didn't let him finish.

"No," she growled. "No." She didn't meet his eye. "You _can't_ teach Tal that shit. _No."_

Solas squared his jaw. "It is not something I can teach. I do not know it." Pausing a beat, he swallowed, trying to get rid of the anxious lump in his throat. "It does not need to be Tal."

Now she shot him a wary, suspicious glance. She backed away another step, as though she saw him as a wild animal that might maul her if she was too close. The reaction sparked fear again inside Solas. It was _too much_ of a fear response to this news. What had changed? His eyes searched her anew, but found no clues beyond the frizzy, mussed hair and her reddened eyes.

Still, he thought he knew. He _suspected._ And the suspicion had his muscles snapping taut and trembling. He fought to control the sudden racing of his heart as mixed emotions sped through him. Terror that she would deceive him, betray him, hate him, _kill him?_ Trap him, maybe? Doubt that his interpretation was accurate, because how could she not immediately confront him or spit in his face if she did know the truth? Hope that if she _did_ know the truth, she'd decided to work past it because she had not yet sent him away. Meaning, she might overcome it and stay at his side as lover and ally.

Regardless, Imshael had hinted of this back in Suledin keep. _What will the Inquisitor do when she learns one of _her_ underlings has betrayed her? _Now Solas wondered if he was about to find the answer to that question.

Zevanni was a distraction. She always had been. Something far more dangerous and terrible had happened tonight. Right under his nose.

He stamped _hard_ on that panic. He could be wrong.

Right or wrong, Rosa was playing a game of her own and he had to be alert to a trap. But until then he needed to play along.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she blurted, shaking her head. "Tal is Lethanavir. I'm not."

Striving for patience and finding it, Solas spoke to her tenderly. "This strain of Blight was altered by _Dirthamen._ It is his, first and foremost."

She shook her head. "You've said before this magic is _evil._ It needs to be forgotten." Her laugh was tight, strained with a wild, primordial fear. She backed away another step, only to bump into the wall adjacent to her bedchamber's door.

"My opinions have not changed," Solas told her softly. "And this magic is nearly lost already. It may already be too late for my friend." He implored her with his eyes to understand. He _had_ to ask at least. Taking an unsteady breath, he added, "She may not have enough time for this to be a feasible solution."

"If I learn this, what will I become?" Rosa asked, her shoulders heaving. She lifted her left hand slightly and the Anchor crackled, throwing a green-white light in the air between them. Rosa's eyes glittered with tears but she bared her teeth, snarling at the Anchor. "I'm already…" She growled. "Fuck. I don't even know anymore."

"Knowledge is only knowledge," Solas told her and meant it. "There is no good or evil in knowledge. Only in how it is used. While I believe Blight magic is better forgotten, if it is learned again you are the only one I would trust with such power."

Rosa clenched her left fist. The Anchor went out as her hand thumped back down to her side. "Tal isn't a monster but he was in the dark future with this Blight-magic. How do we know I won't be the same way?"

"The Tal of that future was possessed, was he not?" Solas asked. "His actions were not entirely his own. He chose that path out of despair and desperation. The world shapes individuals as much as knowledge shapes us."

"And power corrupts," Rosa snarled.

"It has not corrupted you," he said, barely above a whisper. "This is why I ask you and not Tal."

"Tal would tell you yes," Rosa muttered, not looking at him. "Once he knew who you were trying to save." She squeezed her eyes shut and went on through gnashed teeth. "But sometimes the ends do _not_ justify the means."

_The ends do not justify the means._ Were they still talking about red lyrium? Or was this about the Conclave? About his alter-ego, Fen'Harel's goals?

A sob tore its way out of Rosa's throat then. She covered her face with one hand and said, "Sometimes the life of one person isn't worth…"

He took a step forward, vexed and alarmed by this unusual outburst. _"Vhenan…?"_

She lifted her palm out to him—the Anchor flashed green, alighting. "Stop," she ordered, gasping. Solas froze, feeling the Veil warp as Rosa tugged on it effortlessly. She had such control over _his_ Anchor now. Observing that both titillated him and sent a thrill of fear through him. With the Veil down, how powerful could she be? Could he survive what was to come with her help? Could they both survive?

But the reality of this situation struck him like a brick, too. His heart raced and cold sweat doused his body. Would Rosa kill him with his own Anchor?

_She knows._ This reaction made no sense otherwise.

_Sometimes the life of one person isn't worth…_

Was the life she spoke of her own? Felassan? Tal? …himself?

The Anchor crackled, the Veil twisting and inverting. The air shimmered above Solas in bands of iridescent green. Staring through it, Solas saw Rosa pull her other hand from her eyes and stare at him. Tears glowed green in the Anchor's light on her cheeks like emeralds. Her teeth were bared like a snarling dog's, but her eyes were tormented with pain.

"Rosa," he whispered her name, hoarsely, and knew if she killed him it was entirely deserved. He had wronged her more, personally, than any other. But whatever his guilt…he should fight her, preserve himself in service to the People's long term survival.

_The life of one person isn't worth sacrificing a whole race. _

Even if she was his heart. Even if she deserved so much better than himself. Even if he would hate himself for it…

But though these thoughts dashed through his mind, his mana core would not stir. His limbs would not move. He stared at her through the green glow, waiting breathless.

* * *

The sound of her name on his lips, spoken with such vulnerability, broke the rage boiling inside. Abruptly she clenched her fist and the Anchor went out. It fell back to her side.

Solas stared at her, his expression one of longing, loss, regret, shame…and something like raw fear below all else.

He wasn't the Wolf now. He was just her lover. Not a godlike mage, just an Elvhen man. But the lack of surprise in his features told her he guessed the truth.

_So much for pretending nothing was wrong. _ She'd fucked up. Royally. Not an hour ago she'd promised her father she wouldn't try to fight Solas. She'd promised to seek the Wolf's protection. Now here she was trying to make him attack her, trying to scare the truth out of him—to reconcile by force the monster who'd killed her father and the compassionate man she loved. And the only thing she'd learned was that Solas was still Solas. She could have killed him in this moment. She almost had. And if she had, she would have _hated_ herself for it, not him.

Felassan was right. But this would not be easy.

Sobbing, she cried out, "How do you know I couldn't become a monster?" She shook her head. "I'm as flawed as anyone else. I'm…" _I'm already a monster in love with a monster. _She'd already tried to break her oath to Felassan. She'd almost used Solas' own power against him.

Judging by the look on his face, he knew it, too. Worse, he just appeared miserable about it. It wasn't as Felassan said, that the Dread Wolf would fight tooth and nail to survive until his plans came to fruition. That if she fought him she would die as readily as her father. Instead, in facing off with her, Solas seemed unable to fight.

The longer she stared at him, the more she felt the same. Yet the knowledge of his betrayal lay between them, invisible but solid as a wall.

"You could never be a monster, Rosa," Solas told her. The sorrow and shame in his eyes told her what went unsaid: _I am the monster. _

She blinked away the sting of tears and tried to stick to their outward topic. "I'm sorry. I can't agree to help your friend just yet." She felt her chin wrinkling and worked to control the emotional tic. "I need some time to think this over," she said with a sigh. "I hope your friend can wait a night."

"Of course, Inquisitor," Solas said, slipping into formality. He dipped his head in almost a bow, as though he'd decided to start impersonating the Orlesian servants. Rosa didn't bother trying to correct his use of her title.

Once he left, Rosa scrubbed her face with her hands, trying not to sob more. The realization dawned on her that Solas hadn't asked her where she'd been. He hadn't asked her about meeting "his master." Nor had she brought that up. The game they played was only the thinnest veneer to cover the reality of what they both knew.

As she lay down to sleep, ready to ward her dreams in case demons stalked her to continue their manipulation, Rosa knew she should try and puzzle out what was on his mind. How would Solas react in this awkward, dangerous dance? But she didn't have the mental wherewithal to do that just now.

The Fade swept her up like a mother's warm, comforting arms. At least there she had complete control. For a short, blessed time, she could forget.

* * *

Ironically, He Who Hunts Alone now desperately wished he had advisors of his own like Rosa did. Returning to his own bedchambers in the guest wing brought him no rest as he paced the length of his little suite, hands alternatively pinned behind his back and then in front of himself, wringing themselves. One question plagued him: how much danger was he in? Even the strange gift he found inside on his bed—a tray full of _six _frilly Orlesian cakes, one of which had an obscene drawing on it with a note _from Sera_ written on it using frosting—didn't crack a smile from him. In fact, instead of feeling hungry at the sight of the cakes he felt only nauseous.

Rosa knew the truth. Based on their encounter in her room there seemed little hope he was mistaken in assuming that. Her fear response, her wariness, and the clear distress she must have been in earlier to leave her looking so miserable were strong evidence for that. Yet she had not confronted him—not truly. She pretended nothing was amiss, albeit somewhat poorly, and had even left open the chance that she might offer Zevanni aid. Under normal circumstances he had little reason to doubt she would keep her word, but…

How had she learned the truth? From whom? With the eluvians under their control now, and with Solas having taught Rosa the basics of operating them—and in so doing discovering Rosa had an innate knack for them—she could have traveled almost anywhere. Had Imshael or one of the other Forbidden Ones bid her to meet somewhere? Had Tal been compromised and lured away? It was even possible the siblings had gone to the Void mirror in the temple of Dirthamen.

However it happened, this was _not_ the reaction he'd expected from Rosa. She was fully capable of subterfuge, but to _avoid_ a topic as enormous as this one seemed unnatural for her. She was, at her core, bravery in the flesh. She faced her fears. It was one reason he knew she wanted to meet Fen'Harel. Why would she avoid confrontation with him now that she knew? Major arguments between them tended to end with her forcing him to hash it out with her.

Yet those were _arguments._ Not betrayals as grandiose and terrible as this one. The only other event of anything near this magnitude was…

_Da'Assan._ The child she had lost and then fought bitterly to keep as a secret, though it ate at her soul to do it. Was this the same?

What if it wasn't? What if Rosa planned to avoid confrontation now so that she could rally her advisors and entrap him? Was this how she would go about it?

Though he had told her otherwise repeatedly, Rosa still considered the "Creators" gods, at least after a fashion. She knew what he had told her of the Evanuris and how massively powerful they were. She would know or guess that he would be difficult to defeat in open combat. So her best option, if she wished to capture him, would be to spring a trap on him. Dangling the possibility of aid to Zevanni might allay his fears and suspicions just long enough for her to make the arrangements.

The safe option would be to flee before the trap could spring. It would be as painful as being a real wolf caught in a bear trap, but if he stayed and Rosa arranged an ambush for him…he would either be caught or killed, failing the People. Or he'd hurt and kill a great many, perhaps even Rosa and Tal, as he fled.

Yet if he was wrong and there was no trap he would almost certainly lose his chance of alliance with Rosa. Of possible survival in his coming plans. As much as he _despised_ himself for seeing that opportunity, he could not avoid it as a possibility, ever tempting. With Rosa working at his side he might survive his plans and live on in the reshaped world.

As he finally lay down to rest just before dawn, he made up his mind to watch her carefully. At the first sign that Rosa might turn on him, Solas would flee.

* * *

"Long night, eh Boss?" Iron Bull asked her under his breath, leaning in from behind her.

Rosa ignored him, squaring her shoulders. They were at _another_ Orlesian party for the nobility, arranged just the night before by the empress in honor of the public truce. Masked Orlesians lingered about the ballroom, whispering in their accented voices and tossing curious or awed glances at her party. Or _her_, really. Andraste's bloody herald, the belle of the ball and most talked about celebrity in all of Orlais at present.

Currently she stood beside her advisors, straight-backed and in newly cleaned and starched formal attire. How the servants managed to get out the bloodstains overnight, Rosa had no idea. What she _did_ know was that all of her companions had noticed how miserable she looked from her long night of crying. The Orlesian servants, all elves, had fussed over her when they brought her formal attire and, when Josephine saw her, the ambassador immediately sent for a hairdresser who was adept in makeup. Rosa spent the better part of an hour submitting to their administrations to hide her drawn appearance.

"_This is supposed to be a time of celebration, Inquisitor,"_ Josephine said to her that morning, concern evident in her gaze. _"What's happened?"_

Rosa brushed her off as they went to their midmorning meetings. The other woman's compassion touched her, but she couldn't acknowledge what was wrong openly.

As for her other advisors…Cullen, somewhat socially obtuse, hadn't seemed to notice—though he only saw her _after _they plastered on the makeup. Leliana, however, was like a hawk watching for prey. Her cold blue eyes seemed to already know, somehow, though that was impossible, of course. There was just no way the spymaster could guess what was eating her exactly. But maybe she didn't need to be _exact._ Maybe everyone guessed it was Solas, though they'd never understand why.

The announcer called Rosa and her advisors forward then in his loud, pompous voice. Again she led the way and bowed in presentation to the assembled leaders of Orlais: Gaspard and Celene now, not just the empress. Next came the members of her inner circle who'd accompanied her here.

Tal was first, remarkable for being her brother. The nobility tittered now at the sight of him, taking new notice of the roguish, tattooed savage brother of their beloved Inquisitor. At least, that was why Rosa _hoped _they whispered about him. It might also have been that he looked a little drunk and like he hadn't slept at all the previous night. Then came Cassandra, whose announced name had shortened considerably from last night. Probably the Seeker had found whoever wrote the titles for the announcer and threatened bodily harm if her whole name was divulged again. Next was Vivienne, and Sera, and Iron Bull, and Solas. All of the nonhumans now received more scrutiny, but Solas was probably of the least interest to these nobles. Sera outranked him simply due to sex as more men eyed the archer with plans of conquest. They'd soon be disappointed, of course.

It was ironic that Solas was glossed over when he was the _fucking _Dread Wolf.

She still found it much easier to lock that knowledge away in a little cage in the back of her mind. Every time she saw him she still saw _Solas_ first. The knowledge of who he really was and what he had done always slammed into her a few moments later. She tried not to look at him. It made her stomach hurt. Yet, despite those efforts, she knew where he was at all times. He was like a demon watching her in a dream, and she had all her senses painfully attuned to him against her will.

After the introductions the group mingled just as they had the previous night at the ball. Tal wandered off with Sera and Iron Bull. The three of them began drinking, heavily, with Tal leading. The dressers and body servants had done nothing to try and hide how haggard Tal looked. Both Sera and Iron Bull seemed to be trying to cheer him up.

Meanwhile, Vivienne made small talk with nobility. Cassandra stayed near Cullen, more at ease discussing battle tactics and war than flirting or being flirted with by Orlesian nobles. Josephine stayed with Leliana and Rosa, greeting Celene and Gaspard's most important guests on behalf of the Inquisition.

Solas, meanwhile, vanished. One moment he was alone along a wall, watching the ballroom, and then he was gone. Noticing it, anxiety clutched at Rosa's throat. She swallowed, desperate to tamp it down. It meant nothing. Solas had probably just exited the ballroom to linger in the hall as he had the night before.

When the dignitaries and other important visitors had finally finished formal meetings, Rosa pulled Leliana aside to speak as privately as they could at the moment in a corner of the ballroom beside one of the balconies. "I need you to arrange a group of scouts and soldiers to accompany my brother to his clan," she explained.

"I'd be happy to make the arrangements," Leliana said and then asked, "He is to return to them before the winter snows truly set in?" At Rosa's hesitation the spymaster added, "I had hoped he would stay with us until spring, but perhaps that is not possible?"

Something in the spymaster's tone made Rosa stiffen. She eyed Leliana, searching her warily. The way Leliana had said that made it sound as though she was skirting around the exact official reason she thought Tal would rush to return to his clan—mainly that Nola was expecting. There was no reason the spymaster should avoid that topic and Rosa had no doubt that Leliana knew about it. Rosa hadn't kept it much of a secret. But that bit of hesitance and the softening in her blue eyes that didn't match the polite smile…

It was as if Leliana knew baldly discussing Tal's upcoming child might be painful for Rosa, even though she'd been fairly open about it herself. As if she knew about…

_No, that is impossible._

Pushing that thought away, Rosa said, "No, I want his clan to come to Skyhold. As soon as possible. For their protection."

"Ah," Leliana said, understanding dawning. "You fear his clan could become a target for Corypheus, no? Just as your clan was."

Rosa nodded, grateful for the easy answer. "Yes. I want to make sure they're safe. They're a lot smaller and therefore more vulnerable than my clan."

"I will make the arrangements, Inquisitor," Leliana agreed. She lingered, eyes searching Rosa. "Is there anything else?"

Hesitating, Rosa considered the spymaster and the present predicament she was in. The question she was too tired to wrangle the night before hit her anew. How would Solas react in this dangerous dance as they pretended nothing was wrong? Should she lay some groundwork protection on the chance that she had already spooked him enough that he would attack her like he had Felassan? _Was_ that a great risk the way her father believed? She had the Anchor and Dread Wolf needed it. Could he kill her and take it for himself?

The idea of Solas killing her was so unbelievable she had to swallow the sudden surge of emotion and blink rapidly, looking away from Leliana. This drew concern into the spymaster's blue eyes, darkening them. She reached out a gloved hand and gently took Rosa's forearm. "Inquisitor?" she asked, edging closer. "Are you all right?"

"I'm…" She laughed, thin and breathless. "I'm fine." Clearing her throat, she stiffened her spine and faced the redhead anew. "Do you know how many Templars the Inquisition has?"

The question took Leliana aback. Her lips parted for an instant and her brow furrowed, but she quickly recomposed her reaction, going blank. "Most of them were lost to Corypheus, I'm afraid. But the Inquisition managed to save a few before and after the order fell." She smirked. "It's been easier, actually, since the order fell. Any Templars left who still care for the order have joined us to help fight Corypheus to avenge their poisoned brothers and sisters." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she went on. "Why do you ask, Inquisitor?"

They both knew Rosa had little to no interest in templars most days. Why was she thinking about them now?

Shifting her weight from one side to the other, Rosa gazed back at the ballroom and shuddered. The fine hairs on her neck stood erect with the tickle of ancient magic—just the barest hint. Suddenly her heart was pounding in her chest and her body flushed cold. "I was just thinking they might be very useful when we finally pin Corypheus," she lied, giving a half-shrug. "He _was_ a mage, once."

She was proud of how blasé her voice sounded, but Leliana still caught on to her masked distress. Her hand on Rosa's forearm squeezed. "Are you all right, Herald?" she asked, using the other title in a tone that was more intimate than formal, inviting Rosa to open up to her.

Gently shrugging the spymaster off, Rosa nodded. "I'm fine, Leliana. Thank you." Leaning a little closer, she spoke in a softer voice. "Perhaps I can speak with you about this later?"

"Of course, Inquisitor," Leliana agreed at once.

Rosa gestured to the ballroom beyond. "We should get back to mingling."

They parted ways and Rosa deliberately steered toward the open balcony doors, her senses straining for that faint whisper of ancient magic—_Elvhen_ magic. She felt it once, briefly as she passed the balcony; a trace so slight she could have brushed it off as nothing but she knew better. It was probably the invisibility spell. There were only two people—that she knew of—who could enact an invisibility spell: Tal and Solas. Tal she could see across the room, slumping over and rapidly getting drunk. Solas, however, was still nowhere to be seen within the ballroom.

Cold fear churned in her belly as she thought _The Dread Wolf has caught my scent._

But that was a silly thought. The Dread Wolf of her people's stories didn't exist. There were two Dread Wolfs in her head now, one of complete fiction from Dalish legend and another of a powerful, godlike being that planned terrible things but was not inherently evil. The latter of which she had considered allying with or killing, depending on his plans for the People and Thedas—assuming she could remove her personal grudge against him for killing her father. Reconciling either of those figures as being _Solas _seemed impossible. She had to keep remembering that they were one and the same. It was just so hard to believe. Yet, when she recalled the enormous sense Solas gave off in the Fade, the shadow of power he cast…she could believe he was indeed a menacing force, fully capable of stalking her, killing her.

Determined to appear fearless and relatively normal, Rosa joined Cullen and Cassandra, falling into conversation with them. Only a few minutes after she arrived, catching the last part of a long conversation between the two warriors about tactics with shields, Cassandra suddenly blurted, "Inquisitor, did _you_ have anything to do with the dumplings in saffron sauce that were left outside my rooms last night?"*

For an instant Rosa stared at her, confused. Then understanding dawned and she struggled to hide a smile. "No," she lied. "No, why would you think I was involved? I've never even heard of saffron as a flavor." She had to swallow a snorted laugh and tried to pass it off as a sneeze. This was a _much_ needed humorous distraction.

Cullen appeared uncomfortable, staring down into his wine glass and idly swirling the liquid as he tried to avoid eye contact with either woman. Cassandra, meanwhile, narrowed her brown eyes dangerously. "I suppose you had nothing to do with the _ridiculous_ note that came with the meal then, too?"

"What note?" Rosa asked, feigning innocence. "You didn't say anything about a note."

Cassandra growled under her breath before heaving a disgusted sigh. "Never mind."

"No," Rosa insisted. "Now you've piqued my curiosity. What was the note? What did it say?"

Cassandra's glare could have melted steel with the acid in it. "Nothing of importance," the Seeker grumbled. The bald suspicion still lingered in her eyes. She had to know either Rosa or Sera or Tal did it, possibly all three. They were the pranksters in the group.

What had Solas thought of his own gift? It seemed in another life she had set him up with six frilly cakes. It tore at her heart to think how recently she hadn't been consumed with this gut-wrenching betrayal. She wished she didn't know, wished Cole was around to take the memory from her…but that was the cowardly thing to do.

"Inquisitor?" Cullen asked, noting her mood change. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just tired. Ending the Orlesian civil war was more draining than I thought it'd be." Rosa managed to find a smile for him. Funny how she'd thought him socially dense earlier. Maybe he just chose not to notice some things out of propriety.

Cullen chuckled, glancing over his shoulder to a nearby gaggle of Orlesian noblewomen. "I know what you mean, Herald. I find Orlesian parties like this one more stressful than _fun."_ He shuddered, quickly looking away when a few of the women noticed him glancing their way and tittered. "Honestly, I'd rather be facing a hoard of darkspawn."

"I completely agree, Commander," Cassandra added.

Spying an elven servant walking by with a tray of wine glasses, Rosa turned at the waist and snatched one up. She lifted it toward Cullen and Cassandra. "Here's to shitty Orlesian parties. May we never attend another."

* * *

Across the ballroom, Tal was determined to get shitfaced. So drunk that he could forget who he was, where he was, and what he'd learned the previous night. The shame and guilt inside were raw, aching in his chest. He wished he didn't know. He wished he'd listened to his father's spirit the first time, or Rosa all the times she told him to let it go. But he was like a dog with a bone, and the idea of avenging his father had become so monumental…he just couldn't let it go. _Especially_ as he faced fatherhood himself.

But it didn't make it any easier to numb that spot inside, or face the responsibility of the misery he'd inflicted on his sister. Alcohol helped, though. That relief came with a dangerous caveat, however...complete loss of inhibition.

"What?" Sera asked him, making a face. "What you on about, Treeface?"

What _had_ he been saying? He couldn't remember. It was hard to think. He stared at Sera, struggling to concentrate. The way his wine sloshed was _weird_. And distracting. "The room's…" He made a circling motion with his forefinger. "Moving." _Forgot the right word._

"Yeah," Iron Bull said, his lips twitching in a way that was both amused and something else Tal couldn't quite puzzle out. "We know you're drunk, Tal. Maybe you should lay off the wine a little."

At the slight move of Iron Bull's hand toward Tal, as though he might snatch away the sloshing wineglass, Tal recoiled. "Nah," he insisted, shaking his head. The world moved jarringly when he did that so he stopped, but felt sick for a second anyway. Swallowing, he pressed on. "You don't get it. Can't stop fuckin' drinking because I _know_ now."

"Know what, Treeface?" Sera asked, snorting. "That this party stinks, yeah? Old news." She took a sloppy sip of her own wine, slurping like it was soup.

Tal mimicked her. The wine sloshed around his mouth and spilled down his chin, somehow. He spluttered, spitting. "The fuck…?"

Sera sniggered at him, pointing. "You slob. Inquisi-tits is going to _ream_ you. Has to look all prim and right proper for 'Her Perfection.'" She blew a raspberry. "Stupid rich codgers. Bunch of no good wankers the lot of 'em."

"So," Iron Bull said, surveying the ballroom passively for a second, "what's bothering you, Tal?"

He wasn't supposed to talk about it. But it was the _only _thing he could think about. "I hate Solas," he blurted.

Sera laughed. "Nice! Let's form a club. You want to lead or should I?"

Tal gawped at her, confused. When did she learn the truth? "You know?"

"Know what?" Sera asked, giggling. "That Droopy Ears is a right arse? Yeah, known that from the start. Thought you liked the egg."

"I do like eggs," Tal said and laughed. That was nice to think about. He gestured to Sera with his hand holding the wine and the fluid splashed out on the floor, somehow. "Shit." He laughed. "How'd that happen?"

"You're really drunk," Iron Bull told him, annoyed.

"Course I am!" Tal told him, huffing. "You would be too if you were me." He twisted at the waist, trying to find another server. He found one a short distance across the room. Lifting his empty wineglass, Tal started to walk toward her—but the room swayed.

Iron Bull's huge, meaty hands caught him. "Whoa, wait a second there." Those strong hands yanked Tal around effortlessly. The wineglass fell out of his grip and he heard it shatter.

"Shit, look what you made me do," he protested, but it was weak.

"I think Boss would want you to lay down for a while," Iron Bull told him as they began walking across the ballroom, hugging the wall. "Let's head back to your room, champ."

Why were his legs so hard to control? The room kept dipping and swaying, everything blurring together. He let Iron Bull takeover. It was kind of sexy how strong he was, but how gentle he could be, too. "I like you," he told Iron Bull. "Not like I want to _actually_ sleep with you, but you're kinda hot. Not as hot as my Keeper, though."

"That's good to know," Iron Bull said. "But why don't you concentrate on walking right now?"

"Okay," Tal agreed, blearily. "Probably should before I upchuck in front of the nobles."

* * *

"That sounds like a great idea," the Qunari agreed, shepherding the very drunken Tal out of the ballroom while Solas trailed just behind them, cloaked in the invisibility spell.

As Iron Bull and Tal disappeared through the massive doors toward the guest wing, Solas circled round the upper level overlooking the dance floor. Rosa was across the room, chatting with her advisors. Leliana wasn't among them, but Solas hadn't missed her earlier discussion with the spymaster about Templars. There was no reason for her to ask about them except…

_She knows._

And then he'd observed Tal's extreme drunkenness and overheard him actually _say _it, albeit cryptically enough that the others wouldn't puzzle it out. At least not at present. But the mixture of Tal's drunken indiscretion and Rosa's covert, odd question about Templars was enough to confirm the worst.

He had to run—immediately, before Rosa could spring a trap or Tal could drunkenly reveal him to the Inquisition.

Shaking with dread, and with cold like a block of ice in his belly, Solas made his way toward the royal quarters to use the eluvian there one last time.

* * *


	59. Ma Harel Lasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Rosa discovers Solas has vanished, she must face the real possibility that he could become a major threat to her and the Inquisition.

When Josephine and a suite of Orlesian servants woke her the following morning after the truce-celebration ball, Rosa was surprised. Not at the early morning wakeup, of course, but at the fact that it was morning and Solas had not come to see her. Unease crept into her mind as she let the elven servants outfit her in formalwear yet again. It still looked like garbage, but at least the full night of sleep had rejuvenated her.

"You look much better, Inquisitor," Josephine said, echoing Rosa's same thoughts. "I am so pleased you're feeling refreshed."

"Thank you, Josie," Rosa replied, but her expression in the dressing room mirror was drawn with a noticeable touch of anxiety. Still, the gray bags under her eyes from crying were gone. The elven maids were presently fussing with her hair. It was unruly, with wild curls springing this way and that. "What's on the agenda today? Am I _really_ going to have to attend another ball?"

Josephine chuckled. "No, Inquisitor. I believe the Grand Duke has had his fill of parties for now, as well. He's called for a meeting over brunch with you, Empress Celene, and Marquise Briala. The matter at hand will, of course, be Corypheus. Orlais intends to aid us fully against him."

Rosa smiled at her reflection, relieved to hear that. "Excellent—and about damn time."

A loud rap on the door came then. Rosa motioned at Josephine, letting the ambassador answer so as not to force the maids to do it and interrupt their work with her untamable hair. Josie made her way over to the door and opened it, revealing Leliana.

The redheaded spymaster's mouth was puckered slightly. Her jaw was tight even as she smiled in greeting to the ambassador. "Good morning Josie. I wonder, can her worship spare a moment to meet in private?"

With a surprised expression, Josephine turned toward Rosa to repeat the question, but she answered before the other woman could speak. "Yes, come in, Leliana." Smiling a the maids, Rosa asked, "Can you three fetch me something light to eat for breakfast?"

They curtsied and unanimously replied in the affirmative, then scurried from the room. Rosa let out a long breath when they had gone and gazed at her reflection. Barefaced, she sat in full formalwear attire but with a few unruly curls still loose and hanging to her shoulders. She really should just cut if off. It'd make life easier for these servants. It was still periodically _weird_ to have servants. Especially elven ones.

Leliana stepped in, her light chainmail clinking. Josephine lingered by the door, unsure whether she needed to leave. Noticing her, Leliana motioned for her to step inside. "You can stay, Josie."

Josephine smiled pleasantly and shut the door gently as Leliana finally addressed Rosa. "Inquisitor, are you aware that Solas is not in his suite?"

Rosa stared, motionless and tense. "Pardon?"

The spymaster's expression warped as she took in Rosa's reaction. She clucked her tongue, disappointed and with more than a little concern. "I'm sorry, Herald. I had hoped you knew his whereabouts, but now I see I was mistaken."

"Solas isn't in his room?" she asked, voice rising with alarm. Her heart picked up, racing.

"No," Leliana confirmed. "I'm afraid not. The palace servant assigned to his quarters reported to me this morning at dawn that she was unable to launder his formalwear. His room was locked. I took the liberty of obtaining the key and…" Leliana's lips twisted and she shook her head. "He was not there. His bed had not been slept in. I'd hoped he was with you…"

Rosa was too perturbed to be embarrassed that Leliana—and Josephine judging by how _not_ shocked the ambassador looked—knew she and Solas were lovers. Gazing off at the gold trim on the walls, Rosa cursed under her breath. _"Fenedhis…"_

"I do not mean to cause alarm," Josephine cut in tentatively. "Should we issue an alert? Could Master Solas have been abducted for some court intrigue? Is he in danger?"

Leliana watched her, eyes intense and sympathetic at once. The weight of it made Rosa's anxiety swell until she couldn't sit still. Shooting to her feet, Rosa started pacing, hands tucked behind her and mana bubbling, looking for a release as she tried not to come to an inevitable, infuriating, and _painful_ conclusion.

"Inquisitor?" Leliana asked, clearly needing a response to Josephine's question.

"I don't think he's in danger," Rosa told them, struggling to breathe. She shut her eyes and stopped pacing, squaring her shoulders. "We…had a falling out. Or we almost did. Or we were about to."

"Has he left the Inquisition?" Josephine asked with a little gasp.

"Probably," Rosa growled.

"I don't believe it," Leliana said, shaking her head. "When I interrogated him after the Conclave he was so insistent he had to help. Forgive me, Inquisitor, I know you have a previous history with him."

Rosa tossed her head back, laughing a little manically. She sensed the two humans in the room flinching at the sound of it and tried to recompose herself. Tugging at the hem of her formalwear tunic, she spoke sidelong to them. "You both have _no _idea how much of a past history I have with him."

"Perhaps," Leliana hedged, "but this is most unlike him from all I've seen."

"Indeed," Josephine agreed. "He often pleaded to accompany you, even when you were not on friendly terms. Not to mention his constant requests for obscure research material. He seemed truly dedicated to our cause. Why would he leave now?"

Rosa kept herself oblique from the two women. "That is between him and I." Fidgeting with her hands behind her back, Rosa blurted, "Have either of you seen my brother this morning? Was he accounted for?"

"Master Tal is present, Inquisitor," Josephine replied with a smile. "I arranged for ginger tea and a great deal of water for him this morning at the Iron Bull's request."

Hearing that made Rosa sigh with relief. Her shoulders slumped. "Good."

"Do you expect Tal to leave suddenly, too?" Leliana asked, a note of concern in her voice.

"No," Rosa replied and then, with a brittle laugh, she added, "I was afraid maybe Tal could have been gravely injured or dead, actually."

The two advisors were silent, stunned. Finally Josephine asked, "Why…Inquisitor…?"

"Not important," Rosa muttered, shaking her head as she pivoted to face them, squashing the brewing emotions inside. "I will ascertain Solas' whereabouts, but I'm reasonably confident he's not in any danger and has actually left us of his own accord." At their ongoing incredulous stares, Rosa lifted a palm, as though to stall their protests. "I know that doesn't make sense to either of you, but I need you to trust me."

"Then…you do not wish anyone to look for him?" Josephine asked. Leliana's eyes narrowed, both suspicious and disbelieving.

Rosa frowned. "Look for him, sure. Tell our people to keep their eyes and ears open, yes. But I'm confident he was not abducted by anyone, so I don't expect you'll turn up anything." Her stomach ached, making her feel as though she'd vomit. It was grief, gnawing away at her, intermixed with more than a little panic.

_What have you done, ashalan?_ She heard Felassan ask in her mind.

"Inquisitor," Leliana went on, stilted. "I'm…sorry. This does not make any sense."

Tensing, Rosa lifted her eyes to her advisors and clenched her jaw. She had to play both sides now. She had to assume she was in danger, that Solas would try to kill her to keep his secret. Yet, she also had to prove she was not a threat. She had to keep his secrets and yet prepare to defend herself and her Inquisition. It was such a fine line, like spider's silk. She was certain to get caught or fall off. But she had to try.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Rosa said, "Josie, please leave Leliana and I alone for a minute."

"Of course Inquisitor," Josephine agreed with a respectful dip of her head, but her body language was hesitant. "But I must remind you there is little time before your first scheduled meeting with—"

Rosa cut off the ambassador with a harsh, breathless laugh. "I'm sorry, Josie, but you're going to have to cancel it. We have to leave. As soon as possible."

Josephine's mouth fell open. "What? But Inquisitor—"

"Blame it on Solas' disappearance," Rosa cut her off. "But this is non-negotiable. We _must_ leave the palace and Halamshiral. Today. Tell the Empress and the Grand Duke I'll owe them some favor or other at a later date but a personal emergency has come up."

"I don't understand…" Josephine said, gawking. "The alliance is still so new. Are you certain of this, Herald? We risk offending…" She shook her head helplessly. "Everyone!"

"I agree with Josie," Leliana added softly. "However, if you'd be so kind as to explain _why_ this move is necessary…"

Rosa dug her fingers into her hair in frustration, only to growl as she came up against the pins keeping her locks in a bun. Snarling, Rosa started ripping them out and flinging them to the floor with one hand while the other pulled strands free. While she stalled, pulling at her hair, Rosa struggled with just what to tell these two advisors. The safest option was to reveal nothing, but…how long before they saw her as unhinged? They had faith in their Maker's prophetess and, on some level despite her protestations, they must both believe her holy. That would keep them obedient for a time, but it wasn't fair of her to rely on that. These two women and all her Inquisition deserved _something._

Not meeting their gazes, Rosa said, "You both know Solas and I and Tal were imprisoned for a time in the Hasmal Circle, before it fell. As you put it, Leliana, I have a past history with our Fade expert." She snorted. "Well, what you don't know, and what I didn't know until a few days ago, is that Solas was lying to us about who he was."

Josephine looked surprised but Leliana, oddly, appeared unaffected by this. In fact, after a brief pause, the spymaster said, "I suspected he held secrets from us. I did not think it important." Her expression fell. "I'm sorry, Inquisitor. I should have—"

"It's okay, Leliana," Rosa reassured her. "The secrets he kept weren't something you could have anticipated. Trust me." She pinched her lips together before explaining a little further. "Just as Briala was a spymaster for the elves in Orlais, Solas is a leader in a different elven faction. He was a spy."

Josephine wore a stunned expression at this pseudo-fact, but Leliana was more blasé yet again. The Inquisition's spymaster seemed unshakeable at this revelation, but her eyes were sympathetic even as her body language suggested she was brimming with questions. Before Leliana could start giving those questions a voice, Rosa went on.

"I've known he was a spy for some time," she admitted, frowning and staring down at the gilded floor tiles. "But his faction's goals and ours were the same." She shrugged. "I know he was here more for those mutual goals and for me, personally, than he was as a spy. But, as with Iron Bull, that was certainly part of it." She grimaced. "I'm sorry I didn't share this with you before. I wanted to keep him safe because he _is_ an apostate with unusual fascinations."

"Of course, Herald," Leliana said, nodding. She seemed genuine while Josephine still stared, mute with shock. "Considering the Inquisition's beginnings I completely agree. Solas and Cassandra were indeed at odds when he first joined us. We were all suspicious of him due to your previous shared history in the Hasmal Circle."

"Yes," Josephine agreed, finally reclaiming her voice. "And when you and Master Solas clearly did not get along we realized it was, indeed, just a coincidence that you were the sole survivor."

Rosa nodded, trying to appear relieved rather than worried these two would realize it _wasn't_ a coincidence that Solas was at the Conclave. Leliana almost had a suspicious gleam in her eye already, so Rosa decided to toss out a red herring. "Yes, Solas and I were both spies at the Conclave, but for very different peoples—even though we're all elves. Forgive me, I'm not sure if the divisions in my people make any sense to you, but I'm sure you noticed Solas is not fond of the Dalish."

Leliana smirked now. "Yes, we definitely noticed, Inquisitor."

"If I may ask, who are Solas' people?" Josephine asked. "You said he belongs to a group like Marquise Briala's. What are their goals?"

Rosa's gaze flicked over to Leliana and saw the spymaster blank her expression—a sure sign the redhead had already formulated an answer based on her research into what they knew of Solas' past. So, the answer seemed obvious for Rosa too.

"His people are trying to elevate elves, just like Briala's. But they hope to do it by reclaiming the past using magical relics from Arlathan."

"Relics like Corypheus' orb," Leliana completed the thought with a grave nod. "I know from Cassandra that he was found with just such an orb when he was brought to the Hasmal Circle."

Josephine gasped. "Truly? Is Corypheus' orb the same?"

"I think it is," Rosa admitted, shutting her eyes. "I believe Solas recovered the orb from ruins near Hasmal. He had some kind of accident when he found it that left him extremely weak. Maybe we're lucky we didn't have another explosion then."

"This is…" Josephine seemed breathless as she shook her head. "This is terrible!"

"I know," Rosa muttered, hating herself for repeating the same half-lie Solas fed her for so long. "But Solas never got the orb back from the Templars at Hasmal. When the Circle fell it wound up in Tevinter where the Venatori got their grubby hands on it." She stared down at her wringing hands. "Solas was trying to find it and stop the explosion, but he failed, obviously. He feels responsible for what happened. That's why he joined us—that and he wanted to protect me." She wrinkled her nose, squashing her complex emotions at this half-lie. "But that's all in the past. What you all need to know right now is that I learned something else he was hiding from me."

The two women waited, motionless, not even daring to breathe.

"My father," Rosa began and scowled at the warble in her voice. "He was part of the same group Solas is. He…" The words caught in her throat and suddenly her eyes stung with tears. She sucked in a breath, trying to stay composed. "Tal and I didn't know why our father was always away from us. We didn't know he was..." She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "Part of this cult. We knew he died about the time Hasmal Circle fell. We didn't know how until…."

"Solas killed your father?" Leliana asked, at last looking stunned. "Felassan?"

Hearing his name spoken by the spymaster, a human, made Rosa look up, taken aback as tears clouded her eyes. Snarling to herself for the tears, she flicked them away. "Yes." She stared at Leliana. "You've heard of him?"

"Of course," Leliana told her, gentle but with a small upward tick of one side of her lips. "I researched both you and Tal thoroughly when you survived the Conclave. I knew of him from reports on Briala. They were acquainted, no?"

Rosa nodded. "Yes, I believe they were, but I'd never met her until the peace talks. She was one of the last people, I think, to see my father alive."

"Why…?" Josephine asked, having difficulty speaking. "Why would he kill your father?"

"My father wanted to leave the group," Rosa muttered, sniffing as anger surfaced after the grief. "But he knew too much about them. So Solas killed him to protect their secrets." She sighed. "He didn't know Felassan was our father until after."

"And he never told you until recently," Leliana guessed. "Just after the peace talks. Is that correct?"

"You did seem so upset that day," Josephine put in, her features creasing with sympathy. "Inquisitor, I am so sorry."

Rosa extended a hand, hoping to forestall Josephine's sympathies. She couldn't stand to hear them, certain they'd make her sob. "It's all right." She tried for a smile. "It helps, actually, to tell someone else. Thank you, both."

"But, Inquisitor," Leliana began slowly, "I still don't understand entirely why this means we must leave Halamshiral so quickly." Her eyes narrowed. "How dangerous is this elven faction of Solas'?"

"Very," Rosa muttered. "And because of Solas they know _everything_ about us. I'm certain there are spies in our ranks."

"Then we must ferret them out," Leliana said, her eyes flashing dangerously. "And quickly."

Rosa shook her head. "No. I don't want to make his faction into an enemy. I can't take that kind of risk."

"I'm sorry," Josephine said. "I don't understand."

"Their goals and ours still align," Rosa explained, half-lying. "They want to stop Corypheus, too. We can't risk that kind of chaos right now—not because of something personal between me and Solas. We can't fight amongst ourselves while Corypheus is still out there."

"You're frightened he may try to kill you," Leliana guessed. "This is why you asked me about Templars yesterday."

"What?" Josephine asked, shocked all over again. "No—Master Solas may have left us but he cannot possibly…"

"Leliana's right," Rosa muttered, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I'm afraid Solas will retaliate. His group is very secretive. Both Tal and I know too much. He was…" She scowled. "He was grooming us to join. But now that I've learned about…" The sob that cut out of her throat took her by surprise. She clapped a hand over her mouth, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

"Rosa," Josephine said, clucking her tongue in empathy. She set her usual clipboard aside on Rosa's empty dressing room chair and moved forward to embrace her. Rosa accepted it, wrapping her arms around the human woman and trying to recompose herself.

Leliana edged a touch closer but didn't move to embrace Rosa with the ambassador. "Do you believe we could be targeted with an attack as massive as the Conclave explosion?" she asked somberly. "Is that what you fear may happen if we oppose Solas' people?"

Struggling to keep her voice smooth, Rosa said, "I don't think they'd use anything that big on us, but…"

"But we cannot afford to underestimate them," Leliana finished for her. "I agree." Then, her expression softening, she reached out a gloved hand to Rosa's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Rosa. I should have been the one to find this out. I've failed you."

"No," Rosa said, pulling away from Josephine. Her face was wet with tears, as was the ambassador's. "You couldn't have found this. No one knew about it except Solas and he wasn't about to tell me."

"How _did_ you uncover it?" Leliana asked, baffled.

Rosa lied quickly. "A memory in the Fade. It took me a long time to finally find it."

"Are you certain it is accurate?" Josephine asked, a spark of hope glittering in her brown eyes.

Rosa nodded grimly. "It is. And Solas is gone, which is evidence enough. I never confronted him. I was trying to think how to do it…" She pinched her lips together and shook her head. "He knew something was up and that spooked him enough to leave, I guess."

Leliana pulled a face. "Tal may have confronted him. He was _very_ drunk last night. Iron Bull also mentioned he was upset."

Groaning, Rosa scrubbed at her face as she pulled away from both human women. Wiping away the last traces of weakness, she focused on becoming a leader again. She needed to move ahead, preserve and protect her Inquisition while not antagonizing Solas.

"We need to get moving," she said as she plucked a few more pesky pins from her hair. "Josie, please hurry and make my apologies to the Empress and Gaspard. We need to leave and quickly. The palace isn't secure and I know for a fact there are spies from Solas' faction here in the wait staff."

"Of course, Inquisitor," Josephine said with a little curtsy. Turning, she snatched up her clipboard and feather quill from the dressing room chair and scurried for the door.

As soon as the door had shut behind the ambassador, Rosa spoke to Leliana. "Please acquire a few Templars that we trust and know are loyal to us. I want them near me as an honor guard." Hesitating a moment, she grimaced. "Solas' group skews toward magic, so I believe if there is an attempt on my life or Tal's it will come that way."

"I will see to it personally," Leliana answered. "Is there anything more I can do?"

"Yes," Rosa replied immediately. "I need to pass all of our elven members a message."

Leliana blinked with raw surprise for an instant before she nodded with understanding. "Is this to determine which of them are spies?"

"No," Rosa answered. "But they'll probably think that's what it is." She huffed, frustrated, as her mind churned. Running a hand through her frizzy hair, she chewed her lip a moment, thinking. "I'm hoping to send a message to Solas and his people."

"Think on it," Leliana advised. "A message like this one must be done right. I will be happy to help as soon as you know how you want to proceed."

"One last thing," Rosa added as Leliana turned to leave. The spymaster stopped and gazed back over her shoulder. "We need to send an emergency message to Skyhold. They aren't secure there."

Now Leliana hardened, grave. She turned round to face Rosa. "What do you mean?"

Rosa drew in a quick breath. "Tell me, Leliana, have you ever heard of an eluvian…?"

* * *

"_Hahren,"_ Mathrel greeted Solas as he returned to their camp in the Dales. The arcane warrior was alert but he had a haggard appearance from a grueling schedule of watch and patrol. With just Lyris and Mathrel here at present the two were a touch overwhelmed considering they had to watch for danger from outside, hunt, and keep Zevanni under guard and restraint.

Zevanni currently lay unconscious within a nearby cave, sedated with a sleeping spell that quieted both her and the red lyrium.

"_What are we to do with Zevanni?"_ Mathrel asked, reverting to elven. _"Will Fenesvir's children aid us?"_

Solas averted his gaze from the warrior, shame gripping him at the reminder of Felassan. Fenesvir was his name before the Veil. _"We must put that possibility aside."_ He strove for confidence as he added "_I cannot accept there is no other cure, yet."_ His stomach ached with grief on multiple fronts. _"I will confront Imshael and the Forbidden Ones to see if we may strike a bargain."_

Mathrel nodded, but his expression was grave. _"I doubt Zevanni would want you to place yourself in that position."_

Solas nodded, dredging up a small but real smile in gratitude to his friend. _"Yes, I know, but I cannot give up this easily. We may yet save her with a little effort."_

Mathrel regarded him a moment, lips pinched together with hesitation. _"Could Fenesvir's daughter truly have wielded the Blight magic?"_

Of that Solas had no doubt. _"Yes, but I respect her choice. It was a terrible thing of me to ask." _Despair clutched at his throat. He blinked and swallowed, pushing it aside. Yet, as he knew he would, Mathrel noticed his distress.

"_You have parted from her,"_ he guessed, his tone cautious.

Solas nodded stiffly. _"To do anything else was foolish. It was clear she knows the truth. I overheard her brother while he was drunk. He may have revealed me at any moment. I cannot take such risks."_ He didn't elaborate on any other risks he meant—mainly that she might convince him to put aside his duty to the People in penance to the grief he'd caused her. There were other risks, too—that Rosa might use her power as Inquisitor and his longtime lover to trap him. He could hardly tear down the Veil if he was held prisoner.

"_What of the Anchor?"_ Mathrel asked.

That question still troubled Solas, too.

"_I am unsure,"_ he admitted. _"I will address that issue at a later date."_ Right now all he wanted was to rest and pretend, for a time, that he did not feel as though he had just chewed his leg off to escape the trap. But at present it was Mathrel who looked in need of a rest as well. _"I will take watch,"_ he told the warrior. _"Rest, _falon."

As he relieved Mathrel of his place at the fire, Solas hung his head miserably and tried not to think or feel.

* * *

"This is all my fault," Tal told her from his bed a few feet away. It was dark inside their room in the inn. After the grandeur of the winter palace this place seemed small and dingy, but it was still a sizeable inn in a prosperous village along the road leading into the Frostbacks and out of Orlais.

"It is," Rosa agreed after a moment and cringed as she sensed her brother's wince of emotional pain. She hurried to tack on a positive truth following the hard one. "But you did what had to be done." She sighed. "I'd rather know so I can face it."

"Elgar'nan's hairy nutsack," Tal cursed and let out a miserable laugh. "I don't know how you do it, _asamalin."_ He reached over to the roughhewn nightstand beside his bed in the darkness where a wine bottle waited, half-empty.

"Drop it," Rosa snapped. "You've already had enough for one night."

"I'm not drunk," Tal protested.

"Exactly," Rosa muttered. "And you're going to stay that way. So let it go."

"But this is all my fucking fault. I couldn't let it go. I should have trusted both you and _babae._ I wish I didn't know." He broke off, cursing. "Fuck! How am I supposed to sleep at night? How am I supposed to face Nola when I see her again knowing I might have put _his_ bull's eye on her?"

"Not if I can help it," Rosa said, trying to sound confident and reassuring at once. "The Inquisition will protect you and Nola and all of clan Manaria." She hesitated a moment and then added, "And you know this is _Solas_ we're talking about. I don't think it's his thing to kill your clan and your Keeper."

Tal scoffed. "If you're so sure there's no danger, why were a dozen Templars added to your honor guard?"

He had her there. Rosa sighed and shut her eyes against the darkness of their room. "Safety precaution."

"The truth is we don't know that bastard," Tal snarled. "We never did." He paused and then laughed, dry and strained. "Can you imagine now if that halla hadn't thrown you? You'd have a kid with He Who Hunts Alone."

"Tal," Rosa growled. Pain stabbed through her chest with the memory. "Stop. Just _stop._" Whatever Tal thought of her relationship with Solas, and the sad, doomed child they'd briefly created, Rosa couldn't regret it or wish it away. Da'Assan was as much _hers_ as Solas'.

Silence fell for a time until Tal said, "I'm sorry. I'm just messed up. I don't know how you're handling this so well. I can barely handle it thinking I might've done in my clan while you have your clan and _thousands _of Inquisition people to worry about."

_I'm not handling this as well as you think,_ she thought, her eyes still shut. _I'm just better at faking it, burying it. _Tears burned on her closed eyelids. She blinked, letting them roll away down her temples and into her hairline. After a moment, worried Tal might sense she was crying, Rosa rolled over onto her side, back facing him, to hide her face. "Go to sleep," she told her brother and was proud of how even her voice was.

It had been a long day of marching after they left the winter palace. It was a late start as they only managed to break off their engagements and prep their people after a few hours. But by noon the Inquisition was marching for the Frostbacks. It would still be the better part of a week before they reached Skyhold. Rosa welcomed the physical exhaustion, however, because it made it so easy to slip into sleep.

The Fade waited for her, equal parts danger and comfort. She immediately warded her dreams to protect herself from ever-vigilant demons stalking her. It was a minute or an hour later—it was impossible to tell in the dream world—that she decided to do the thing she had dreaded all day. She knew she could not put it off any longer. She _must _search for Solas and confront him if he responded.

To do it she first needed to break the wards protecting her dream. That was easy. Reaching out to the Fade, Rosa wiped the dreamscape away. The pines and pale-stone ruins from the Brecilian vanished. Now she stood on gray-green stone, slick and slimy. Green-white mists lay over the uneven rocky ground. Water bubbled in oily puddles and veilfire burned with a crackle in the deeper pools. A wraith lingered nearby, vaguely humanoid and incorporeal. Doubtless it sensed her now, but it made no move to close in on her yet.

This area of the raw Fade was narrow, enclosed by craggy stone on either side to form a pseudo-valley. Rosa marched out of the low point and up a slope that transformed into stairs as she walked. At the highpoint she sat and placed her elbows on her knees. Resting her chin on her palms, Rosa closed her eyes and reached out to the Fade again.

As it connected with her, warm and pliant, she let her senses open wide, hoping to sense Solas' presence passively. He always cast a large shadow that was easy to feel. The Fade bent to him like clay to a potter's shaping fingers. That enormous presence now made a frightening sense. It was the full breadth of his power, shown in shadow. He was like a mighty tree, whose exposed trunk was only a fraction of his full self. It was suddenly no wonder at all that he cast a larger shadow than her father.

A faint echo came through the Fade. He was here in the dreaming, but far away. She concentrated, reaching for him. She fed the Fade her memories of him to strengthen its grip. The woody male scent he carried with him. The sharp point of his ear pricking her fingers as she caressed it. The warmth of his mouth on her skin and the crisp cadence of his voice as he spoke.

The presence far away reacted as she felt the Fade connecting them. She knew her summons would be powerful. After her father's death Rosa had not come across anyone who could withstand her call in the Fade—with the notable exception of Solas.

For an instant Solas' presence drew closer, expanding as he came nearer. The tidal pull of the Fade summons tugged him effortlessly toward Rosa. Her heart hammered suddenly in her chest and she swallowed as her mouth abruptly went dry. Anger boiled her blood, made her fists clench. Her muscles shook, as if she was cold. She struggled to rein in the wild reactions.

And then, suddenly, the Fade snapped back. Solas' presence broke free, retreating to the distance.

Rosa gasped, shooting to her feet as the whiplash hit her like a slap across the face. Gritting her teeth, she shouted into the raw Fade, _"Ma harel lasa!"_

Her words echoed through the empty Fade and then rebounded back to her. The sky groaned in that strange way it always did. Water dripped melodically somewhere out of sight. The wraith nearby twitched but still did not approach.

"_Ma harel lasa!"_ she shouted again, her voice more of a pained shriek now. "You promised! As long as I would have you. I did not release you!" Her knees trembled and gave out. She plopped back down on the gray stone as tears came again. She covered her face with shaking hands. _"Dirthara-ma,"_ she said, using the old curse, but she didn't know whether she meant it against Solas or herself. _"Dirthara-ma."_

She had been here before, screaming into the Fade, sensing Solas was alive somewhere but refused to answer. She had seen him close himself off to her before. The cost then had been grave and deeply personal. Now she wondered if it would be worse.

_Tread carefully, _ashalan, Felassan warned her.

Swallowing hard, Rosa pushed the emotions down and away. She couldn't afford to let her heart cloud her decisions. She had to think clearly and not lose sight of her duties and all the dangers of her current position. Unlike when she found herself alone in the winter after the Hasmal Circle fell, Rosa knew she couldn't afford the luxury of grief. The Inquisition needed her. Tal and his clan needed her.

All of Thedas needed her.

As she wiped away the traitorous, weak tears, Rosa stopped and stared down at her left hand. The Anchor showed no sign it existed now in the moment, but she knew it was there, hidden beneath her skin. It waited, ever patient. It was _hers_ now as much or more than it was Solas'. Just like their child had been, once. But he hadn't known about Da'Assan. He _did_ know about the Anchor.

_He will come back for it._

They were bound by this and so many other challenges and secrets. His friend was still suffering with red lyrium poisoning. Solas might sacrifice her as incurable, killing her and putting her out of her misery, but there was equal chance he would stubbornly try to find a cure. She wished him luck. No one should have to die from red lyrium. But if he did not find a cure, he would have to return to her or Tal, pleading for their aid.

And more than that, Solas needed his orb back from Corypheus. That would bring his path to cross with hers again in time. She only needed to be ready when it happened.

Clenching her left hand into a tight fist, Rosa vowed she would be ready. She would be neutral and open to his return, to put aside the betrayal of her father's murder so that she could learn more about his final plans. Then, if Solas was amenable, she could broker peace the way Felassan wanted so that she and Tal could survive whatever was coming, even if Solas did not make it through.

And if Solas was hostile now and planned to kill her or take the Anchor by force…she would fight him. If it killed her, or him, so be it. Solas had chosen this path, not her. Rosa had never balked from an enemy, no matter how fierce. She would not balk now if Solas chose to antagonize her. She could not take back her actions and blaming herself did nothing but hurt her. She had tried to honor her promise to her father, but at some point, if Solas chose to fight her, Rosa must defend herself, her Inquisition, Tal, and everyone dear to her.

"I will walk the path of bravery," she promised herself. "One of us has to."

* * *

The following day a strange message passed through the Inquisition's ranks. It was a missive written on parchment, spread from Sister Nightingale and carried by raven throughout Southern Thedas. The news seemed to be a repeat of the Inquisitor's triumph at Halamshiral, penned by the Herald herself.

"Hold your heads high, for we have prevailed against Corypheus on the battlefield and in the Orlesian court. We will soon triumph against him and banish his corruption from all of Thedas." It was a pleasant, simple message of hope to the Inquisition scouts and troops everywhere, but most had already heard of the truce in Orlais and the foiled assassination attempt. Yet they welcomed this celebratory message regardless.

There was one odd thing about the missive, however. Everyone who saw it noticed a series of strange characters in a green-tinted ink at the bottom. Smaller than the normal text, no one could read it. Or, at least, no one _admitted_ if they could. Most scouts and soldiers assumed this message was a secret code Sister Nightingale added to the missive. They thought little of it beyond that.

A tiny fraction of scouts and soldiers, specifically those the Inquisition attracted from Dalish clans, recognized the language of the text. It was elven. An even smaller group among them managed to puzzle out the meaning, though they did not share this with their _shemlen_ companions. Why would they? It was a proud mark that the Inquisition's Herald was actually a daughter of the People and she had not forgotten that. Besides, it seemed to be mostly gibberish.

_Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris. _

_Andaran atish'an_

Most of them couldn't understand what the words meant, but a few picked out _some_ meaning if they touched the message, tasting the magic hidden in it. Yet even these few saw nothing important in the text.

_I promise my time. To freedom's path henceforth. _

_Enter this place in peace. _

But for a handful of elves, most of them barefaced, the words and writing startled them. This was Fen'Harel's secret greeting on an Inquisition missive, with a Dalish salutation beneath. Word trickled down from Fen'Harel himself that the Inquisition was not a safe hold any longer. They should be on edge. And a few of them had been called away, vanishing while out on patrol for the Inquisition. A few remained, however.

One such remainder was the herbalist healer Lanalle, who'd been with the Inquisition since the fall of Haven. Beloved for her skill as a healer, none would question her if she sought permission to go out into the mountains around Skyhold, despite the cold and treacherous snow. They knew she sought herbs and minerals she needed for her healing. It would be easy for her to slip away into the wilds and never return. But she had not been summoned and did not believe herself in danger.

So instead she waited, hoping that _hahren_ would reach out to her in dreams and she could share with him the oddness of the Inquisitor's secret message. As she was not a Dreamer herself, Lanalle could not call on him directly._ Hahren _had to reach out to her and she knew from his last message, just before the Inquisitor's message, that he would be distant for some time. Matters elsewhere required his attention, but he wished her to stay at Skyhold until she received orders otherwise, or until she felt unsafe there. Fen'Harel often allowed agents great freedom, so she might go weeks without feeling even his presence in her dreams, let alone speaking to him.

With no other options, Lanalle sent a torn bit of parchment out with a fellow spy, a scout who would take the message to the Dales as soon as the passes opened, yet she knew it would be some time before it would reach him. There was no way to reach _hahren_ quickly other than the Dreaming, unless she went through the mirror in the ruins below Skyhold's foundation—and that would be a foolish thing to do.

She had seen human scouts searching for the eluvian while the Inquisitor was still on her way back to the fortress. She suspected they had indeed found it, based on the frequent patrols she saw heading out into the frozen valley. Later, once the "Herald" returned, she joined the excursions into the valley with the redheaded spymaster and handsome commander in tow. Shortly after a rumor flew about the fortress, whispered in quiet horror, that there were elven ruins beneath Skyhold that led down to the Deep Roads. Commander Cullen and others believed darkspawn could escape it, so they assigned a continuous watch.

That story was an obvious lie to someone like Lanalle. It was clear the Inquisitor used it to lock Skyhold down from travel by eluvian. Did she fear ambush from Fen'Harel? Or did she hope to simply access the network herself? Either way, if Lanalle sought out the eluvian now she would be found out. It was entirely possible the secret message in the parchment had been sent just for that purpose alone and never an overture to Fen'Harel and his forces.

So Lanalle waited. Other agents of Fen'Harel might spread the word first, long before her. That was fine, as long as _hahren _knew of it.

Regardless, she stayed the course, keeping watch on Skyhold and its Inquisitor as winter closed the passes to travel. And then, gradually, spring rolled in.

With the warmer weather came news of Corypheus' red Templars and Venatori in the far southern wilds of Orlais. The Inquisition began preparing to march out and meet their foe in the first proper battle since Haven.

* * *

Elven used

Ma Harel Lasa: "You lied to me."

_Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris. _My meaning is in the text. It's not an official translation, just my best guess at it.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Is it for real this time?" Rosa asked as she snatched her coat off the bar top nearby. They'd had a lot of false alarms over the last few days as Nola had early "practice" contractions that never went anywhere. It was now only three days before Rosa's arbitrary date to leave for the Arbor Wilds and she was starting to think Nola wouldn't go into labor in time. Her heart hammered, tense with nervous excitement as she searched Dorian for some sign this time was different.

Dorian hummed, putting one hand to his chin. "Let me phrase it in the exact charming way Tal did." He cleared his throat for effect and then mimed an expression of panic as his voice took on a higher pitch. "_'Shit, Dorian, it's happening for real this time. I'm having a baby.'_"Breaking off his pantomime of Tal, Dorian smirked at her. "Did that help make things clear?"


	60. Aunt Rosa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As spring dawns Rosa feels the pressure to head out to the Arbor Wilds to face off with Corypheus, but she hopes to delay just long enough that she can celebrate becoming an aunt.

"We cannot risk waiting much longer, Inquisitor," Cullen told Rosa as they walked the ramparts. To the left Rosa could see the interior courtyard of Skyhold, much repaired from the near-ruins her people had found here a year ago. It was bustling with people from across Thedas, as usual, but since early winter, just before the snows closed the passes, clan Manaria's aravels had taken up most of the open space. Rosa could see a few of the red sails, currently tucked away, from her spot on the ramparts.

"I understand, Commander," she answered and bit back a sigh as she pulled her eyes from the aravels to look at the former templar. "But I'll be damned if I miss my niece or nephew's birth. You have a bunch of siblings, right? Any nieces or nephews?"

"I do and yes," Cullen replied gently. "I was not present when they were born, however." He chuckled. "Dalish seem…less formal than most human families, if you don't mind my saying so."

"No, not at all," Rosa said, turning to stare out at the aravels again. "You're right. We're very close, living in clans as we do. When I left my birth clan in the Brecilian, it hurt for a long time." She chuckled. "The only thing that made me feel better was finding Tal."

Cullen hummed in the back of his throat in acknowledgement. During the long winter months, when Skyhold was cut off from the rest of Thedas, Rosa had spent a lot of time with Cullen in particular of her advisors, primarily because he was an ex-templar and could double as her Templar guard.

It was strange to cling to someone for the very reason she had once avoided him. Her honor guard of Templars was still stationed at Skyhold, patrolling the fortress and standing watch at night outside Rosa's bedchambers. More than one of her inner circle companions was a little baffled at this change—but that was because they didn't have any background on why Solas left. And she wasn't about to tell them, either, no matter how many times they asked. Only her advisors received the explanation.

Cullen was the last one to be in the know and his reaction was mostly stoic. He doubled down on his duties, shifting patrol schedules with Leliana's scouts to increase security. He maintained a small contingent of soldiers at the eluvian—_both_ of them—at all times.

No one told Morrigan that the mirror she brought to Skyhold wasn't the first. The sorceress was a little miffed that her hosts treated her mirror, and her ability to control it, with such suspicion. Yet, what choice did she have? The door to Morrigan's eluvian now stayed locked at all times and Cullen had soldiers placed at the entrance around the clock.

The same was true for the mirror hidden down in the foundations of Skyhold, accessible only outside in the valley. The soldiers stationed there didn't know exactly what they were guarding or why. The mirror was hidden inside ruins that were almost all sealed off by newer human construction. Rosa didn't want the soldiers to spread word of what they were guarding so Cullen kept them on their toes _and _ensured they'd never go into the ruins by telling them a clever lie. The old elven ruins, he said, led down to the Deep Roads and they were concerned Corpyheus might send darkspawn through it. The entire fortress knew better than to go there now.

Unless, of course, they were already spies who knew of the eluvian. So far no one had gone in or out. It was little surprise to Rosa that Solas' spies were smart enough not to get caught. She'd done her best, with the message in elven text, to quietly tell them and their master that she was not hostile. So far her efforts had garnered no response, not even through the Fade. Rosa didn't bother trying to find Solas in the Fade at night anymore. She knew the effort was pointless and would just cause her pain.

"I know this is very important to you, Herald," Cullen said in a soft, sympathetic tone. "But if Corypheus finds what he's looking for in the Arbor Wilds there won't be a world for your brother's child to grow up in."

Rosa sighed. "I know. You're right."

Over the winter months she'd enjoyed getting to know clan Manaria, particularly her sister-through-bonding. Nola was soft spoken and deferential, especially when she first arrived with the battalion of soldiers and scouts who'd been sent to escort her and her clan to Skyhold. Tal had told her about his heritage as simply as he could, and she had a difficult time accepting it as truth. The strain between the bonded Keeper and her First made their journey to Skyhold difficult, but over time Nola came around. Rosa wasn't sure the Keeper fully _believed_ Tal's story that they were the grandchildren of Dirthamen. Even when he showed her the Crown of Falon'Din she'd mostly been appalled that _Tal_ stole it from the clan housing it. To appease her, Tal turned the Crown over to Nola, to be kept by clan Manaria. In the end, Nola was determined to make peace with her strange First and bond partner. According to Tal, as long as he avoided talking to Nola about his heritage, she was content.

Nola seemed to regard Rosa with far more reverence, however. It took some time for Rosa to get the Keeper to stop calling her _Inquisitor _and _hahren._ But it grew easier as time went by and soon, as Nola's pregnancy progressed, the coming baby was all anyone wanted to talk about. Skyhold wasn't a place where families normally visited, so some of the men and women at the fortress hadn't seen an infant in years. The Dalish clan had brought a small child, barely a year old already, drawing much ogling. But the fact that this new baby was the Inquisitor's niece or nephew only heightened the chatter.

But now, as the snow started melting in the passes, Rosa was worried the baby wouldn't come before she had to leave. Aside from the obvious downside of missing the birth of her niece or nephew, Rosa didn't want to risk leaving for the Arbor Wilds without Tal. There was a chance, however small, that if she and Tal separated, Solas might take the opportunity to attack or abduct one of them. If Tal's child didn't come before she had to leave he would have to stay behind. That felt…dangerous.

"Should we set a date?" Cullen asked. "Perhaps another week?"

Picturing Nola in her mind's eye, Rosa tried to decide whether she thought the small-bodied Keeper had another week before she'd burst. All the healers, both those with the Inquisition and Manaria's clan healer, liked to exclaim about how robust the baby was. All of them were certain Nola was due any day…and they'd been saying that for weeks.

"That's fine, I guess," Rosa said at last. Cullen was right. She couldn't keep putting it off, regardless of the consequences. There was a small risk from Solas if she had to leave Tal here, but the risk from Corypheus was _far_ more likely.

"Excellent," Cullen said, smiling. "I'll talk with Josephine to add it to the official schedule."

* * *

Solas' wrists ached from using the mortar and pestle, grinding for most of the day. The herbs and minerals had taken weeks to acquire using the eluvian network. And Solas had little hope it would work as he knelt with Lyris beside Zevanni's pallet.

His once vibrant agent was now a withered woman, miserable and skeletal as fevers wracked her. Trapped inside the cave where they'd set up camp, Solas had to dose her to keep her from the Fade for fear she would sense her whereabouts while she slept and give them away to the demons controlling her through the red lyrium. Sedating her seemed to slow the growth of the red lyrium, but it was increasingly clear they had little time left.

Zevanni shivered convulsively as Lyris grabbed her under her shoulders and propped her upright. Sweat glistened on her forehead in the green light of the veilfire orb Solas had cast. Her skin was paper thin and red showed in fine lines, every vein and capillary glowing a sickly, angry crimson. Her chapped lips trembled and her head moved from side to side. They kept her blindfolded during all treatment attempts, for fear the demons might sabotage them if they could see through her eyes. But, if they could see beneath the fabric strip over her eyes, Solas knew they'd see the bloodshot whites and that her brown iris had turned red with the blighted lyrium shards.

"_What?"_ Zevanni croaked in elven. It was months since she was lucid enough to use common. _"Who the fuck are you?"_

"_I am here to help you,"_ Solas told her gently. He lifted the vial he and his closest agents had spent the last month creating. The sound of uncorking it made Zevanni flinch and recoil.

"_You bring poison,"_ she growled.

Solas couldn't be certain if this was part of her fevered nightmares or if she actually remembered some of their previous treatment attempts. Over the months they'd tried numerous times to purify the red lyrium or draw it out of her. None worked and many of them backfired, causing Zevanni pain.

First Solas sought the help of a spirit of compassion that was willing and eager to ease Zevanni's pain by absorbing the Blight in the red lyrium. Curing Blight worked in this way, though it was not a method that would work on a large scale. Each time a spirit did this it risked dying itself of the corruption, or becoming a demon. In this case the spirit of compassion's mere presence caused Zevanni excruciating pain. It could not meld with her, could not help her without harming her more. Solas had to admit failure and send the spirit back to the Fade.

Next he tried an anti-Blight enchantment that arcane warriors once wore in wars the Evanuris fought with the Forgotten Ones, demons which frequently wielded Blight as a weapon. The enchanted rings, necklaces, and belts warded them from Blight. Solas hoped it would drive the infection from Zevanni. Instead it seemed to have no effect at all except worsening her nightmares. She lay awake all night screaming and writhing against her restraints until Solas took the necklace off her again.

After that he searched the Fade for potions that might delay or stop the infection, anything he could make use of. One potion after another resulted in no results or it actually caused Zevanni greater illness. She spent a few nights vomiting and holding her stomach in agony after one recent backfired treatment.

This was the fifth such potion Solas had concocted. It was a slight tweak of an earlier potion that had no obvious effect. He hoped that this time it would do _something _as he extended it out to her lips. _"We are trying to save your life, _falon," he told her, soothingly.

Zevanni was still _somewhere_ in there as she obediently parted her lips and swallowed as he tilted the vial up. She made a face of disgust as he withdrew it. Another fit of shivering seized her. _"Tastes like halla piss."_

"_I know,"_ Solas told her. _"But it may ease your pain."_ Looking to Lyris, he nodded in signal and she reached around to gently pull off Zevanni's blindfold.

The elven woman blinked and winced, cringing against the light peeking in around the curtain strung over the cave entrance. She hissed between clenched teeth. _"So loud,"_ she complained. _"Can't you tell them to be quiet?"_

She often complained about loudness and asked for Solas or whoever attended her to silence a crowd only she could hear. Sometimes she argued with the voices aloud, unnerving Solas and the others.

"_I will try, _falon," Solas reassured her. _"But you must eat."_ He motioned to the tray they'd set up for her within arm's reach of her pallet. They'd caught and butchered a tusket the previous night and were eating well off the rich meat. Lyris had grown quite adept with cooking with whatever herbs Solas or Mathrel brought back to camp. Of course it seemed one side effect of the red lyrium poisoning was decreased appetite and _nothing_ ever tasted good to Zevanni. They had to plead with her to eat and had to remove the blindfold for meals. She wouldn't eat unless she could see the meal.

Today it was surprisingly easy as she shifted on her pallet, letting Lyris support her, and grabbed the soup bowl. Her hands shook, slopping a little thick soup over the sides as she brought it to her mouth. She stopped drinking to breathe raggedly every few moments.

The hide blanket stretched over the cave entrance rippled as someone rapped their knuckles on it as if it was a door. They all knew better than to pull the blanket aside without warning everyone within. No one wanted Zevanni—or, rather, the demons watching through her eyes—to catch a glimpse of where she was, no matter how small.

"Yes?" Solas called in common. It was almost certainly Mathrel on the other side, but he did not use names around Zevanni while she was awake. There were a few others with them, mostly spies who'd worked under Briala and had now left her to return to their true master. A few others had come from Skyhold and other Inquisition holdings, summoned by Solas directly or they chose to flee, fearing they'd be ousted somehow.

A young male voice answered and Solas recognized one of the former Inquisition scouts. With a brief look to Lyris in silent communication, Solas rose from his spot at Zevanni's pallet and moved to the hide. Pushing it aside, he stepped out into the chilly early spring air to see the young elven scout.

"_Hahren,"_ the young man addressed him, smiling tightly. "I've just been to the nearest village and checked the dead drop there." The scout knew better than to mention the name of the nearest village while at camp. He extended the rolled scrap of paper out to Solas. "You should read it." He edged closer, dropping his voice. "The Inquisitor seems to be making friendly overtures."

The mere mention of Rosa gripped Solas right at the chest, seizing his lungs for an instant. He made no sign of it as he unfolded the little scrap of parchment. It was a torn, dirtied scroll bearing the Inquisition's seal in the corner, marking it as official and distributed by Leliana. Only part of the official message had been preserved. It looked bland and unimportant, like propaganda proclaiming victory in…Halamshiral? It was hard to make out the official message because whoever had passed it on had torn the official missive to include only the bottom.

The bottom of the scroll employed a different ink and text using elven calligraphy and characters. He recognized the ink as a kind Dalish Keepers used to convey magic through the writing to ensure meaning carried through the characters. Of course, Dalish Keepers could only use snippets of elven, for that was all that survived. More often they used common, imbuing it with magic using the ink to carry secret messages. This writer's script—Rosa's, clearly—was fluent albeit not practiced as even she did not have occasion to use written elven often. He didn't touch the writing to catch its meaning, but the words impacted him like a bucket of water to the face.

She was using _his_ greeting and a Dalish one. Ridiculous hope wormed in his chest but Solas stamped on it. He had spent months using Zevanni's illness as a distraction from grief at what he had lost. He was certain if he ever lost sight of his goals and let himself _feel_ he would be lost.

He could not let hope make him incautious now. Rosa's intention here may not have been to him at all, but to root out his agents. He was only seeing it now because the snows had closed the passes and he'd recalled many of his agents from the Inquisition rather than lose them. Someone, however, had finally gotten this to a dead drop, perhaps more than one, until it at last reached him. Precious few agents knew where he was and soon they would move camp.

Folding the scrap of paper, Solas nodded his thanks to the scout. _"Ma serannas." _

"Do you think some of us should return to Skyhold?" the scout asked, a note of hope in his voice. Many of the spies at Skyhold hadn't wanted to leave. They saw the value of staying close to the Inquisition, whose goals allied with their own.

"Not presently," he told the young man. "We cannot—"

From behind him came a slick _boom_ of a mind blast. The impact knocked Solas off his feet, stumbling into the scout. The hide over the cave wafted up with a cold wind as a blue streak rushed out of the cave.

_No…_

Solas scrambled up, tossing barriers over himself and the scout. The blue streak solidified into Zevanni, just as he feared. She still wore manacles, but they glowed red hot, ready to break. Her red eyes blazed as she glowered at him over her shoulder. The scout gasped with fear and lurched backward, only to hit the sheer wall of stone behind them.

A few other elves across their small camp shot to their feet, reaching for bows, daggers, and staves. Zevanni turned and ran out of the shadow of the cliff looming over their campsite. She ran with purpose, using Fade-step every so often to dart forward at supernatural speed. Despite her wraithlike, skeletal frame and her torn and dirtied clothing, Zevanni seemed as strong as ever. Solas knew it had to be the red lyrium doing this. More specifically, the demons on the other end of her leash.

For an instant he lifted one hand, mana bubbling, ready to cast a fireball so powerful it would burn her to ash—but he hesitated. And in that instant Zevanni darted to the right, into the hidden caves where elven ruins waited with an eluvian.

"_Fenedhis,"_ Solas snarled, hating himself for that moment of weakness. Zevanni was not his agent anymore. She was Imshael's, or possibly Corypheus'. She had a new mission from new masters and new strength to complete it. She had taken only a moment to take in her surroundings, realize where she was with the aid of the demons whispering in her mind, and now she would be through the eluvian in mere seconds.

He thought he already knew where she would go, as well.

"Go after her," he ordered the others. "Do not hesitate to kill her! I will be with you in a moment." He had to get to Lyris and see if she needed help.

Running into the cave as the scout and his other agents rushed after Zevanni, weapons at the ready, Solas saw the arcane warrior laying at the far end of the now partly-collapsed cave. She was bruised and bleeding, motionless.

Cursing, Solas rushed to her and knelt at her side, summoning healing magic to his hands. Lyris gasped as she came awake a few seconds later. _"Hahren,"_ she said, the words strangled. "I'm sorry. It happened without warning…"

"Yes," Solas agreed. "Do not blame yourself." They had untethered Zevanni for her mealtime. The scout's arrival was rotten luck. The demons may not have made such a bold move while Solas was inside the cave.

"The scout's news," Lyris said, shuddering as more magic poured into her. "The Inquisitor is friendly after all?"

"We cannot trust that," Solas warned. "But I suspect it is why Zevanni fled."

"Maybe Fenesvir's daughter or his son will be able to save her after all," Lyris said, hope in her voice.

"More likely Zevanni will become a false messenger and betray us," Solas growled. "I should have ended her suffering weeks ago."

"There is no shame in hope, nor in a merciful killing," Lyris said. She let out a long breath, shivering. "I think I can manage on my own now, _hahren._" She gripped his hand, squeezing hard. "Go after her."

Although Solas quickly caught up with this other agents, it was already too late. Zevanni had passed through the mirror in the middle of a Fade-step, deliberately shattering the eluvian in the spell's wake. The loss of such a precious relic boiled his blood, but there was nothing he could do. Zevanni would reach Skyhold before he could. Even if he and his camp hiked to the next nearest surviving eluvian in the Dales they would still be hours behind Zevanni.

That left only one option—the Fade. He could pass a message using an agent still within Skyhold, but that would risk the life of the agent, depending on how they contacted Rosa or her advisors.

The other way was to communicate with Rosa directly, something had had not dared do yet.

It wasn't much of a choice.

* * *

Blackwall seemed to be in a foul, melancholy mood and Rosa wanted no part of it. The late afternoon visit with the Warden began promising enough as he invited her for a drink, but soon Rosa found herself with a brooding Blackwall rather than a buzzed one.

"There's always some dog," he went on blearily, staring off into space. "Some fucking mongrel that can't stay away."

The gruesome story he told of seeing a dog hanged by village urchins and doing nothing made her skin crawl. She knew that, even as a tiny child, she would have rushed to defend it. There was nothing worse than a companion animal or a child placed in danger by people who should be protecting it.

Slurping on her ale, Rosa interjected her own story. "When I was a girl I fought a bear to save a fennec fox."

Blackwall shot her an irritated look. "You're missing the point," he grumbled. "You make saving the world and righting wrongs look easy."

"For something small like that stray dog it _is_ easy," she rejoined, equally annoyed. "You just _do _something." She softened her tone as Blackwall's brows beetled with a mixture of shame and anger. Rosa reached out and gently squeezed his forearm, offering a small smile. "But we all make mistakes. The important thing is we learn from them."

Blackwall heaved a long sigh. "You're right." He shook his head. "Maker, I wish you weren't." A wan smile tugged on his lips beneath his beard. "You sure you're not divinely touched?"

Rosa snorted and then, screwing up her face, she worked up a little belch. As Blackwall chuckled, Rosa grinned. "I am _abso-fucking-lutely_ sure I am not holy." She thumped her mug back on the wooden bar top and motioned at the tender. "Can I get another ale?"

As the barkeep scrambled to get her mug and refill it, Rosa heard a smooth male voice behind her grunt. "Really," came Dorian's dry commentary. "I don't know how you stand drinking that swill."

"Dorian," Blackwall greeted the Tevinter mage sourly. "Come down to the slums, eh?"

Rosa was friendlier, smiling warmly. "Good evening, Dore. Did you come to enjoy a little pig spit ale with us?"

"No," Dorian said, wrinkling his nose. "Sorry, I don't have the stomach for it the way you southerners do. " He sniffed and then seemed to shake off his disgust for the tavern's subpar alcohol, brightening as he focused fully on Rosa. "Your brother sent me to tell you to get that skinny elven ass of yours to those…" He lifted a hand, waving fluidly off in the direction of the courtyard. "…Dalish _things._ Those ship wagon things your people are so fond of."

Immediately Rosa shot off her barstool. "What's happened?"

Dorian smirked at her. "What do you think Tal would send me for?" the Tevinter asked with his usual sardonic wit. He and Tal had made up over the last few months, becoming simple friends again.

"It's certainly not as though I'd come running to you because Bull put on a shirt or Sera washed that tunic with the mustard stains on it," Dorian quipped. The newfound peace and friendship between Tal and Dorian had come easier than everyone expected due to the strange romance blooming between the Tevinter mage and their resident Qunari spy.

"Is it for real this time?" Rosa asked as she snatched her coat off the bar top nearby. They'd had a lot of false alarms over the last few days as Nola had early "practice" contractions that never went anywhere. It was now only three days before Rosa's arbitrary date to leave for the Arbor Wilds and she was starting to think Nola wouldn't go into labor in time. Her heart hammered, tense with nervous excitement as she searched Dorian for some sign this time was different.

Dorian hummed, putting one hand to his chin. "Let me phrase it in the exact charming way Tal did." He cleared his throat for effect and then mimed an expression of panic as his voice took on a higher pitch. "_'Shit, Dorian, it's happening for real this time. I'm having a baby.'_" Breaking off his pantomime of Tal, Dorian smirked at her. "Did that help make things clear?"

Blackwall chuckled. "I think you better go, Inquisitor."

"I think so, too," Rosa agreed, grinning. She shrugged on her coat and drew mana to gather her body warmth close to her for the chilly trip through the courtyard. Turning to Blackwall, she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll catch up after my niece or nephew is born, okay?"

"Of course, your worship," Blackwall told her, but his blue eyes were oddly dark and sad. He laid a hand over hers on his shoulder and smiled. "Thank you. For everything."

Something in the way he said those words seemed…off. Rosa hesitated an instant and then, too eager to get to her brother and sister-through-bonding, she nodded. "My pleasure, Ser Warden."

Following Dorian out of the tavern and into the darkening courtyard, Rosa passed the templar shadowing her at the doorway. The man looked bored and a tad sleepy but he pivoted to tail her as she entered the courtyard, padding over the ice and snow on the path with a bounce in her step.

Thinking about the coming baby had been a marvelous way for her to stay sane, letting her hold the grief of Solas' departure at bay. There were times she still remembered her painful near-miss with motherhood, but enough time had elapsed that she could watch Nola's experience without constantly reliving her loss.

The baby had proved a similar crutch for Tal, letting him focus past all of his anxieties regarding his past mistakes. In private with Rosa he swung between elation and fear when it came to fatherhood. In recent days, as the birth drew ever closer, it was mostly elation.

So it was no surprise to Rosa at all when she found Tal pacing in the half-melted snow outside of Nola's aravel in the courtyard. With the sun setting and the bitterness of the early spring nights settling in, most of Skyhold's residents had retired indoors to stay warm and go to bed. Yet, more than a few now lingered uncharacteristically near the aravels. That was clear evidence news of the impending birth had spread. Other members of clan Manaria smiled and nodded to her, murmuring greetings as she passed.

"Dorian," Tal greeted the other mage as he saw them approaching. He jogged over to meet them both. "You found her. Great!" He was wringing his hands together, fretting rather obviously.

"Of course I did," Dorian quipped, smirking. "She's Inquisitor, which makes it easy. I just follow the breathless gasps from the Chantry faithful."

Rosa rolled her eyes playfully. "Or you just asked Leliana or Josephine where I went."

"Or looked for the bored templar escort," Tal added. Despite Rosa's insistence otherwise, Tal rejected the offer of a templar guard.

"Or that," Rosa conceded. Turning to glance back at the aforementioned bored templar, Rosa motioned him away. "You're free to go."

The templar scowled. "Commander Cullen insisted I stay close to you, especially during distractions like this."

Rosa sighed. Sometimes the templar honor guard idea was more trouble than it was worth. Solas had not shown any sign of being hostile to them so she had half a mind to dissolve the whole thing. But the one time she suggested it Leliana and Cullen both vehemently opposed the idea, reminding her that Corypheus was more likely to send assassins and the templars may well protect her from him.

"All right," she told the templar. "Hang out around the fire then, but this is going to take a while."

"Well," Dorian said, clapping his hands. "On that note I'm going to bed. Let me know how it all turns out, will you?" He winked at them both as he spun on his heel. "My money's on a boy, by the way," he called over his shoulder. "Don't disappoint me."

As soon as Dorian was out of earshot, Tal whipped about to face Rosa, brown eyes wide and wild with pre-parental panic. "They kicked me out, _asamalin."_

Rosa arched a brow. "Why? What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Tal protested. Rosa let her unblinking, disbelieving stare convey her answer wordlessly and Tal crumbled before it as she knew he would. "I didn't _really_ do anything, I swear. I just got so nervous."

He spluttered, gazing around them at the nearby hearths where other elves from his clan sat eating or talking quietly. Even in the orange firelight his face flushed obviously red. "Okay, so I _accidentally_ lit one of her blankets on fire—but you would have done it too if you were there! Laumas was…" He scowled and mimed reaching with one hand. "…he was _doing_ something to her and hurt her!"

"So you set something on fire?" Rosa asked him, still arching her brow. "You do understand, _da'isamalin,_ that the whole childbirth thing is going to be _excruciatingly painful._ The healer knows what he's doing, I'm sure."

Tal sputtered, embarrassed and speechless for a moment before he blurted, "No shit, I know it hurts. I'm not a moron, but…"

"Come on, let's see if we can get you back in there where you belong." Rosa took his hand and started walking through the thin layer of remaining, well-trod snow outside the Keeper's aravel—which had become Tal's as well when they bonded. She rapped her knuckles on the hatch and called out, _"Aneth ara,_ Keeper. It's Rosa. Tal is with me. Can we come in?"

A gruff male voice replied, "Inquisitor, certainly!"

Rosa hesitated as she heard her brother groan under his breath. They'd both heard the hesitation in the healer's voice and, beneath it, Nola's rough and labored breathing. "Can Tal come in?" she asked specifically.

The healer harrumphed. "If he can promise not to set the aravel on fire!"

"I didn't set the aravel on fire," Tal rejoined, scoffing. "He's exaggerating a _lot."_

"Let Tal come in," Nola snapped, uncharacteristically short tempered.

With permission fully granted Rosa tugged the hatch open and ascended the short stairs, ducking to enter the aravel. Tal hustled in after her and pulled the hatch shut behind him, closing out the cold.

Nola sat on the opposite end of the aravel on a pallet that was normally used for sleeping. Various old fur blankets covered the pallet and Nola, with dried woven reed mats beneath them for absorbing the inevitable birthing fluids. Nola wore a loose shift that did nothing to hide the enormous swell of her belly and breasts. Sweat already lined her hairline and coated her neck and collarbone.

The air smelled salty with sweat and something else that hit Rosa like a slap in the face, gripping her throat with the cold hands of grief. It was the smell of a mother's waters. She had not smelled that since her own suffering two years previous when her child came stillborn. Stricken for a second, Rosa hung back as Tal pushed past her with palpable concern for his bond partner.

"_Emma lath,"_ he greeted her, shoving brusquely around the healer, Laumas. Sitting on the pallet beside her, Tal kissed her forehead and Nola leaned into him, letting out a long breath of exhaustion.

The moment of grief passed and Rosa recollected herself as she glanced at the healer. "How can I help?"

And so began the long, arduous journey of birth. Between contractions Nola rested with Tal cuddling her close, trying to offer comfort. Laumas put Rosa to work, though he seemed sheepish about having her do such menial tasks as disposing of soiled reed mats, bringing fresh water in and out of the aravel, and helping Nola stay clean with sponge baths. Rosa, for her part, made no complaint. It was much easier to be the one beside the birthing pallet rather than the one laboring on it, though her heart still twisted with a shadow of envy that she stamped on repeatedly. How could she possibly begrudge her brother for having the happy ending she'd always wanted for him _and_ herself?

By the following morning the labor had progressed well and Laumas guessed the baby would be born in the afternoon or evening at the latest. Nola was exhausted, but managed to doze for brief, fitful moments between pains. Laumas had Rosa working at a mortar and pestle, grinding three different herbs that he would give her in a tea as soon as she was alert enough.

Rosa was grinding the elfroot near the aravel hatch when she felt something jerk inside her, as though invisible fingers yanked on her soul. She flinched, dropping the mortar and pestle. Green flakes of dried elfroot spilled all over the aravel's wooden planks. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to overcome the powerful, invisible grip. A mixture of dread and exhilaration made her heart drum so loud in her ears that she didn't hear Laumas and Tal calling for her in concern.

_Rosa._

It was Solas' voice. _Of course_ it was his voice. Only someone powerful enough to be mistaken for a god could have that kind of effect on her from the Fade.

In the flash she felt urgency and fear. He needed to speak with her. Quickly.

"Rosa?" Tal called from Nola's pallet. _"Asamalin?_ Talk to us…"

Sucking in a deep breath, Rosa pushed the call aside. Solas would wait. He'd ignored her every time she tried to make contact. She would return the favor now, even though her stomach flip-flopped with concern—_damn_ her foolish heart. She'd tried so hard not to think of him all winter. His timing now was terrible, too. She refused to miss the birth.

"I'm fine," she told Tal over her shoulder as she knelt and used her fingers like a broom to sweep the scattered elfroot particles back into the mortar bowl. "It's nothing."

Tal grunted and spoke in elven so that both Nola and Laumas wouldn't catch it. _"I don't have to be the grandson of the god of secrets to know you're lying." _

"It's nothing," she chastised him as she returned to grinding the herbs.

Before either her brother or the healer could question her further Nola moaned quietly with pain as another contraction hit. Laumas shifted to examine her, partly lifting furs aside to reach between the Keeper's legs. Tal always bristled with each of these examinations, despite Rosa and Laumas trying to reassure him that it was necessary even if it wasn't exactly comfortable for Nola on top of the contraction. Now he scowled at the healer but said nothing, brow furrowing and eyes crinkled with concern.

"Still too soon to push, _hahren,"_ Laumas advised. "You must wait or you will stress yourself and the child."

Nola nodded, whimpering. She gritted her teeth, riding out the pain without pushing yet. Rosa focused on the grinding, remembering that for her she'd tried so hard not to push for very different reasons, even when Ashani, Lavellan's healer, told her the baby was dead and she must help it leave her body for her own wellbeing. She quashed those thoughts and memories. They were entirely inappropriate here. This baby was very much alive and, Sylaise willing, would be born strong and full of vigor.

The hours dragged on. The day grew warm for early spring outside, making the aravel stuffy inside. Rosa wanted to leave the hatch open but Laumas protested, fearing cold vapors would weaken mother and child. Better for the aravel to be hot and stuffy than cold like death.

A few times one of her advisors or an inner circle companion knocked on the aravel, looking for Rosa. She sent them away. It could all wait.

Until Cole showed up.

One moment Rosa, Laumas, Tal, and Nola were the only ones inside the aravel. Then Rosa felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up and she lifted her head and saw Cole knelt on the pallet, just barely squeezed in on Nola's other side, opposite Tal. The spirit boy laid a hand over the laboring woman's forehead, his eyes glazed.

Tal sat up, alarmed at the sudden appearance. "Cole? Is everything all right?"

"She's afraid," he answered in a quiet whisper. "Sometimes mothers die."

"That's not going to happen here," Tal said emphatically.

"I know," Cole said. His palm on Nola's forehead glowed gold-white and Nola let out a little sigh of relief. "Now she knows it, too."

"Who are you talking to?" Laumas asked, frowning at Tal.

"Uh," Tal said with a shrug. "No one, I guess."

Rosa smiled to herself as she continued wetting another cloth for Nola's next sponge bath. But then she felt a brief waft of cold air and realized Cole was sitting beside her. His small, pale hand rested on her forearm. She froze, glancing sidelong at him but saying nothing.

"He didn't send her," the boy whispered.

Rosa frowned. "What?"

"He wants you to know," Cole said, as if that made sense. "He didn't send her. She came on her own."

"I don't understand," Rosa said, shaking her head.

"She doesn't either," Cole whispered, his voice sad, breathless as he began reading someone. "Ugly whispers, hot like Keepers' brands, raking the inside of my mind. If I go they will help me. If I go they will make it stop. I'll be me again."

"Cole," Rosa muttered. "You're not making any sense."

"What's that?" Laumas asked Rosa, shooting her a questioning look.

Rosa flinched as she felt Cole leave, vanishing from her side. She started to answer Laumas but then Nola gasped and then gnashed her teeth in pain. The healer immediately moved to check between her legs again. This time Tal just looked anxious rather than angry at the perceived violation of the woman he loved. Laumas nodded to himself at whatever he felt and said, "It's time, _hahren._ The babe is at the door. The door is open. Push now, with everything you have."

With energy she should not have had, Nola shifted in her spot, breathing fast and hard. Tal moved with her, trying to support her. His expression made Rosa smirk at the mixture of horror and panic and joy. Nola crunched her body up, bearing down. Her hands gripped the pallet on one side and Tal on the other. Soon Tal's face mirrored a small fraction of his bond partner's pain as she strangled his hand and then his thigh with a crushing grip.

The contraction ended, leaving Nola panting. Laumas stayed knelt at her pallet, ready to catch the baby and encouraging her. "Again, _hahren._ You can do this."

Another contraction hit Nola almost at once. She gritted her teeth, going red faced with the strain. Every muscle stood out, corded on her neck. Veins popped out on her forehead. She had labored almost silently before but now she let out a tiny, strangled cry.

"The babe's crowning," Laumas announced. "One more should do it."

Panting hard, Nola rushed headlong into the next push. Baring her teeth, shaking body-wide, she let out another small cry. Tal leaned forward around her shoulder, struggling to see Laumas working. From her spot, Rosa saw it all, messy and traumatic, and somehow, beautiful. And as tears prickled her eyes she saw Laumas pull the baby out once its head had emerged. Aside from the healer, she was the first to see the baby was a boy, red-purple from his tight passage, and slicked with birth fluids and blood.

"A boy," Laumas announced, grinning.

Nola fell back from her last enormous push, panting and flushed. Her expression was suffused with joy as Laumas lifted the baby up for her to see. The tiny boy kicked and let out a lusty wail.

Tal gawked, wide eyed and speechless. His gaze was glued to the baby as Laumas set the infant onto Nola's belly. The baby's cries slowed gradually. The adults now were the ones crying with joy. Laumas sat back a ways, letting the parents examine the baby's fingers and toes, his tiny pointed ears and slicked hair. From what Rosa could see of her nephew the baby had Nola's darker skin tone, but Tal's black-brown hair.

As Laumas stepped back in to help swaddle the baby and aid Nola in getting him to nurse, Tal let out a little cry. He met Rosa's gaze across the aravel, tears glittering in his eyes. "His eyes are like _babae's,"_ he told her, choking on the words. "Like yours."

Rosa stared, still keeping her distance out of respect for the new parents, but her mouth fell open and her eyes stung with fresh tears. Laumas moved back to make room for her then and Nola motioned to her. Rosa crept close to sit at Nola's side and gazed down at the tiny little bundle that was her nephew as he suckled for the first time. His eyes were just cracked enough that she could see the iris beyond. It had a bluish tint overall, gray like all babies, but Tal was right. She could see flecks of violet. The baby might one day have eyes the same color as hers and Felassan's.

She let out a little sob and, gentle with reverence, touched her nephew's downy hair. "He's beautiful," she whispered. "And so perfect."

"I know his name," Nola said, smiling with love down at the infant.

Rosa glanced at her sister-through-bonding, intrigued. Tal and Nola had been tightlipped about naming possibilities. "Oh?"

"Felenaste," Tal said from Nola's other side and let out a little sob. _Slow blessing. _But they all knew who the name harkened to.

"It's a wonderful name," Rosa said and found herself choking with tears of joy too.

They stared down at the baby together as he nursed, content and adorable. Whether an hour passed or just a few minutes, Rosa didn't know. It was a moment she wanted to live on and on, when she didn't think about her impending fight with Corypheus, or facing Solas' plans as Dread Wolf, or her own grief at the strange twist her life had taken in the last two years, from Hasmal Circle on.

Sadly, the moment didn't last. And it ended with a bang, literally, as the sound of a slick pop-_boom_ echoed in the courtyard outside Skyhold.

And then screams rent the air.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Save me," she pleaded. "Spare me and I will serve you. I will take you to the Dread Wolf."

It took Rosa a moment to realize Zevanni had switched languages. Worse, she was staring over Rosa's shoulder, at the rest of the Inquisition behind her.

* * *

Next chapter some scary shit goes down! Eek!


	61. Red Lyrium Part 1: Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected assassin arrives at Skyhold with dire results.

Rosa hurried to the hatch from the aravel, motioning at Tal, Nola, and the healer to stay inside. "Please close it after me, Laumas," she said to the healer. He moved to get behind her as Rosa popped the hatch open and scrambled into the chilly early evening air.

Screams echoed through the lower courtyard, close to the enormous gate. The Dalish around her were on their feet, weapons at the ready, but they did not leave the circle of aravels. One of the elves standing tense beside a nearby fire was not a member of clan Manaria. She wore a jerkin over her tunic that bore the Inquisition's symbol and stared at Rosa rather than the disturbance at the gate. Rosa dimly recognized her as a scout and healer, but she didn't know the other woman's name and paid her no mind as she jogged out of the aravel circle. The elven scout ran after her.

"Inquisitor," the scout called. "Inquisitor, please—I must—"

"Not now," Rosa snapped over her shoulder. Ahead, over the slight rise in the courtyard, Rosa saw the old infirmary tents her people set up immediately after Haven. Healers like the elven scout behind her practiced basic medicine here, treating Inquisition people of all trades and creeds. Now it was aflame, crimson-tainted fires consuming it. A few patients ran or hobbled away, screaming. A handful of others were not so lucky, lying where the fire had caught them.

And standing at the edge of the red flames was an emaciated elven woman, glowing crimson. The fire did not touch her, instead it seemed to be part of her. Her leather armor was dingy and her hair unkempt, but the raw power emanating from her made Rosa's skin crawl much like it would for a demon. The whites of her eyes glowed red as she scanned the courtyard, teeth bared in ferocity.

"_Fenesvires ashalan!"_ she shouted, the voice too strong for such a frail form.

The words were slow to translate in Rosa's mind, but when they did she stopped dead in her tracks. She reached for a stave only to curse as she found nothing. There was only the small knife she wore at her waist, but that wasn't for defense. It was for whittling wood, cleaning a kill, and picking locks as needed. She had plenty of mana and spells she could wield without a stave, but she still felt naked without it. This attack had come at the _worst_ time.

An Inquisition soldier circled the burning elven woman from behind, sword held high, but he held back from the heat of the fire. Arrows streaked from the upper courtyard and the battlements, but the red flames consumed them so that only ash fell on the elven woman. The woman turned and thrust a palm out at the Inquisition soldier behind her, sending a gout of tainted fire rushing for him. The man yelped and rolled away, fleet footed enough that it missed him.

The Templar guard accompanying Rosa now charged forward, drawing his sword with a metallic ringing. Blue light glowed from it as he summoned his counter-magic, or not-magic, or whatever it was called. Rosa had never cared enough to learn anything about their order except that they were _anti-_magic and quite effective at bullying cowed Circle mages.

"_Fenesvires ishalen!"_ the elven woman shouted.

Any doubt Rosa had about who this must be vanished now. The elven language usage was already suspect enough, but this woman calling for the son and daughter of the Wolf's Path had to be a reference to herself and Tal. She'd heard the name _Fenesvir_ a few times before—from Solas and, in distant childhood, when Fear and Deceit spoke to her in a dream. It was one of their father's many names, but now it had new meaning for her. _The Wolf's Path._ _The Slow Arrow._ Her father's allegiance had been to Fen'Harel for so long and right in front of her. She just refused to see it. It was easier to blame Mythal.

"Halt, abomination!" the Templar roared as he drew closer.

The elven woman, Rosa struggled to recall her name, turned her head and spotted the Templar. The man thrust his sword down into the earth with a grunt, letting out a spell purge. The blue energy hit the woman and washed around her, as though a barrier protected her. The fire on the tents, a few more meters distance from the circle of protection around her, guttered and went out. Red crystals of tainted lyrium clattered to the ground from the extinguished flames.

The elven woman lifted her palm and shot out another gout of red flame. The Templar held fast to his sword but the red lyrium fire cut through whatever armor and power he had. He cried out, falling backward, pulling his sword. The blue light had gone from the blade.

The sight of it made Rosa's heart lurch into her throat. If this servant of Fen'Harel, sick as she was, could so easily cast aside a Templar…what chance did she or Tal have against her master? Fear clawed at her, but Rosa swallowed hard to push the it down. _Fen'Harel is Solas,_ she reminded herself. She had bested him in combat before and at any rate this was…well, she didn't know. Why would Solas do this? _Had_ he done this?

"Inquisitor," the elven scout behind her said again and then darted forward, grasping her forearm. "Please, you must—"

Rosa jerked her arm out of the scout's grasp. "Go find Leliana and Cullen," she ordered. "We have to stop her before she infects everyone!"

The scout stared at her, eyes wide and lips parted, frozen. Irritation made Rosa snap, "Now!"

The scout ran off deeper into the courtyard, past the aravels. Breathing hard, Rosa ran back for the Dalish camp, calling out for a stave. From Nola's aravel she saw Tal prop open the hatch, staring out at her. "Rosa?"

"Do you have your staff?" she asked him. The camp around her scrambled, rushing to their aravels to see if they had a spare stave. Yet, most of them must have known the only staves would be Nola's and Tal's.

Tal disappeared back into the aravel for a moment and then emerged again, rushing down the steps in what was half a fall and half a dexterous slide. He held two staffs, one his own and one Nola's. "Here," he called. "Use Nola's." He tossed it to her.

Catching it, Rosa felt the stave flush cold under her hands. It was winter school, not Rosa's strong suit, but it would do and likely work well against the crimson fire. Tal kept his own fire stave, joining her and breathing fast. "What's going on?"

"Stay here," she ordered him. "Keep Nola and Felenaste safe."

Tal shook his head. "I'm better off fighting at your side. The hunters will protect the clan. We'll hear if it's a trap and come back." His eyes were grave as he met her stare. "You said so yourself we shouldn't split up."

Rosa hesitated, recalling that Tal and this elven woman had a history. She'd saved his life and rescued him from Templar control. When Solas approached her about red lyrium poisoning she'd known Tal would leap to help because he owed this woman a debt. The last thing Rosa wanted now was for her to see him and remind him of it.

"No," she insisted and pushed him back toward the Keeper's aravel. "You have to protect your family."

Tal's look was stubborn. "You are my family, too."

"I didn't just give birth," Rosa reminded him. She lifted Nola's staff, getting a feel for it. "Stay close to your partner and your son. They're vulnerable."

Tal wavered and then nodded. "I'll stay here."

"Good," she said and turned to hurry away to where the screams and the roar of fire still filled the air—but Tal caught her bicep before she could.

She turned round again to meet her brother's eye as he smiled at her. "Be careful, _asamalin._ Felenaste needs his aunt." He squeezed her arm and then let go of her.

"_Ma nuvenin, da'isamalin,"_ she said, smiling warmly back at him before she raced for the fighting.

A dozen scouts and soldiers were running from the stables and Rosa fell in with them. As they got close Rosa saw the red fire had spread out again, licking at the ashes, crimson lyrium crystals, and the bodies of the fallen around the tents. Three soldiers rushed the woman together, shouting to rally themselves and their comrades. But as they met with the red halo and flames enveloping their foe they quailed, coughing and choking and falling back.

Arrows streaked in from the gate where scouts appeared, likely on patrol from the valley below. A few of them had red smears and black ash on their clothes. Alarm zinged through Rosa as she realized they must be from the watch Cullen kept on the Elvhen ruins below Skyhold. That meant this woman had arrived by eluvian and, inadvertently, Rosa hadn't been lying when she spread the rumor that Darkspawn could come from the ruins below. Because, after a fashion, that was just what this woman was.

None of the arrows found their mark. The red fire disintegrated them to ash before they came close. The soldiers who'd charged her now rushed away to safety. Were they infected? Rosa's mind spun with horror. How many of her people might this woman kill in the worst possible way? She was a red lyrium bomb. How were they to defuse it? None could get close to her and arrows couldn't reach her…

"We need more mages," she shouted, looking around her for any nearby scouts who might be in position to round up some more of their people. "Mages! Mages, to me!" She thrust up Nola's stave to direct attention to herself and quickly tossed barriers over everyone around her to protect them.

The elven woman had noticed her now, too. _"Fenesvir's daughter,"_ she yelled in that unnaturally loud voice, booming through the courtyard. _"I am Zevanni. I must speak with you." _The red flames about her collapsed inward, but the red halo remained, pulsating and wavering like a heat mirage. Little red streaks like lightning crackled in the red haze.

Zevanni still spoke elven, meaning it was gibberish to the others. Rosa ignored it and spun her staff, casting winter's grasp to try and put out the rest of flames. The spell cracked like glass and frost colored Zevanni white. The woman hissed with pain, but her motion was slowed by the frost. The flames went out but the dangerous haze of red dimmed and diminished only slightly.

Rosa left the crowd of soldiers and scouts, edging closer with more bravado than she felt. Leading with one palm, crackling with winter magic, she cast an ice mine, altered into a hold spell that would hurt Zevanni the more she struggled. As the winter's grasp released she activated the ice mine and shouted, "Drop your barrier."

As the ice mine took hold of her Zevanni let out a cry, small and mortal, no longer the terrifying booming voice of before. White ice crawled up her emaciated frame, encasing her all the way to her shoulders so she was immobile. The red haze shrank down until it clung to her, as close as the ice. _"Please,"_ she said, still using elven. Her eyes were red, glittering like crystals, but through it Rosa could still see flecks of brown. _"He sent me to die with honor and to take out as many of your people as I could, but I came because only you or Talassan can save me."_

Rosa recoiled at the words before she could stop herself, but whether it was Zevanni's insistence that she could be saved or the news about Solas sending her to die, she wasn't sure. Both ideas were awful. She should kill Zevanni. It would be a mercy now, clearly. But in that moment of uncertainty, where she stared at the elven woman with both horror and pity—and no small amount of shock as she tried to puzzle out if Solas really could have sent her—Zevanni spoke again.

"Save me," she pleaded. "Spare me and I will serve you. I will take you to the Dread Wolf."

It took Rosa a moment to realize Zevanni had switched languages. Worse, she was staring over Rosa's shoulder, at the rest of the Inquisition behind her.

"Please," Zevanni cried again, agonized. "I beg you! Lock me away until you can cure me. I cannot control my actions, but I am myself now." She shivered, her skin gone gray with the continued grip of Rosa's ice mine. The red lyrium showed through the paper-thin skin in angry red lines. It made her look garish and ghastly, like a bleeding apparition. "I will give you his secrets. I will help you find him. I will tell you his plans…"

Rosa glanced over her shoulder and saw that Zevanni was speaking more to Leliana now, who'd joined the group behind her, flanked by a gaggle of armed scouts. The redhead looked dangerous, glaring. But her lips parted slightly, a sign she was taken aback by this offer. Tempted.

If she didn't act now there was a good chance Leliana would step in and try to stop her.

Facing Zevanni again, Rosa scowled and shook her head. "I'm sorry." She pulled mana, closing her fist to fuel another burst of freezing cold that would weaken Zevanni enough that she could kill her with a precise blow by Fade stone—but then the red lyrium haze suddenly swelled outward in a perversion of a mind blast.

The impact was like a physical slap as it hit Rosa, knocking her backward. Cold snow from the courtyard bit into her skin, contrasting painfully with the sizzling heat of the red lyrium. But that was nothing compared to the hissing whispers that filled her mind, scratching like a thousand tiny claws, raking her skull from the inside.

_"_ _We are here. We have waited. We have slept. We are sundered. We are crippled. We are polluted. We endure. We wait. We have found the dreams again. We will awaken."_

The scalding touch inside her, burning and knifelike at once, tore through her mind. She felt it digging like a worm, wriggling, searching. It tasted her, like a wolf tearing flesh from its prey, and burned all the hotter as recognition echoed through it.

_We have found you._

For an instant she saw two figures, indistinct but somehow they _felt_ male. One was gold, the other silver. Red haze encircled them both and then swelled, filling everything and obliterating the two figures. Cloying hands suffocated her. She tasted blood and felt herself thrashing against cold snow.

_We know you,_ the whispers hissed and she felt their triumph as a terrible pain-pleasure until the red became black as she passed out.

* * *

"The scouts that survived say she came from the elven ruins," Leliana said in a hushed voice at Tal's side. He stared fixedly at Rosa lying in her enormous bed up in the Inquisitor's tower, struggling to process Leliana's report. Healers scurried around her, making observations and chattering in quiet tones. _Elfroot? Spindleweed? Arbor's blessing? Bloodletting, perhaps? _

"She came through the eluvian," the spymaster added meaningfully and unnecessarily. They both knew Tal knew what an eluvian was, but Leliana was struggling without the Inquisitor to report to. Tal was her inadequate stand in at the present. Partly Leliana needed him to be here overnight, to debrief Rosa if Leliana herself was asleep or absent. It was hard to imagine the spymaster actually slept, though.

Tal grunted at her. He had no other response. Dimly, he sensed that Leliana wanted something unspoken from him. She was trying to suss something out. Tal didn't know what and could hardly bring himself to care. His mind was full of his newborn son and his sister. One half elated and shocked, the other anxious and fearful. He wrung his hands as Leliana went on.

"We lost forty-two in total," Leliana murmured. "Mostly soldiers from the squad guarding the ruins. She ambushed them."

"Infected or dead?" Tal blurted, not taking his eyes off his sister's pale form in the bed. It seemed about fifty-fifty for the scouts and soldiers who'd run across the red haze. Some showed infection. Others did not. No one could tell yet with Rosa, but the fact she was unconscious did not bode well. Most of those who passed out either died from the attacker's fire or later woke infected according to Leliana.

"Both," Leliana admitted, grave. "The infected took poison. It was quick and painless. I have quarantined a few others to be sure they do not contract it." She was silent a moment and then drew in a slow breath. "Tal, we must make contingency plans if she is infected."

Tal shut his eyes now and swallowed hard. "No. You don't know if she's infected. She's going to be fine." Maybe this was what Leliana wanted from him. If Rosa died of red lyrium infection the Inquisition would be suddenly leaderless at a pivotal moment when they were about to take Corypheus head on for the first time since Haven. Cassandra or one of Rosa's advisors would fill that role at once, but Tal was Rosa's only present family, which meant that everyone defaulted to him in decisions regarding Rosa's health. If she showed signs of infection and did not seem capable of waking they'd want to give her a merciful death and they'd want his permission to do it.

Leliana was silent for a while, watching the healers too. Then, just as Tal knew she would and dreaded it, she continued. "This elven woman made some interesting claims."

Tal scowled and now did break his gaze from Rosa to glare at Leliana. "Like what?" This was another delicate line he had to walk and he tensed, though he tried to hide it. He knew, though he had not seen her, that the attacker was Zevanni, afflicted by red lyrium. Rosa had warned him months ago that Solas had asked her to help him cure Zevanni. It hadn't worked out, for obvious reasons, and they'd feared something like this might happen. Not that he really knew what _this_ was exactly. Had Solas sent Zevanni to hurt them? Had Zevanni come on her own, betraying her master?

Leliana should know none of that, but Zevanni might have said anything in the courtyard in the spymaster's earshot. And, disturbingly, Leliana had already acted counter to Rosa's desires by locking Zevanni up rather than killing her in the immediate aftermath. Whatever Zevanni's last attack was that knocked Rosa unconscious it had apparently been too much for her to handle, too. After Zevanni fell unconscious it was up to Rosa's advisors to deal with her and they had chosen to not kill her, even though Rosa's last act was to try and execute the elven woman. They had good reasons, of course—a quest for answers and insight on their new pseudo-enemy. But they were still defying Rosa to get those answers.

"She said she would betray Solas. She seems to believe we have some secret method of curing red lyrium infection." Leliana's smile was grim. "She's going to be sorely disappointed, but perhaps we can save that information for last and learn something of value from her."

Tal blew out a long breath. His thoughts on this were conflicted. Before Zevanni attacked them Tal would have argued that they try to save her. He owed Zevanni. But in this moment, watching his stricken sister, and worrying about Nola and his newborn son, Tal's instinct was to kill her rather than risk anything. His jaw clenched with quiet rage as he considered the possibility that Solas _had_ orchestrated this to weaken them. Maybe even to leave Rosa bedridden so he could sneak in and take the Anchor from her somehow…

"She seems to know you," Leliana added then.

Tal's head whipped toward her, frowning at the spymaster. He opened his mouth to reply and then shut it again, seeing the sharp, dangerous intelligence burning behind Leliana's blue eyes. She was watching him, puzzling out what she couldn't see. She must know Rosa had hidden things from her.

Finally Tal shrugged and watched Rosa again. Leliana probably saw right through him, but Tal wasn't of a state of mind he could play the Game right now.

"There was something else, very strange," Leliana went on almost absently. "She mentioned an elven god. The Dread Wolf. The trickster god, no?"

It was so bizarre to hear a _shemlen_, especially one devoted to their Maker and prophetess, speak aloud of one of the Creators. Tal saw little sense in denying it now. It'd be suspicious if he did, considering his background. "Yeah," he muttered. "The Dread Wolf is a trickster god."

"She spoke of him as though he were a real, living person. The Dalish say he locked away their other gods?" Leliana asked, although by her tone Tal guessed she already knew. It made sense for the spymaster to have researched this, considering the Dalish heritage of the Inquisitor. Leliana had always seemed wickedly smart, like a sharp blade honed by a whetstone.

Tal nodded without looking at her. He could already guess where she was going with this and was powerless to stop it. He hadn't known Zevanni dropped the wolf god's name until now. Leliana had cornered him. It made frightening sense now why she had kept Zevanni alive. She wanted answers, regardless of what Rosa wanted.

"So he is the only one of them that remains free," the spymaster finished.

"When did you start believing in our gods?" Tal asked sarcastically. It was the only little means he had of getting back at her now that he knew he was pinned.

"I don't," Leliana quickly explained. "But just because they weren't gods does not mean they did not exist, or that one of them could not be a threat to us. Tevinter's Old Gods are the same. I can know they are real without believing they are gods." She made a face, concentrating or at least making a show of it. "Legends of old often ring with truth. Is not Corypheus enough proof of that?"

"Sure," Tal muttered. "But I don't really care about all that right now." He shot her a glare, hoping she would leave off with her Game for a time and give him some distance to compose himself. And, maybe, if he could sneak away he could take on invisibility and slip down to Zevanni's cell and execute her. If she was willing to carelessly drop the wolf's name around the _shemlen_ like that she might say _anything._

"Of course," Leliana said, smiling wanly as she too turned her attention to Rosa's bed again. It'd been less than an hour since the attack, and less than two hours ago Tal had watched his firstborn child be born. Surely she'd allow him a little time to process.

One of the healers, a young elven woman, snuck a look at him from her work grinding herbs. Tal had noticed her checking him out a few times, but her expression made it clear she wasn't admiring him—more like spying. She seemed anxious, her hands shaking as she worked. Sweat lined her brow. Her eyes darted a little too quick when she looked away from him.

_Void take me,_ he cursed inwardly. _I do not need this right now. _Was this spy here to poison his sister? His hands dropped to his sides and curled into fists, but he held himself back. What if he was wrong? He couldn't just start attacking any barefaced elf thinking they were all _his_ spies.

A scout approached up the stairwell, stopping just on the other side of the railing and calling to Leliana. "Sister Nightingale." When both Tal and Leliana turned to look the scout made a little nod and said, "She's come round."

"Good," Leliana said, her voice dark. She reached out and laid a hand on Tal's forearm. "I am going to interrogate the prisoner. I think it'd be best if you stayed to watch over the Inquisitor."

Tal fought to keep his expression blank. He was caught between two responsibilities. On one end he wanted to confront the possible spy and keep watch over Rosa, to make sure she stayed safe. On the other hand he _really_ needed to be there for the interrogation. _Especially_ if Leliana wanted to keep him away.

Thinking quickly, he stabbed a finger at the elven healer he suspected was a spy. "Hey, you…"

She looked up at him, stiffening. "Yes, ser?"

"Will you come get me the moment she wakes up?" he asked, shooting Leliana a sidelong look. "I need to see the prisoner."

The healer nodded. "Of course, ser."

That would ensure if Rosa did waken he'd know about it swiftly and this spy would be the one to fetch him, giving him a chance to confront her alone and get her out of this room. Plus he planned to grab one of the inner circle, undoubtedly waiting in the main hall anxiously for news, and send them up with special instruction to watch all the healers for suspicious behavior. Most of the inner circle knew _something_ fishy was going on, and many of them might even guess it had to do with Solas' sudden disappearance, though Rosa limited the more thorough explanation to her advisors. None of them would question his request anyway. They were all worried about Rosa.

He expected Leliana would protest his motion to join her for the interrogation, but the spymaster was mum. She followed the scout and they descended the stairs, leaving the tower.

* * *

A red and black wolf stalked Rosa. She ran, half blind in darkness, heart pounding and skin afire. Doused in sweat, she slipped on slick stone and fell to her knees. She landed hard, but oddly there was no pain from the impact on her knees.

She heard the wolf close behind, slavering with hunger. It had caught her before. Its very presence broiled her skin. She ran to stay away from the pain, but she was tired. Soon her stamina would fail and the wolf would catch her for the last time.

She tried, again, to grasp this place of darkness with her will. It had to be a dream, but it didn't feel like the Fade, nor did it connect with her the way she expected. She _could_ influence it, though. Sometimes, when she concentrated, she could feel the world shift and see light flood in. She heard sounds other than her own ragged breathing and the panting of the wolf at her back—voices, whispered, and snatches of urgent chatter.

But always her grip slipped and the darkness surrounded her again. It did the same now and she felt despair open wide inside her, aching and horrible. Tears stung her eyes, oddly cold. If she gave in, if she didn't fight, she knew she would die. The wolf would take her. The wolf would win.

"_It's not a wolf,"_ a small voice spoke into her ear.

What?

She rose to her feet and pivoted in the dark to face the thing pursuing her, despite the fear choking her. It was a red and black wolf, made of both smoke and flame. Six eyes glowed on its head and embers dripped like saliva from its jaws. It was the only light in the darkness and it was terrible. The brightness cut at her eyes like glass. The heat of it baked her skin.

"_It is what you make it,"_ the voice told her. _"Your fear makes it a wolf."_

Like a demon, she thought. _Was_ it a demon? Demons reacted to and were shaped by the dreamer in varying degrees. Was this one something she could change if she tried?

The wolf snarled, snapping its jaws. _Fear us, _da'len.

"_It needs you to run,"_ the voice whispered. _"It wants your fear. Don't give it."_

Rosa steeled her spine, bracing against the onslaught of pain. She gritted her teeth and shouted, "I am of the last Elvhen. Never shall I yield."

The wolf's six eyes blinked at her and the fire rose higher, as though its hackles bristled. _To fight us is to know only pain, _da'len._ We will not submit easily._

Submit?

"_Yes,"_ the voice said, encouraging her. _"You're right. Keep going."_

This was a battle of wills, not a desperate flight to escape. The only way to save her life was to fight.

"_Yes,"_ the voice agreed. _"You're strong and it can feel it. It's afraid but excited, too. It's not had a master in a very long time." _

A master…?

The wolf snapped its jaws again. _Enough talk, _da'len._ Run or die!_

Rosa stayed her ground as the beast sprang at her. The heat burned as it collided with her, fangs sinking into her arms as she lifted them to block it. "No!"

Smoke filled her eyes, nose, and mouth. Beneath it, she tasted the iron-salt tang of blood. She didn't run, but she did cry out. _If I die,_ she thought,_ I will do it on my feet, fighting!_

For an instant the pain went white hot, lightning streaks through her brain. She gasped and suddenly saw the bedposts of her chambers in the Inquisitor's tower. She saw healers in various garbs from Inquisition jerkins to Chantry whites scurrying round her. Saw them gasping and crying in alarm, heard prayers to the Maker and the Chant.

But to her far right, at the edge of her vision and sitting beside her pillows, she saw the wide brimmed hat of a blond boy she recognized. _Cole_. Watching over her.

And then the darkness took her again.

The wolf was waiting to finish burning her alive. She braced for more pain.

* * *

Zevanni lay slumped at the back of her cell. Chains clattered as she moved, lifting her head to stare out of the iron bars well out of her reach. Her chest rose and fell too fast. Lank, dirty hair fell around her face. Tal pitied her even as he tried to consider the best way to kill her, quickly. She'd once been a vibrant woman, brash and sexy. While there was no emotion between himself and Zevanni, Tal remembered his time traveling with her band of so-called roving Dalish with fondness.

Of course, when he'd known her, Zevanni boasted vallaslin. Now she was barefaced. Because she never was Dalish. She was Fen'Harel's agent. Did he really still owe her a favor if she only rescued him because her master told her to? He _hated_ that thought, especially because fast on its heels came another—she probably only fucked him on Fen'Harel's orders, too. She'd seemed especially interested in his heritage. Now he knew how Solas had truly learned of their ancestry.

It was frustrating to wonder if, maybe, Solas learned of their ancestry sooner he might have spared Felassan. He couldn't let himself fall down that rabbit hole of blame. Solas had killed Felassan and lied to them repeatedly for _years_ of his own volition. It didn't matter when he knew about who their father was. It changed nothing except…

_You used me,_ he thought and wanted to go throw up and take a bath. And maybe have a bottle of wine. Or ten. He'd thought back on his brief roll in the hay with this woman as a pleasant encounter, but now…he felt violated. Filthy.

Pushing those memories aside, and hoping Leliana couldn't somehow see it all, he focused on the present. He had to make sure Zevanni was silenced before she could do more damage. Whatever she'd done to him on Solas' orders, well, _no one_ deserved a slow death descending into feverish madness like this.

"Ah," Leliana started in a falsely cheery voice. "You're awake."

Zevanni's head slumped forward again. The chains clattered slightly. "Talassan," she said, ignoring Leliana. "Have you come to cure me?"

Tal clenched his jaw, glaring. "Why would I do anything to help you after you attacked my sister?"

"She was going to kill me," Zevanni answered, her voice quiet and breathy. "I didn't hurt her."

"That remains to be seen," Leliana interjected and then asked, "Why are you so convinced we can heal you? Red lyrium infection is incurable, just like Blight. Did Solas tell you we could cure you? If he did, he's lying."

Zevanni let out a weak laugh. _"Shemlen."_

Tal broke out in a cold sweat. This was _not_ going anywhere good. "No one can cure you," he barked, fear making him snappish. "Rosa was trying to kill you out of mercy. You're suffering."

"Yes," she replied, shuddering. "I am. _Hahren_ cannot cure me. He's spent months trying." She shifted slightly, raising her head and now looking at Leliana. "You kept me alive. You could have killed me. You have my thanks. I am ready to repay you…" She shivered again, rattling the chains. "Just cure me, first. I don't have much time."

"We cannot cure you," Leliana repeated, sounding baffled now. "And why should we believe you?" Her voice darkened with quiet rage. "You killed forty-two of my best men and women. You may have poisoned the Inquisitor, too. We have no way of curing _her._ Why would we even try to help _you?"_

Zevanni chuckled, before cutting herself off with a ragged moan. Her body convulsed in another fit of feverish shivering. The red haze clinging to her intensified. Both Tal and Leliana took a step backward at the sight. The various soldiers and Templars also in the jail did the same, tensing in preparation for a fight. But instead of struggling, Zevanni merely spoke again, slipping from common to elven.

"_Is this a conversation you truly want to have in front of the humans?"_

The threat was unmistakable. And, if Tal had any doubts about it Zevanni destroyed them when she lifted her head and made eye contact with him. Her chapped lips twitched up slightly and her red eyes, glittering with infected lyrium, narrowed sinisterly. She would tell Leliana anything and everything if it would force Tal or Rosa to help her.

Losing his nerve, Tal pivoted on his heel and took Leliana's arm, tugging her to one side and hissing under his breath, "Please, just kill her. _Please._"

Leliana frowned at him, openly suspicious. "What did she say?"

"It doesn't matter," Tal insisted. "She's lying. She's not right in the head. She's trying to turn us against each other, just like a demon would."

From inside the cell Zevanni's voice shouted, loud and booming. _"This is your last chance, Talassan!"_ The soldiers and Templars all readied their weapons, steadying themselves for combat. Still, despite everyone's tenseness, it didn't come. Zevanni did not unleash red lyrium and didn't fight with her shackles. Tal wished she would because then he could kill her and end this threat.

Leliana hesitated, doubt obvious in her blue eyes. "She will have valuable insight on Solas' people," the spymaster protested, then, lowering her voice, she added, "And perhaps she can tell me something you'd rather I not learn?"

Tal winced and quickly lied with a meaningless lead. "Yeah, okay, there is. She and I fucked a while back. I didn't want to tell you, but there it is. So I knew her, and this is awkward as _fuck_ but she's clearly suffering and—"

"Talassan!" Zevanni shouted, rattling the chains rhythmically. "Son of Felassan. Grandson of Dir—"

Tal whipped back to the bars and yelled over her, "Shut the fuck up!" Trembling, he glared at her, mana boiling inside. He drew on it, shaping a fireball massive enough he might be able to burn her into nothing but ash before Leliana and the others could blink, but the spymaster grabbed his wrist, yanking away from the bars.

"What were you thinking?" she demanded under her breath, getting into his face. "You were close enough she could have attacked you like she did your sister."

Heart hammering and red faced, Tal let the mana flow away. "I'm sorry," he stammered, feeling tears prick his eyes. "It's been kind of an emotional day for me," he quipped, trying to be lighthearted about it. The words came out more sullen than he wanted.

Still, it worked enough that Leliana's expression softened. "We should wait for the Inquisitor to wake," she murmured.

"Thank you," Tal said, slumping with relief. He shivered, the sweat covering him going cold as some of his tension eased.

Motioning at the guards, Leliana said, "Keep watch on her. Kill her if she tries anything." The soldiers and Templars nodded.

Tal started out of the hall, heading for the stairs leading back into the keep proper, but Zevanni called after him in elven: _"Tell your sister if she doesn't help me I will tell these humans everything. The Wolf. Your heritage. All of it. If none of you will help me, I will take you all down with me."_

Tal kept his expression impassive when he felt Leliana's curious gaze on him. What would Leliana and the others do if they knew the truth? He didn't know but he also didn't want to find out. Yet, Zevanni's threat seemed thin compared to the looming danger that at any moment he might learn Rosa was infected with red lyrium. And, despite Zevanni's insistence that they knew a cure, he wasn't convinced there was a way out of it.

As he reentered the courtyard, parting from Leliana to return to Nola's aravel to see his son, Tal spotted the elven healer he suspected of being a spy. She was across the courtyard, marching with her head down, heading straight for the gate. The guards and all she passed paid her no mind. This healer and many others moved freely about Skyhold. Everyone knew they frequently needed to go out of the keep to search for herbs and minerals in the mountain forests.

Somehow Tal didn't think she was just out for a little herb hunting this time.

Changing course, Tal hurried after her. His swift stride quickly closed on her, intercepting her as she walked past the open guardhouse. Tal snatched her wrist in a crushing grip and she gasped, yanking to try and escape his hold. She froze as she recognized him and Tal saw tears glittering on her cheeks and in her eyes. "Ser…?" she asked.

"_Ar-melana dirthavaren,"_ Tal growled at her under his breath._ "Revas vir-anaris."_

She recoiled, lips parted. "I don't…"

"_Ma harel,"_ Tal snarled and gave her a shake. "Don't lie to me!"

And just as fear snapped into Tal that he might have accosted an innocent healer, she cracked. Her jaw squared and her eyes narrowed, though grief still shone in them. "He sent me to warn the Inquisitor," she said. "He didn't send Zevanni. She escaped and came here. She's not herself. The lyrium has made her into the demons' puppet."

Tal blinked, taken aback as he remembered his own words to Leliana: _she's trying to turn us against each other, just like a demon. _Apparently he was more correct than he'd known. The healer spy wrenched her wrist out of his grasp. Tal let her go, staring at her hard. She returned it, fearless, but the pain in her eyes seemed real…

Horror gripped Tal's heart. "What happened? Is Rosa…?"

The healer let out a choked sob. "She's infected."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Leliana's eyes narrowed dangerously. "One thing I know very well is that elven is a dead language." She edged closer to Rosa, her tone low with threat. _"No one_ speaks it like you and Tal and Solas. I watched the man from your clan while he was here, Mahanon, the one you were betrothed to during the Conclave. _He_ did not know it. I've said nothing about this. It wasn't important. Until now." The spymaster stabbed a gloved finger at the closed guardhouse door. "Our prisoner speaks it just like you and your brother. What am I to think, Inquisitor? What is the connection you and Tal have to Solas' spy network?"

"We were being groomed to join," Rosa hedged, heart racing as she went on the defensive. "Our father taught us the language. It's part of our heritage."

* * *


	62. Red Lyrium Part 2: Lin'es Dirthamen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa wakes changed from her red lyrium nightmare. But is it for the better?

Whether it was hours, days, minutes, or just seconds that went by, Rosa didn't know. Her reality was nothing but burning pain, knives cutting her. But Cole was with her in the darkness and his presence blunted the pain until eventually it receded into just a faint ache.

Rosa found she could see the wolf again. Now it was…beautiful and terrible at once. Its light still stung her eyes, but she could tolerate it. The heat was unpleasant on her skin, but not quite burning. The beast regarded her from just beyond arm's reach. Its teeth still showed, but fiery embers no longer dribbled from its mouth.

The six eyes on its head coalesced into just two. The flame and shadow faded and diminished slightly.

"_It's tired,"_ Cole's voice said in her ear. She could see the truth of that in the way the wolf lowered its head and then even dropped into a sitting position.

_You are strong, _hahren, the wolf spoke without moving its mouth. It had called her a child before, marking her as diminutive, unworthy of respect. Now it had changed its mind, evidently. _But you could be stronger. _

And now the ache that still hurt under her skin eased into a pleasure-pain. She inhaled sharply, eyesight blurring. The wolf wavered in front of her until its shape seemed to transform. Its ears twisted into horns, its legs splayed outward from its body. The tail grew longer and leaner. Fur collapsed flat to its skin and wings sprouted from its shoulders.

It was a dragon now, but shrunken to be no bigger than a horse and still made of shadow and flame. _You are worthy and of the Master's blood,_ it said. _Let us show you what we can achieve as one._

Rosa saw herself in the forests of the Arbor Wilds with a legion of red Templars before her. Fearless and frothing, the horde was wild and wanton and ready for violence. It was mindless, driven to destruction by Corypheus, one strain of Blight following another. Rosa saw herself walk alone toward the horde, with the whole of her Inquisition behind her but unneeded. She felt the same pleasure-pain burning in her blood as before and saw the red Templars fall with but a thought. Red lyrium consumed their bodies like maggots feeding on a corpse, but so fast they vanished in moments. She saw the red shards move like water, flowing into one another and then dissolving away to nothing.

_We are a tool of nature made wieldable, _the wolf-turned dragon told her and now she recognized its voice as the whispers she'd heard before from red lyrium and when she'd closed the breach back in Haven. _We are not evil unless unchecked or in the hands of the unworthy, like the Darkspawn Magister. Our enemies are our master's enemies. Unbridled, we kill indiscriminately, but we exist to serve. _

Rosa saw a garden, perfect in its beauty and elegance. _We prune the garden of excess growth and weeds. We restore balance so the whole survives. Sacrifice is always required, but we are not malicious or evil. _

The garden decayed as she watched, choked with weeds as it returned to a wild state until, outgrowing its borders, the plants withered and died as one mass. Rosa recoiled, trying to will the image away as the stink of decay hit her. _No, no,_ she railed against this message. _No one should have that power!_ _It shouldn't exist!_

_But we do, _it replied. _And we cannot be undone. Leaderless, or with one like the Darkspawn Magister who leads through Imshael, we kill the garden as a Blight. We do not wish this. There must be balance. There must be a leader. _

She couldn't feel Cole any longer. Fear nestled in her heart, cold and sharp. She couldn't do this. Solas was right. This power should never have been co-opted by her ancestors. One strain of Blight was bad enough. The true Darkspawn seemed to have leadership though, or at least something drove them to dig underground searching for the Old Gods. But the Blight in red lyrium was masterless and spread wantonly. But the idea that it wasn't evil and couldn't be stopped except by a leader…

_No,_ she protested it. _No, I can't do this. I can't take this power for myself!_

The wolf-turned-dragon reappeared before her, red flames and smoke again. The beast reared on its hind legs and spread ghastly wings out. _We are here,_ it hissed in its harsh whisper. _We have slept. We endure."_

The warmth and light from the dragon diminished as it began to fade, leaving Rosa alone in the dark. Its last words rang out ominous, like a promise: _"We wait."_

And Rosa opened her eyes, gasping as she sat up in her bed. Healers stood around her, tears in their eyes and their mouths covered in varying degrees of shock. And then, to her far right, Rosa saw Cole as he reached over and gripped her shoulder, smiling.

"Welcome back."

* * *

"She's infected."

The world swung wildly around Tal as the words hit him. His stomach fell. His chest constricted with grief even as he heard himself deny it. "You're wrong. You have to be. Zevanni came here to try and force us to heal her, not to infect Rosa."

"She's not herself," the healer repeated through tears that seemed genuine. He struggled, trying to recall how long he had seen this healer around Skyhold. Had she been here long enough to care for them really? Not just as a spy? She'd stayed here when they knew other elven scouts and soldiers went missing.

"Her motives may change from moment to moment," the healer said. She drew in a ragged breath. "But there is always one truth of Blight. It wants only to spread."

That did feel like truth. A terrible truth that hurt down in his very bones.

Tal nodded to himself, determined to see through this initial reaction toward hope. "She's not just any old person, though," he mumbled, more to himself than to the healer. She was a grandchild of Dirthamen. Solas had said this strain of Blight could be controlled. It was that thinking that convinced Zevanni to come here in the first place.

"She is not Dirthamen," the healer said, urgency in her voice. "Please, let me go. I must contact _hahren, _somehow. He must be here when she…"

"What?" Tal snapped, snarling. "When she dies? Is that what you were going to say? Why? So Chuckles can take the Creators-damned Anchor?" He cursed bitterly. "Over my dead body." He grabbed a bit of knockout powder from the belt at his waist and tossed a pinch at her, stepping back to make sure he didn't inhale any himself.

The healer gasped, staggering away from the cloud of knockout powder, but she was too late. Her eyelids drooped and she swayed, falling. Tal held his breath and averted his head as he ducked close, catching her. Tucking her into his arms, Tal quickly jogged back into the courtyard and shouted at the nearest soldier. "I have a spy!"

The bewildered guard took the healer and Tal sent a scout headed to fetch Leliana. Then, hurrying with the fierce pounding of his heart, Tal rushed for the upper courtyard. He had to see Rosa for himself.

The inner circle as well as Rosa's advisors were mingling in the main hall, laughing and jovial. The mood was…odd. Tal slowed, frowning as he took in the smiling faces and happy tears. "What's going on…?"

"A bloody miracle," Dorian replied first, smiling warmly with relief. As he took in Tal's expression he added, "I take it you haven't heard, then?"

"Heard what?" Tal asked, exasperated. He didn't dare let himself believe yet that the healer had lied to him. She seemed too genuine.

"Well," Dorian said, teasing his mustache in an idle motion. "One of the Inquisitor's healers came rushing down a few minutes ago to tell us the Herald of Andraste has been blessed with another miracle. It seems the old girl _was_ infected with red lyrium, but has somehow been cured of it."

"What?" Tal squawked, baffled more than relieved. "How is that possible…?"

Dorian shrugged. "Damned if I know. I know what the Chantry will say, of course, but I am more than a mite curious to know what _she_ has to say. I doubt she's suddenly going to come out singing the Chant. If she did I'd be sure we were dealing with demonic possession."

Someone had to be lying. This didn't make any sense. Tal made a weak laugh, more strained than real—ironic that Dorian should mention possession. It made him shudder.

Dorian had barely finished his sentence when Tal turned and rushed for the stairs leading up to the Inquisitor's tower. Panting as he raced up the steps, Tal narrowly avoided a healer carrying a tray of tea who yelped as he scurried past, beating her up the stairs.

As he burst into Rosa's room, Tal saw Cole sitting beside his sister on the bed. Rosa looked a touch pale but otherwise seemed fine. A healer was currently poking at her, shining a light into her left eye. Three healers in Chantry garb were crying as they sang the Chant near the foot of Rosa's bed.

"_Asamalin?"_ Tal called in a wavering voice as he stepped closer.

Rosa batted the healer's light aside, dismissing her. "Go on, I'm fine. I was never infected."

"You _were,"_ Cole corrected her in a whispery voice.

"I wasn't," Rosa retorted. She smiled to Tal. "_Da'isamalin,_ what happened?"

Tal swallowed the lump in his throat, unsure what to say. "One of the healers said you were infected," he blurted, blinking and feeling a hot tear land on his cheek. "But you're not…?"

"I'm not," Rosa said, smiling. She looked tired, like after a big fight or closing a particularly tough rift. Motioning at the healers, especially the ones singing the Chant in praise to the Maker, she said, "Apparently they _think_ I was infected one second and then I wasn't when I woke up an instant later."

"Gasping, white-hot pain," Cole babbled at her side. "Bloodshot eyes, nose bleeding, crimson on her lips. The dragon loves it when the strong ones run." He fell silent a moment, twiddling his thumbs, and then added, "They saw it out here—except, not the dragon. That was inside."

Well, that made almost no sense. Still, Tal's relief swelled as Rosa seemed uninfected, no matter what anyone had seen earlier. He rushed to her bed, half falling into it to hug her, even as one of the healers protested that he would crush her. _"Asamalin!_ I'm so glad you're okay…" His eyes stung with fresh tears and before he knew exactly what he was doing, Tal was sobbing.

"It's all right," Rosa said, patting his back as he drew away, embarrassedly wiping at the tears.

"It's been an emotional last few hours," he said and let out a choked laugh that became a sob.

"Yes," she agreed, smiling tightlipped now and at last Tal saw a hint of something worrying in her violet eyes. "And something tells me it's not over yet."

* * *

It was the next morning before Rosa had the stamina to make an attempt to return to her duties. She tried to hide it, but her arms and legs were shaky with a disturbing residual weakness. To her dismay the whole keep was reporting she was infected and then cured right before the healers' eyes by the Maker or Andraste or who knew what god or goddess it was. Rosa had half a mind the next time someone asked her about it to start spouting gibberish to make the person uncomfortable.

"_Oh yes! You mean when Elgar'nan dick whipped me in the face yesterday evening and in so doing cured me of red lyrium infection? Yes, I definitely remember that happening! Have you ever had the pleasure of being struck in the face by an elven god's cock? What wondrous genitals!"_

The truth was far scarier than fiction and already growing hazy in her mind. Only Cole seemed to know about it, something she was grateful for because the spirit was good at keeping secrets. Besides, Rosa hadn't even managed to discuss it with Tal yet to see what he thought of it. Was it a bizarre dream? A hallucination? Or was that a strange infection she did somehow overcome?

But mostly, she just wanted to pretend it never happened.

Yet there was one major hurdle to her doing that—Zevanni. Learning that Leliana kept the elven woman alive irritated her and struck a cold arrow of fear straight to her core. It was obvious Leliana suspected she and Tal of hiding something and hoped to use Zevanni to find out what it was. Rosa could hardly blame the spymaster for her suspicions, but it was inconvenient.

So the following morning she made her way to the prison without announcing her plans in the hopes she might beat Leliana there. But as she entered the hall outside the cells a wave of vertigo made the world swim. She lurched to one side, a hand shooting out to catch herself on the wall. Shaking her head, she screwed up her face, struggling to focus through the sudden flush of heat that washed over her. Pain-pleasure pulsated through her for a moment before she stomped hard on it, hearing voices from ahead over the constant roar of glacial runoff beneath the deep cells.

"In the Dales, around the Exalted Plains," came Zevanni's voice, croaking.

"Good," came Leliana's reply. "And what numbers does he command?"

"I don't know exactly," the elf answered and must have shifted for her chains rattled. "I am—was—one of his top agents, but even I don't know."

"Can you guess?" Leliana pressed. "How many might we face attacking the camp where he is located?"

"His personal entourage is small," Zevanni answered. "He travels between base camps. He will be hard to find."

Leliana made a thoughtful sound, encouraging more from the prisoner.

Frowning to herself, Rosa pushed off the wall, loudly scuffing her feet in a purposeful noise to alert Leliana and Zevanni of an approaching person. They stayed silent as she neared, both with turned heads to watch her. Leliana smiled at her with what seemed to be genuine compassion. "Inquisitor," she said in greeting. "It's good to see you up and about."

Rosa nodded to acknowledge the spymaster and then immediately focused on Zevanni. The red haze around the woman was slight now but intense. Red lightning flickered soundlessly in the haze, like sparks arcing off her. The elven woman stared at her impassively for a moment and then her eyes fluttered shut and she let out a little moan that sounded like relief.

"It's done," she said, shaking. "It's worked." A weak chuckle spilled out of her that became a soft sob.

"What was that?" Rosa asked, barking the question. Yet, even before she finished asking it, she thought she knew. Something within her strained for Zevanni, drawn by instinct much the way the Fade connected with her in dreams. The burning inside became more pleasure than pain. Whispers spoke in her mind, soft as down feathers, inviting her to reach out. To connect.

"You know," Zevanni replied in a voice croaking with exhaustion and emotion. "Now—cure me." She broke off, muttering. "I have done it. Enough. No more."

"No one can cure you," Rosa snapped. "The only thing we can do is give you a merciful death."

"Lies," Zevanni grumbled and shivered. Her voice strengthened as she switched to elven. _"Cure me or I will tell your _shemlen_ friend who you really are."_

That was the same threat she apparently leveled at Tal the previous night. Rosa hesitated, still feeling the strange sensation inside, straining with temptation. The whispers were just barely audible if she concentrated. She knew, dreamlike, that if she engaged with that feeling inside she probably _could_ cure Zevanni. But…at what cost?

_I _was_ infected,_ she thought, feeling suddenly cold to the bone. And then, even more frightening came another idea hard on its heels. _What if I am _still_ infected?_

Heedless of Leliana's curious stare, Rosa edged closer to the bars of Zevanni's cell and spoke in elven. _"What did you do to me?"_

Zevanni shivered and let her head slump over, as though she lost consciousness. But her breathing rate and overall posture didn't change. She was still awake, just refusing to speak. Rosa snarled and raised her voice, shouting louder. _"You infected me, didn't you?"_

Now Zevanni let out a short, dry chuckle. _"One of the blood cannot be infected."_

"_Then what have you done?"_ Rosa demanded.

"_What I had to,"_ Zevanni replied, _"to save myself."_

Rosa growled in frustration at the vagueness of that answer and that was when Leliana reached out and grasped her shoulder. "Inquisitor," she interjected. "May I speak with you in private?"

Rosa nodded and started down the hall with the spymaster at her heels. At the stairwell there was an empty guardhouse and Leliana darted into it. Rosa followed her and closed the wooden door behind her. The room was dark, with no candles or torches. Rosa instinctively lit one palm with veilfire, letting it burn its eerie green in her marked left hand.

"What is it Leliana?" she asked, slumping with fatigue.

The spymaster's hood hid her features in darkness. She drew in a breath before she finally spoke. "It's clear to me you and Tal are hiding something and our prisoner is using it against you. Forgive me, Inquisitor, it is my duty to have a suspicious mind—even with those I respect and admire."

Rosa averted her gaze, scowling as Leliana forged on. "Tal told me something intriguing last night. He said this woman intends to drive us apart. I am coming to much the same conclusion. It would make a great deal of sense for someone like Solas to use our secrets against us, no? He knows everything about us and was especially close with you and Tal."

Sighing, Rosa looked back to the spymaster, biting her lip. "I'm not entirely convinced _he_ is behind this. Zevanni is mad and desperate because of the red lyrium." That was what Cole had been trying to tell her, before the attack, while Nola labored. Cole wouldn't lie to her, which meant nothing Zevanni said about being sent by her master was true. Her new master was whoever or _whatever_ held the leash on the red lyrium that was slowly killing her.

"Yes," Leliana agreed, nodding. "We must certainly keep an open mind. There's also a spy Tal captured yesterday." Her voice hardened as she went on and Rosa guessed she was angry with herself for not seeing the treachery. "One of the healers who attended you, no less. She claims Solas had no part in this, either." She shook her head. "But perhaps he allowed her to escape and sent a spy like this one to ensure we don't blame him? Surely you'd agree that is still responsibility for this attack, even if it is passive."

"Maybe," Rosa hedged, shrugging. Would that be enough to make Cole come forward with that message? She didn't know for sure.

"It's not important right now," Leliana said in a reassuring voice. "But what _is_ very important now is that we mustn't let Zevanni—" Leliana's accent warped the name and the redhead made a face, apparently disliking the way the name felt on her lips. "—sow suspicion between us. Do you agree?"

Rosa did, but she also knew the solution and dreaded it. She'd once faced a similar threat with Solas in the Hasmal Circle as the Formless One used her secrets against her. She realized now, looking back, that the demon had used _Solas'_ secrets, too. It almost made her laugh bitterly in memory, but she quashed the reaction, knowing Leliana wouldn't understand it.

"I know what you're asking," Rosa said slowly, eyeing the spymaster. "But there's nothing to tell."

"Inquisitor," Leliana protested, a note of anger and exasperation in her voice now. "Please. I've known for a long time you and Tal are not typical Dalish. Don't lie to me now when it's so obvious—"

"What's obvious?" Rosa snapped. "And what do you know about the Dalish?"

Leliana's expression creased with offense. "I have studied y—"

"Oh, so you read some books?" Rosa rejoined sarcastically. "Clearly you know your shit then and you must be an excellent judge of what is _typical_ Dalish everything."

Leliana's eyes narrowed dangerously. "One thing I know very well is that elven is a dead language." She edged closer to Rosa, her tone low with threat. _"No one_ speaks it like you and Tal and Solas. I watched Mahanon while he was here. _He_ did not know it. I've said nothing about this. It wasn't important. Until now." The spymaster stabbed a gloved finger at the closed guardhouse door. "Our prisoner speaks it just like you and your brother. What am I to think, Inquisitor? What is the connection you and Tal have to Solas' spy network?"

"We were being groomed to join," Rosa hedged, heart racing as she went on the defensive. "Our father taught us the language. It's part of our heritage."

"And where did he learn it?" Leliana countered.

"From his mother," Rosa shot back with a half-shrug. "Why are you riding my ass about something as stupid as what languages I speak?"

"Because as long as you and the prisoner can talk over me in a language no one else knows while I am standing in the same room I am handicapped," Leliana told her soberly, anger melting away. "I cannot perform my duty. So, I need the elven to stop and I _need_ to know what she is holding over your head, Inquisitor. Please. I cannot help you if I do not know."

"You don't want to know," Rosa muttered and then, as Leliana opened her mouth to protest, Rosa closed her fist over the veilfire and tore open the door. "The answer to this problem is very simple, Nightingale." Her feet pattered hard on the stone floor as she marched back into the open space lined with cells. Her eyes found Zevanni's slumped form and she drew mana for a spell to end the other woman's miserable life.

But Leliana grasped her forearm, staying her hand. "Inquisitor, no!"

And from her cell Zevanni cried out, "Your Herald can cure red lyrium infection, spymaster! She can cure it but she tells no one! You _shemlen_ know nothing about her!"

The guards and Templars stationed about the corridor had all tensed at the scuffle and the shouting. Maybe they thought Zevanni's words were meaningless gibberish or a perversion of the story currently floating about the keep regarding her miraculous recovery from red lyrium infection. But still, Rosa felt their gazes on her, wondering and appalled and baffled and a dozen other possible reactions, real or imagined. Panic surged into her throat like bile.

And Zevanni wasn't done shouting, yet. "You have raised a woman born of elven g—"

"Shut up!" Rosa shouted and panic made her instinctually reach out to that heat in her veins. It snapped into place, connecting just like the Fade did. The heady thrill of _power_ hit her, along with a welcoming rush, primal and forceful. Whatever this was, it _loved_ her, cleaving to her like a lover or a child with desperate need.

She heard Zevanni's voice cut off, gagging as though invisible hands held her throat and saw the elven woman straining against her chains. The red haze had changed, concentrating at her throat. The red lyrium pulsed under her skin, most visible at her throat, as though crystals were about to burst through her skin.

Horror snapped Rosa out of it. She let go, recoiling both physically and with whatever unseen senses she possessed. Her heart hammered and she panted, backing against the stone brick column behind her. Zevanni went limp in her cell, unconscious.

"Inquisitor," Leliana said, barely breathing her title. Her expression was both horrified and concerned. Was she just reacting to Rosa's outburst and Zevanni's accusation? Or did she _see_ something that connected Zevanni's red lyrium affliction with Rosa's command? Did the Blight magic show itself somehow in her face? Her eyes? Her skin?

Composing herself as if nothing odd happened at all, Rosa said, "This woman killed dozens of good men and women." Her voice held a deep rasping quality she barely recognized as her own. "She nearly killed me, too. The punishment is obvious. Nothing she can tell us is worth the price. She is to be executed at once." She glared at Leliana. "Do you understand?"

Leliana's expression went stony, though her blue eyes still showed a hint of concern. "Of course, Your Worship."

Rosa hurried past the spymaster, headed for the stairs as steadily as she could. But her knees were shaky, as wobbly as gelatin. Around the corner, at the stairwell where she was out of sight of both the guards and the spymaster, Rosa grabbed the railing, breathing hard as she tried to gather the wherewithal to leave despite the coiling fear within her.

_What am I? What have I done? _

* * *

It was just before noon that Tal and the rest of Skyhold gathered on the cold battlements and in the courtyards to witness the execution of the red lyrium addled elven woman who'd attacked them the previous day. A bitterly chill wind whipped the Inquisition's flags and tore at the clothes of all assembled. The glacial valley spread out below, walled on either side by jagged granite peaks. It was barren and inhospitable, matching the grimness of the execution. It also seemed to echo the bleakness in Tal's heart.

"For the deaths of forty-two Inquisition men and women," Rosa said, shouting above the angry howl of the wind. "I hereby sentence you to death."

Normally now Rosa would allow the condemned prisoner to say his or her final words. This was not the case now. Zevanni was on her knees, bound with heavy iron chains. She had been gagged and blindfolded. She was a pitiful sight, tiny and shaking against the wind. The red haze glowed around her, miserable. Her skin was paper-thin and as pale as the glaciers atop the Frostback peaks around the castle. Yet, Tal noticed that Zevanni's affliction seemed lessened somehow from the last time he had seen her. The red haze remained, true, but the flicker of crimson lightning in the haze had vanished. And, where he could see her skin, the disturbing redness of her veins had diminished.

Zevanni strained against the gag. Her nostrils flared. The bottom of her blindfold was wet with what might have been tears.

Tal knew what she wanted to say. She thought Rosa could cure her and she wanted to curse her for refusing to do it. Tal wasn't certain Rosa could cure the elven woman, but some_thing_ had happened to Rosa after this attack. He knew by the strain he saw in his sister's eyes that this execution was done more out of fear than righteous justice for their fallen scouts and soldiers.

No one wanted to move Zevanni into the position for the killing blow. The guards in their Inquisition heavy armor tensed and did not step forward. But Rosa seemed to know they would not act and did not expect them to. Instead she stepped closer to the prisoner and shouted, "Bow your head."

Zevanni's chains rattled as she obeyed. Muscles jumped in her neck, snapping taut. Her shaking intensified. She was fighting, but invisible hands forced her to adopt the position Rosa needed for a clean strike. The red cloud encircling her faded almost to nothing, withdrawing inside.

Mother Giselle, standing in the crowd near Commander Cullen a few meters away, began to recite lines form the Chant meant to offer comfort at the moment of death. It was something the Chantry Mother always did during Rosa's executions because everyone knew the strange, stubborn Herald of Andraste wouldn't sing the Chant herself or beseech the Maker to take pity on the condemned soul of the prisoner.

But, oddly, Rosa _did_ say something this time, though only Tal and Zevanni would understand it. _"Ir abelas, lethallan."_ She swung then, striking clean and severing Zevanni's head from her shoulders.

Silence filled the battlement and the courtyard below. Everyone, even those who could not see it, had heard the sickening wet crunch of the blow and knew it was done. Tal averted his eyes, grimacing. He tried not to wonder if he had failed Zevanni or cheated her. She saved his life a few years back and had delivered him safely to clan Manaria. Did it really matter that she worked for the Dread Wolf the whole time?

He wanted to believe the answer was yes and that negated the life debt. But if that was true then it could mean he actually owed _Solas_ a life debt. It was Solas who ordered Zevanni to rescue him.

_And it was Rosa who asked him to do it. _

Tal pushed those circular thoughts out of his mind as he shambled with the rest of the assembly toward the stairs leading down to the courtyard. He had a bond partner to return to and a newborn son to bond with as much as possible before it was time for he and Rosa to leave for the Arbor Wilds.

* * *

After the execution Rosa stayed on the battlements, watching as servants and scouts worked together to clean up the site. The blood and the body were both extremely hazardous for the uninfected to handle. Guards hauled water buckets up the stairs, trying not to slosh it over the sides where it would freeze on the stones. The air was so chilly the water was slowly freezing along the tops and sides.

The guards were not cleaning up the mess or disposing of the corpse, however. There were two scouts and one young pageboy who had been infected and had not yet taken poison. Leliana had quarantined a number of people who were exposed to Zevanni but had not seemingly fallen ill to see if they would show signs of infection later. Sure enough, these three had. Now they could perform one last service to the Inquisition by sparing others the chance they might be infected by handling Zevanni's corpse.

The scouts and the pageboy worked diligently. They doused Zevanni's body with thick, black pitch to ensure it would burn. Then Rosa used a powerful fireball and cast a barrier over the flames to ensure the breeze didn't put it out too soon or carry noxious, infectious ashes or fumes to the uninfected guards standing along the edges of the stone walls.

While the corpse burned, Rosa studied the three infected. One scout was a middle aged man, lean and wily. The other scout was a young woman, barely more than a girl. Her slender frame almost made her appear elven, but when the wind pushed her hood back she plainly sported rounded ears. The pageboy was shaking already with weakness. He might have barely been a teenager, still shy of his first serious growth spurt. As he watched the body burn the boy began to sob soundlessly. The scouts, meanwhile, stared in sullen resignation. All three of them knew this was to be their fate if they did not take Leliana's offer of poison.

_Does it have to be this way?_ The terrifying power inside thrummed, feeling itself in these poor souls. The Blight in the tainted lyrium knew only one goal—spread. Leaderless, it would consume the world.

As the flames went out, leaving only ash, Rosa let her barrier go out with a flicker of blue. The scouts and the pageboy set to work again. They tossed the buckets of water at the ashes and then used mops to push the slurry toward the drainage grate that would carry it to the eaves to drain down the side of the mountain. Rosa watched them work and tried to concentrate on the slurry of ash-contaminated water. If it still _felt_ Blighted to her she knew she would have to ask Leliana and Cullen to find where the eaves drained so they could make sure no wild crystals grew. But, fortunately, the slurry felt dead to her. The Blight had burned away.

When all the buckets were empty and the battlements were clean of any sign of ash or blood, the three infected stood slumped and sullen. Their eyes were already hollow. Occasionally one of them flinched, as though reacting to a sound only they could hear.

They were innocents who would die simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They would pay the ultimate price for just being too close to Rosa.

_They don't have to,_ came the seductive, plaintive whisper in her mind. The power waited inside, like a spider lurking in its web.

Rosa wasn't certain how much time passed as the three infected merely lingered, clinging to life while also aware of the inevitable. The guards stood watch, waiting for Rosa to leave. Her Templar escort waited near the wooden tower door, his armor clanking every so often. The flags atop the tower and spread over the battlements clapped in the breeze.

Then, all too soon, Leliana appeared through the tower door. She nodded at the Templars and the two scouts both lifted their heads to watch her approach. The pageboy just stared forlornly at the stones where Zevanni's blood had pooled. Leliana shot Rosa a brief look of surprise, apparently not expecting to find her still here. "Inquisitor? Are you all right?"

Rosa swallowed, feeling faintly nauseous. _No,_ she thought. _I'm not even a little all right. _She had a terrible choice to make. Say nothing and doom these innocents, betraying the Inquisition and everyone who believed in her, no matter how foolish she felt they were for such belief in a person who emphatically denied divinity. Or she could try to heal them, the way the terrible whisper in the back of her mind promised she could, but in doing so she would expose herself as a liar and…whatever other unnatural thing the humans might see in such power. The faithful might decree she had the power to heal others as she had been healed, but Leliana and those closest to her would suspect something else because they knew Rosa denied rumor of her divinity and didn't believe in the Maker.

Saying nothing and sacrificing these three was the safe thing to do, but it would betray more than just the Inquisition. It would be an act of cowardice, a betrayal of herself.

_You've let fear rule you too long, _da'len. Her conscience used Rogathe's voice like always. It was fear as much as emotional turmoil that kept her from confronting Solas right away when she learned the truth. Refusing to face him was a mistake. Cursing her father in her last meeting with him was an act of cowardice too as she tried to hurt Felassan and hide the depth of her own pain at his constant absence. It was one of her greatest regrets now, even if she'd had a chance to correct it later with the mirror in Dirthamen's temple. If she did nothing now she would forever wear this mark of shame that fear had held her back.

_Sometimes it is good to heed fear, Rosa,_ Felassan's voice said in her mind, repeating a lesson from memory when he cautioned her from fighting recklessly. _It is your heart telling you there is danger and you must be careful or you will die. _

Apparently interpreting Rosa's silence as a request for privacy, Leliana turned away form her and looked at the three infected. "Thank you," she said to them, genuine but also sad. "If you'll come with me Mother Giselle is ready."

"All three of us?" the pageboy asked in a tiny, warbling voice. "Now?" He trembled, holding himself.

"The longer we wait the worse it will be, Arty," the female scout said. "There's nothing to be afraid of. We're going to be with the Maker and Andraste soon."

The pageboy let out a sob. "But mum's out on patrol round the ruins at Haven. She won't know. I have to see her again before…"

"Guards," Rosa barked then and the three infected flinched, probably expecting she would order them restrained, but she quickly added, "Please leave us." Their armor clattered metallically as they moved from their various spots around the battlements. The Templar had gone erect behind her, stiff with attention. Rosa motioned at him as well. "You are excused too."

"Commander Cullen's orders—"

"Do not supersede mine." Rosa waved at the door around Leliana. "Go. Now." The Templar stayed motionless an instant longer in silent protest and then turned on his heel and marched away.

That left Rosa with Leliana and the three infected on the battlement alone. They stood silent, tense. The wind howled and ripped at Rosa's hair and at the surcoats the scouts and Leliana all wore, making them sway. The infected stared down at the stones, waiting. Leliana gazed at Rosa, eyes narrowed, trying to puzzle her out.

Inhaling sharply, Rosa focused on the frightening power inside and felt it connect with all three infected. At once they lifted their heads in unison, staring at her. Red flecks stood out in their eyes, brighter than moments ago. It was the red lyrium listening to her, not the hosts. Rosa felt the same pleasure-pain burning through her veins. Her heart hammered and she began to sweat despite the chill.

"Inquisitor?" Leliana asked in a small voice, distant to Rosa's ears. Again she wondered if the spymaster saw or sensed something when she used this new power. She had used it briefly during the execution too, forcing Zevanni to bow her head for the killing blow. It was easier to control Zevanni because her infection was so advanced. These three were barely touched with the taint.

_Leave their bodies,_ she willed it, hoping this would work. _These three are not for you. _She thought of the imagery the red lyrium had shown her during her own strange illness. _You are killing the garden by trimming too much. _

She felt the unspoken understanding ripple through the red lyrium. These three were to be left alone, but there would be others they would consume at their mistress' bidding. The red lyrium moved, flowing up and out, toward the light.

The three infected gasped as one, staggering. Leliana also made a noise of strangled shock and Rosa heard her draw a hidden dagger with a metallic ringing. Rosa stayed focused on her task, stepping closer to the three as they struggled to stay on their feet.

She reached the pageboy first and extended a hand out just shy of touching him as thin red tendrils flowed out of his pores and then his gawping mouth. Rosa cupped her hand and the crimson mass coiled into a small ball, floating above her skin without touching it. She walked past the female scout next and more crimson flowed out of her and joined the ball floating in Rosa's palm. Last she reached the middle aged man and the last red lyrium streamed out of him and made the ball in her palm swell to the size of a grapefruit.

As the three previously infected people scrambled backward, eyes wide and mouths gaping, Rosa turned slightly and rolled her hand over so her palm faced the stones. The crimson ball fell slowly and landed on the stones. It shattered into fine crystals, tinkling musically. Rosa watched it, impassive as she concentrated, keeping the red lyrium crystals in a tight radius. When it settled she pulled on mana and launched fire at it, then quickly erected a small but powerful barrier over the flames.

Pain stabbed through the back of her head as she felt the Blight in the red lyrium dying. She winced and blocked it out.

As the fire crackled, consuming the poison, Leliana whispered, "Maker…"

"Your worship?" the pageboy said, sobbing. All three of them seemed stunned, unable to process what had happened after accepting their fate.

Once the fire went out Rosa let the barrier fall and breathed out a long sigh as the pleasure-pain of the Blight magic faded. She looked to the pageboy and the two scouts and mustered up as much of a smile as she could—even though she felt shaky and weak. "You're healed now," she told them.

"Andraste be praised!" the female scout cried, falling to her knees and bowing.

The middle aged man gaped. "How can this be…?"

The pageboy began sobbing with joy and ran at her, collapsing into a clumsy bow at her feet. "Thank you, Herald! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

The world spun around Rosa as the pageboy bumped her legs. She almost toppled backward but Leliana caught her from behind. Strong hands gripped her shoulders. The scouts cried out with alarm and raced to help her as well. The boy immediately shouted a frantic apology.

"It's fine," Rosa told them, even as she let Leliana take her weight. "I'm fine."

"Herald," the man said, tears running down his face. "How can we ever repay you?"

"I was repaying you," Rosa told him truthfully. "Zevanni came to attack me. I couldn't let you die for trying to stop her and save me."

"Maker," the young woman said, also crying soundless tears. "I didn't believe it when they told me Andraste healed you of the red lyrium but now…"

"Go to Mother Giselle so she can check over you," Leliana said, taking over as Rosa still struggled to stay on her feet. "Hurry, now."

The scouts spun about at once and rushed for the nearest stairs. The pageboy lingered. "But what about the Herald?" her asked and then risked speaking to Rosa directly. "Your worship? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Rosa said, steeling her knees and her back as a little strength returned. She held onto Leliana's gloved hand as she steadied herself, bearing her weight now with minimal assistance. "Go on and do as Sister Nightingale said."

"Yes, your worship," he boy said and turned to hurry after the scouts.

Alone now with Leliana, Rosa said, "I couldn't let them die when they did nothing wrong."

"You could have healed the prisoner, too," Leliana said, her voice hollow with obvious shock. In this rare moment Leliana was so stunned she could not keep up her mask.

"I didn't know if I could heal her," Rosa said, grimacing. "I chose not to try. She attacked us and killed innocent people to force my hand. I couldn't forgive that. I'm sorry."

"Have you always had this power?" Leliana asked. Her skin was ashen, another sign of her shock. Rosa could almost hear the thoughts racing through the spymaster's mind. Was she remembering when Zevanni told her she knew nothing about her Herald?

"No," Rosa said. She didn't dare shake her head. Her body was too unsteady yet for that. "This is new. Since I woke up after the attack."

Leliana's eyes narrowed, considering. "You were infected but overcame it somehow. Does the Anchor give you control over the red lyrium somehow?"

Competing desires warred inside Rosa's thoughts. She wanted to face her fears and reveal the truth to Leliana so that no one—not Solas or the Forbidden Ones or Corypheus—could use her heritage to drive a wedge between herself and her Inquisition. But at the same time this was a secret so huge and personal and powerful that to speak it to someone who didn't share her blood and wasn't even a member of her race seemed ludicrous. So instead she pretended to be more fatigued than she actually was.

"I need to rest. Please have Josephine cancel any meetings scheduled for this afternoon."

"We are to leave for the Arbor Wilds tomorrow," Leliana said in a tone of protest as Rosa started walking slowly away, toward the stairs. "Are we to postpone?"

"No," Rosa called over her shoulder. "We leave tomorrow."

* * *

Elven Used

**Lin'es Dirthamen**: Blood of Dirthamen

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Hey Inquisi-tits," Sera said by way of greeting, gritting her teeth as she drew another arrow and nocked it. She let it fly with a barking laugh. "Eat it!"

Rosa tossed a barrier over Sera and the other five archers nearest to her. "Nice to see you, Sera," she said, grinning. "I trust you're having fun?"

Sera snorted as she nocked another arrow. "Like taking candy from some rich snob's fat baby." She stuck her tongue out of her mouth at one corner as she fired. "Easy."

* * *

Ok, next chapter we're marching for the Arbor Wilds and the temple of Mythal! Solas and Rosa will be crossing paths again very soon. Probably not next chapter, but maybe by the one after that. Can Rosa keep using red lyrium for positive purposes? You know what they say about absolute power...


	63. Whispers in Red Lyrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa struggles to maintain control over her new power to command the Blight in red lyrium.

"We've made contact with Mythal's sentinels," Var told Solas as they walked the length of their small, hidden camp. "Their leader is a branded Dreamer, a man by the name Abelas." He paused a moment, waiting to see if Solas would comment or inquire further. There was always a chance that Solas might know the lead sentinel from court.

The fact that Mythal branded this Dreamer made Solas' innards twist with revulsion. As much as he respected Mythal, she was still guilty of claiming godhood and not afraid to use vallaslin to enslave her people. Yet, Solas also knew some of her brands were toothless, lacking the compulsion of a geass. Unless he felt the vallaslin to taste its magic Solas would have no way of knowing which version of the brand Abelas wore. Some willingly took on the brand while others received it against their will. Until Solas met this lead sentinel and felt the magic in his markings he wouldn't know which way Abelas fell. Was he a devoted supplicant of Mythal or one of those she conscripted as punishment?

"Go on," Solas encouraged the other elf.

"Abelas is bitter," Var said as he and Solas stopped at the edge of their camp, gazing out into the greenery of the thick Arbor Wilds. "He received us and expressed begrudging gratitude for waking them and providing forewarning, but did not offer us succor."

Solas shot his companion a sharp look and Var winced at it, quickly adding, "I did not ask them for succor or aid, but they offered nothing other than simple thanks."

"They are not in a position to offer anything more," Solas said. Staring at the wall of green jungle, wet with recent spring rains, he repressed a shudder. "They are guarding Mythal's accumulated wisdom and will not leave it."

"Then maybe they should have asked _us_ for aid," Var suggested, grumbling. "Or at least a little news on the foes they face."

_Foes,_ Solas thought and clenched his jaw. He didn't know if that was correct or if it was just a single enemy they faced in Corypheus. Yet, based on current events, he had to assume the worst. In the three weeks since Zevanni escaped his camp and ran straight to the Inquisition, Solas had pieced together what happened bit by bit through whispered spy reports and glimpses he caught in the Fade. Zevanni was dead, executed by Rosa. One of his best spies in Skyhold, Lanalle the healer, was possibly dead as well as she had not touched the Fade in sleep for weeks and his other reports from as yet undiscovered spies reported the Inquisition imprisoned her. Beyond that they did not know her fate. Rosa and Tal knew enough that they could be keeping Lanalle dosed with dream-suppressing herbs, but Solas couldn't be sure.

Beyond that Solas knew the Inquisition was on the march. Leliana's spies and scouts led the way, entering the Arbor Wilds two weeks ago, just after Solas moved the bulk of his own meager forces south into the jungles too. Inquisition allies from Orlais, Ferelden, and everywhere in between now amassed just north of the wilderness. It seemed clear they intended to rout Corypheus' red Templars once and for all. Encouragingly, Solas' estimates placed a two-to-one favor on the Inquisition, which had superior numbers with their allies.

Yet the Inquisition's goals were still a threat overall to the temple of Mythal. So, as far as the sentinels were concerned, Corypheus' forced were just as unwelcome as Rosa's. Both would be attacked on sight. But Var's group of elves ensured the sentinels had warning that there was a third group in the mix—one that was _Elvhen_ and therefore more friend than foe. The sentinels would hesitate to attack elven groups or lone elves they encountered on their lands, waiting to hear Fen'Harel's secret phrase.

"We are too few and too scattered to provide much aid," Solas said, his tone partly reprimanding Var. He hoped Abelas hadn't glimpsed Var's resentment and stymied a possible alliance in the near future. Because, regardless of who was friend or foe in this coming conflict, Solas knew _someone_ would breach the temple and gain access to the well of knowledge the sentinels guarded. One way or another, the sentinels' time in service to Mythal would soon end. He hoped to be in a position to save as many of them as possible and induct them into _his_ service by choice, not force.

"Knowledge then," Var persisted. "I told them what I could, but Abelas and his people weren't very interested in knowing their enemy."

Solas nodded absently. "They do not see the beings of this age as worthy of their interest."

"Fools," Var snarled. "The Inquisition will decimate them and the Elder One's forces will poison them with red lyrium for sure. We could have warned them."

Solas smiled wryly, more to himself than to Var. "They have defeated countless other attacks on the temple. _Shemlen_ explorers and tomb raiders. Dalish forays searching for past relics and knowledge." He shook his head. "The sentinels do not understand the enormity of the danger they now face. It will be their undoing. We have done what we could to prepare them." He swallowed a sigh, unwilling to let Var see his weakness. "We must prepare ourselves now for whatever comes."

"Yes, _hahren,"_ Var agreed somberly.

He bid Var away with a gesture and faced the jungle again. Birds sang unseen from the trees. Weak sunshine filtered through the gaps here and there in the canopy high above. The air smelled rich and clean, with a heady dampness that made him recall his distant past as a wandering youth in Elvhenan. Remembering those many centuries of serenity and peace had kept him calm despite the pain of loneliness inside.

When Rosa had not answered his summons, Solas resigned himself that she was lost to him. It was not surprising and certainly it was deserved, but that did nothing to lessen the grief and self-loathing. It was difficult for him to sleep now. He lied awake nightly, seeing again the choices and mistakes that led him to this place of loneliness. Had he but listened to Felassan this could have been averted, but instead he saw only a traitor who defied him despite centuries of friendship. He knew if he didn't punish Felassan that his entire network would crumble as his other agents would see his leniency and know the Dread Wolf had gone toothless. Yet, was it truly necessary to kill his old friend so abruptly? Surely he could have delayed a moment and come to a better punishment…?

But the bitter old veteran in Solas knew any other solution was fraught with difficulty as well. At the heart of it all was the awful truth that Felassan knew too much about him, his plans, and his operations. Now Rosa must have the same thoughts about him. Zevanni's red lyrium fueled madness and subsequent attack couldn't have helped matters. His spies reported rumors that Zevanni claimed she was sent by him on orders to kill as many people in the Inquisition as possible. Rosa must have taken the mad woman's word for truth as she had been absent from the Fade since the attack. Solas might have believed Zevanni actually succeeded in killing the Inquisitor, but his spies reported Rosa was very much alive. That meant she dosed herself with herbs to hide her presence from him.

Oddly, however, Tal did not follow suit and appeared nightly in the Fade. As such, Solas could follow the Inquisition's progress on their march to the Arbor Wilds by feeling Tal's presence in the dreaming. He had to do it from a distance to avoid Tal sensing him, but it was very useful—albeit sloppy by the siblings. That was how, days before his spies estimated the Inquisition's main force would arrive, Solas already knew when and where to expect them and ordered Var to offer the information up to the sentinels guarding the temple as a gift.

"_Hahren,"_ a deep male voice called from behind him.

Turning on his heel slowly, Solas offered a polite smile to his arcane warrior Mathrel. _"Falon,"_ he said in greeting. His eyes moved to the scout behind Mathrel, dressed in dirty Inquisition scout armor. His expression hardened and a cold fist gripped his guts with sudden dread. "What news?"

Mathrel's jaw clenched for a moment and then he turned slightly and motioned at the scout. "Come forward."

The scout nodded respectfully to both Mathrel and then Solas. He was a small man, lithe and fair-haired with blue eyes. Solas recognized him as one of the uthenera attendants who slept in stasis inside his master's tomb for ages unknown. His master died in uthenera when the Veil was erected, but the magic of stasis remained and so this young servant and many others in the same tomb lived on until Lyris and Mathrel woke him.

Like almost all such accidental survivors from Elvhenan, this man had decided to serve Fen'Harel to try and reclaim the glory of the past. Up until just now, Solas had thought this agent was still safely with Inquisition forces in Orlais, serving Leliana there. He kept his expression impassive to not reveal the sudden fear inside at this unexpected visitor with apparently urgent news.

"_Hahren,"_ he said in elven, licking his lips. _"I apologize for abandoning my post, but I could not continue and I had to warn you." _He dropped his gaze to the ground. "_The Inquisitor wields Dirthamen's Blight tainted lyrium. I don't know how such a thing is possible. She is one of the _shem-_elves, but she uses the power of the false God of Secrets himself."_

Solas stared, unblinking, and then quickly recomposed himself. Although most of his agents knew that Rosa and Tal were Felassan's children and therefore half Elvhen, very few of them knew of Felassan's true ancestry and thought him a lesser grandson of Mythal. As a result this man would have no idea how Rosa could control red lyrium. Solas himself might have discounted and disbelieved it if not for the dark alternate history of Redcliffe where Tal apparently could wield it. That, paired with his knowledge of Felassan's ancestry, made him reasonably certain either sibling could wield Dirthamen's red lyrium. But hearing that Rosa was wielding it now, after she had previously been so reluctant, left him stunned at this report.

"_Explain,"_ he ordered the spy. _"Please."_

The spy swallowed and seemed to steel himself for the tale. _"Four days ago the Inquisition marched through Emprise du Lion with the Inquisitor leading…"_

* * *

Crystals of red lyrium grew out of the rocky ground, melting the snow at their bases. Rosa tried hard not to see or _feel_ them, but it was like being in the Fade. She couldn't turn off this new extra sense. And, unlike the Fade, the red lyrium actively tried to reach out to her, grip her like a dreamer hoping to shape her to its will.

Leliana's spies reported increased red Templar activity in Emprise du Lion and spoke of a quarry where they mined the tainted lyrium. The people here were starving after an unnaturally cold winter that froze the river, which was their main means of trade. Josephine had arranged relief supplies as a favor to Celene weeks ago, so Rosa was beholden to that promise even as urgency grew with regards to Corypheus in the Arbor Wilds. She'd hoped to swing through this area quickly, barely stopping to deliver the supplies to the people here and leave a small squadron of soldiers to clear out the red Templar quarry. But now that she was here and able to see and _feel_ the red lyrium infecting this place it seemed perhaps even more dire than Corypheus' army in the Arbor Wilds.

Their advance force of scouts, soldiers, and Rosa's inner circle including Cullen and Leliana all camped on the banks of the thawed but still sluggish river, near the town proper. It was austere and bleak, still cold enough that she shivered violently despite a nice bedroll and several bear furs. Tall pines shaded their campsite from both sunlight and snow. There was little in the way of undergrowth on this mountainside village to obscure their view of the river, the town, of the rocky highlands and mountains, so they did not feel particularly vulnerable in their spot. It would be foolish of an enemy to rush them from the mountain slopes because their archers would be able to mow them down before they came close enough to do damage.

Yet that was exactly what happened anyway.

One moment Rosa was lying in her bedroll under her furs, trying to sleep despite the constant wordless whine in her head from the red lyrium calling to her, and the next she was scrambling for her armor and weapons as the alarm horn sounded. She cursed under her breath as she fumbled with her armor in the dark before shooting a little gout of flame at the candle at her writing desk to light it. She was in her chainmail and securing on her skirts when Tal rushed through her tent flap.

"Rosa?" he asked, blinking against the light from her candle for an instant as his eyes adjusted. "Let me help." He was already wearing his Keeper armor. The men's variety of Keeper armor was much lighter and more comfortable, making it possible for Tal and other male Keepers and Firsts to sleep in their armor. Rosa's, meanwhile, was all chainmail and breastplates and nothing comfortable.

"Thanks," she told him gratefully. "What's happening out there?"

"Fucking red Templars are running into us in a suicide charge down the mountain." Tal finished with tying on her breastplate on one side. Rosa did the other and then hurriedly pulled on the bracers.

"Why would they do something so stupid?" Rosa wondered aloud.

Tal shrugged as he finished tying on the last of her armor. Rosa grabbed her stave from its resting spot at the end of her cot and rushed out of her tent after her brother.

Outside she found the camp in organized chaos. Commander Cullen ordered about the archers who were on watch, positioning them and telling them to fire at will. More joined as they woke to the alarm horn. The moon overhead to the northwest was brilliantly bright, giving the archers and soldiers on duty a great view of the rocky, snowy mountain slope as their foes ran at them. Red lyrium growths glittered from their bodies, as good as armor. The red haze lit them faintly against the rock and snow.

The whine in the back of Rosa's head intensified as she watched them. Beneath the infected Templars' voices and war cries she heard something else. The song rose and fell like waves in a sea, destructive and beautiful. It called to her like a child to its mother. She knew, with dreamlike clarity, that it was bound to Corypheus' will through demons like Imshael—but it wanted to serve _her._

Rosa stamped on the tiny part of herself that felt the temptation to connect with it, command it. Just as when Imshael awakened her weak talent to compel the truth from others, this red lyrium power was something she didn't want and knew she should not use. It was thrust on her by demons who were using her as a pawn in some strange game that stretched all the way back to Elvhenan.

Summoning mana, Rosa ran for the front lines to back up the archers. Tal followed her, as did Varric and Vivienne, the first of their sleeping companions to rouse and join them. They found Sera and Iron Bull already with the archers, having been awake on watch when the attack came.

"Hey Inquisi-tits," Sera said by way of greeting, gritting her teeth as she drew another arrow and nocked it. She let it fly with a barking laugh. "Eat it!"

Rosa tossed a barrier over Sera and the other five archers nearest to her. "Nice to see you, Sera," she said, grinning. "I trust you're having fun?"

Sera snorted as she nocked another arrow. "Like taking candy from some rich snob's fat baby." She stuck her tongue out of her mouth at one corner as she fired. "Easy."

Rosa saw the arrow streak away out of the shadow of the pines and into the brightness of the open moonlit night. It struck a red Templar in the belly, between plates of armor, making him stumble. Rosa flung Fade stone into him with a grunt to finish him off. The green stone burst as it smashed into him, scattering in countless cutting shards. The Templar fell over into the rocks and snow, rolling limp downhill a few meters.

"Nice one," Sera said, preparing another arrow.

Iron Bull came jogging up the line of Inquisition archers, surprisingly silent for such a hulking man. Tal waved a hand, idly casting a barrier over the warrior as he drew closer. Vivienne, further down the line, also offered her services as protection for the archers, casting barriers repeatedly rather than exerting her mana in a long distance fight before it was needed.

"Something's not right Boss," Iron Bull said when he was close.

"No kidding," Rosa agreed, frowning. "This is stupid even for them."

"Exactly," Iron Bull said. He motioned at the red Templars. "There are too few of them to be a real attack and too many to be a botched stealth mission. I saw this sort of shit on Seheron. I think this is a feint."

Rosa stiffened. "How so?"

Iron Bull pinched his lips together and lowered his voice. "Has anyone kept an eye on the river? Or the defenseless town behind us?"

She stared, heart hammering as she realized he was right. With the attack coming from the moonlit mountainside highlands above Emprise du Lion, all eyes were pointed in that direction, south. The moon was like a spotlight in the sky opposite, casting long shadows from any rocks, hills, trees, and structures where enemies could hide. Other than the river itself posing a good barrier between them and the lands on the far side, they were wide open there. A stealth team could infiltrate their camp from the north or west and kill important leaders before anyone even realized the danger.

"Shit," she cursed like a shemlen and whipped toward Tal and Varric to see if they had heard.

Her brother nodded as her gaze met his. He tossed a barrier over them all, anticipating much nearer fighting at any moment. Varric put a bolt in Bianca and said, "I'll go give Curly the head's up." He took off, running across the camp, calling for Cullen.

Rosa looked to Iron Bull and Tal, grim with growing dread. "Let's go check on our other perimeters."

Iron Bull grinned. "Thought you'd never ask, Boss."

They jogged through the assemblage of tents, wagons, and small campfires until they reached the edge by the river. Two scouts lingered here, tense and jumpy as they fingered daggers and bows. They looked to Rosa and offered nervous smiles and murmured greetings. "Your worship?" one of them called as his eyes skittered from her to Iron Bull and then Tal in question.

"Have you seen anything unusual here?" she asked.

"No, ser," the scout answered.

The other one—a young barefaced elven man—laughed, though it sounded strained. "Just jumping at shadows, your worship."

"What shadows?" Iron Bull asked in a growl, reaching for his enormous axe. "Where?"

The two scouts gawped at him, terrified for an instant. The elven scout managed to regain his wits and pointed west, along the river toward the waterfall. "Out that way. Thought I saw something, but it was noth—"

Suddenly a scout at the far western edge of the camp gave a cry that cut short in a wet gurgle. The sound was soft enough it would likely go unremarked by the rest of camp, which had assembled to fight the threat to the south where the slope rose sharply into rocky highlands. Rosa's blood flushed cold hearing it and she cursed as she caught a faint red glimmer flitting between tents in that direction. _"Fenedhis._ We're compromised._"_ To the scouts she yelled, "Go, bring others to fight!"

Iron Bull was already charging forward, hefting his battle axe high. Rosa and Tal dashed after him. Near the end of the long stretch of Inquisition tents was a red Templar rogue, complete with crimson spikes growing out of his arms. He stood over the bloodied body of a young female scout. Rosa launched Fade stone at him and Tal hurled a fireball before Iron Bull obscured further shots. Both attacks caught the red lyrium rogue. The Fade stone knocked it prone and Tal's fire made it screech and writhe. Iron Bull was on it before it could right itself. He swung his axe with a war cry and cleaved the rogue in twain.

More rogues in varying states of red lyrium infection began to appear, their invisibility powder losing effectiveness all at once. A crunch of gravel was the only warning Rosa had before a rogue wreathed in red haze lunged at her, dagger hands aiming for both her neck and her middle. Panic made Rosa react purely on instinct, recoiling and lifting her arms and her stave to block the blow—but also reaching out with that frightening new talent. The pleasure-pain burn in her veins rushed to the fore and the rogue's strike never hit as he skidded backward, falling flat at the last second to avoid harming her.

For a heartbeat Rosa's fear melted entirely. She felt the presence of the red Templars around her like they were extensions of her own arms and legs. She felt them shudder and freeze, coming to attention as the red lyrium inside them heeded a new master, awaiting orders. The power of it made Rosa breathe faster, her heart racing with carnal enjoyment. She barely saw the rogue in front of her where he sat in the mud and trampled snow, gazing up at her with red-flecked eyes. He was senseless, as were all his brethren nearby.

And then Tal shot a gout of flame at the rogue red Templar in front of her. He screamed and the pain of the fire flew through the red lyrium straight to Rosa. She gasped, stumbling backward, knees shaking as her skin erupted in scorching pain. She smelled flesh burning and the light dazzled her eyes. The staff dropped from bloodless fingers to the snow as she felt the rogue die, contorting in the flames like a spider in his death throes.

Then Tal grabbed her, trying to keep her upright. "Rosa!" he shouted, alarm coloring his voice. "_Asamalin?_ What's wrong? Talk to me!"

She blinked, struggling to focus on him even as she flinched, feeling more red Templars dying in the back of her mind. A slice through the gut. The stab of pain as an arrow pierced someone's throat. They winked out, going quiet, but she knew the red lyrium wasn't dead. It would infect the ground next and grow in crystals. It had only one directive in the absence of true leadership, and that was to spread like the plague it was.

"I'm okay," Rosa finally managed to say.

Tal hugged her, breathing hard. He pulled away quickly though, frowning. "What happened? You just froze up! It's a bloody miracle he didn't run you through."

Deliberately extricating herself from the red lyrium connection, Rosa lightly pushed Tal aside. She strode toward the still burning remains of the rogue red Templar. "We need to burn it some more," she muttered to herself and sent another fireball into it.

Tal moved along beside her, his gait stiff and his expression creased with worry. _"You took control of it again, didn't you?"_ he asked, using elven. She'd confided everything in him during their trek out of the Frostbacks. It was no small comfort now to have him here, though she knew he must have some conflicted emotions that she had not tried to save 'd told him, truthfully, that she didn't know if she could save the elven woman, whose infection was so pronounced. It was easy, comparatively, to purify the newly infected.

"Yes," she replied, staring unseeingly at the flames as they crackled. She swallowed, knowing she wouldn't know for sure if the red lyrium was actually dead unless she connected with it again. Doing so would bring pain as long as there were red Templars nearby fighting and dying.

_You could stop them all,_ the whine of the tainted lyrium whispered in her head. She grimaced, pushing the temptation aside. _No one should have this power. _

"_Fenedhis,"_ Tal said then and Rosa blinked, returning to the present.

"What?" She followed Tal's gaze and saw an Inquisition scout running back toward the human village. The elven scout sprinted, clearly in a hurry as he wove through the lines of tents.

"_I spoke without thinking,"_ Tal said, still using elven but now in a voice barely above a whisper as he twisted to look around, searching for eavesdroppers. _"That scout, the elven one, overheard us. I didn't think anything of it until he turned and started running away…"_

"A spy," Rosa muttered. Both she and Tal knew only an Elvhen man would understand what Tal said. "Returning to his master." She scowled and shook her head. In the heat of this fight they had far more to worry about. "It doesn't matter. Solas isn't going to be surprised when he hears about this."

Tal grunted. "And, on the bright side, it's one less spy we have to ferret out."

"Yeah," Rosa agreed, sullen. She didn't tell Tal that she wished she could stop the spy and send a direct message with him—a plea for help. It had been weeks since she last touched the Fade. Her nights were dreamless now since the red lyrium exposure and without it she felt alone and bereft in a way she never had before. She always had the dreaming as a secret long distance communication method. She used it to touch her mother's dreams all the way back in the Brecilian forest. And she wanted to connect with Nola in Skyhold now to ensure she and Felenaste were okay.

And, much to her dismay and quiet rage, Rosa wanted desperately to find Solas in the Fade, too. He might know more about this frightening power and right now she needed all the help she could get. And, in the quiet times, she missed him so badly it hurt like a knife right to her chest. But now she couldn't reach the Fade, Dreamer or no. The red lyrium had robbed her of that and she was too afraid to admit it aloud to Tal just yet. To admit that she knew something was horrifically wrong but she was helpless to fix it. Too ashamed to admit the fear.

…And there was an awful, shameful place inside her that didn't want to give up this new power. Hadn't it saved her life just now? And she had healed three people as well. Maybe she could resist temptation and only use it for good? Maybe she could be the leader the red lyrium needed her to be, preserving life and nourishing it rather than destroying. The red lyrium only needed to trim overgrowth, after all…

Shouts of alarm echoed from the line of archers to the west, drawing both Rosa and Tal back to the present. They ran through the tents, sticking together, barriers glittering blue. They passed Iron Bull slashing down one last rogue with a deep grunt before the Qunari hurried after them. As they neared the battlefront Rosa's stomach clenched and fell.

A handful of scouts and soldiers lay dead, sliced open by the infiltrating rogues. Now the red templars' target was clear, too. The rogues had snuck into the camp from the west and headed straight for Commander Cullen. They wanted to behead Inquisition leadership and knew this camp was brimming with important people—Rosa, Cullen, and Leliana just to name a few. Cullen was the most obvious and lingered near the end of the archer line, closest to the rogues' infiltration spot.

Now Rosa saw five red Templar rogues in combat with a smattering of soldiers and scouts who'd noticed too late the threat from behind. Even as she came within range she saw a rogue spear a female scout through the middle. The woman went down, blood flying wildly over the rocks and snow.

The rogues closed in on Cullen, who had pivoted to face them, sword and shield ready, but he had nowhere to retreat to. The line of archers was behind him and although a few of them turned to aid him, struggling to draw daggers for close combat, the distracting onslaught of red Templars coming from the south mountainside hadn't stopped. Archers were still needed to keep them at bay.

Rosa flung Fade stone at the nearest rogue facing off with Cullen, knocking it away. The blow was strong enough that it splattered blood in a wide arc. Cullen flinched back, lifting his shield to protect himself from the spatter. Another rogue lunged in to take advantage of that, stabbing for his chest. The commander parried with his blade, splintering off fragments of red lyrium from the templar's arm.

Tal tossed barriers up over Cullen and the archers closest, then he spun his staff to cast a freezing spell, stopping one rogue in his tracks. Rosa flung another Fade stone into him to smash the frozen rogue into a thousand tiny pieces. The three remaining rogues growled and switched targets, moving to engage Rosa and Tal even as Iron Bull raced up behind the two mages. It proved to be a grave mistake for one rogue as Cullen lashed out with both his shield and his sword. The commander sliced open the rogue's back and then shield bashed him to the ground. Tal lit him on fire to finish him off.

One of the rogues tossed a dagger infused with red lyrium at Tal. Rosa refreshed his barrier just in time. The dagger glanced off, landing blade first in the snow. Rosa swung her stave and sent chain lightning arcing through the last three rogues, then ducked aside as Iron Bull barreled past her. The Qunari roared, swinging his axe as he spun round and round. The rogues weren't dexterous enough to avoid it. Blood flew in arcs and limbs landed in the snow with wet thumps.

As the last rogues fell dead a line of cheers rose up and down the lengths of the archers. "They're running! The fuckers are running!"

Cullen stood with a small smile, a touch shaky where he stood. The bright moonlight revealed the wet glitter of their enemies' blood on his breastplate and over his pallid skin. He wiped at it, grimacing with revulsion.

Seeing it, Rosa tensed, immediately worried he would be infected. Could she connect with the red lyrium now to see if he would fall ill? Better still, could she insist that it _not_ infect him?

Hurrying to the commander, Rosa quickly grabbed up a handful of clean white snow and handed it to him. "Hurry," she said. "Clean it off your skin with this."

Cullen's brown eyes locked with hers as he accepted the snow. He nodded understanding and began brushing the snow over his face. When it was mostly clear he made a face, shaking his hands out. "This is what I get for not wearing a helmet," he said wryly. But there was anxiety in his eyes.

Had Leliana told him about her ability to heal infected? She couldn't imagine the spymaster would keep that information from the other advisors, even though she had promised not to tell anyone else at Rosa's request. The scouts had also been asked not to repeat the tale, though that left them with little explanation for their miraculous recovery. The story was bound to escape if it hadn't already. Rosa had little doubt that soon all manner of red lyrium sufferers would come to Skyhold, ready to beg Rosa for her divine healing touch.

The frightening truth was that healing the three scouts was _hard_ and took a lot out of her. It was a sign that this talent was dilute in her, as would be expected considering she was Dirthamen's granddaughter, not his son or daughter. Her only advantage over Imshael in controlling this strain of Blight was that unlike the Forbidden One, Rosa was still flesh. The red lyrium seemed to need a physical avatar as a master. Imshael worked to a certain extent, but the red lyrium _preferred_ Rosa.

Pushing aside any uncertainty, Rosa patted Cullen's arm. "You'll be all right," she said and meant it.

A flicker of understanding crossed his face and his shoulders fell with relief. "Thank you, Inquisitor."

Well, that reaction removed whatever doubts she had about whether Leliana had told him. Rosa smiled at him and then returned to Tal. They walked together across the camp, heading toward the inner circle's tents. Leliana found them before they could get there, trotting up to them with an expression of urgency.

"Inquisitor," she called, feet crunching on the snow and gravel. "Thank the Maker you're all right."

"Glad to see you're doing well too," Rosa said, nodding to her. "There were rogues from the west and they—"

"They were after Inquisition leadership I believe, yes," she said, letting out a long breath. "Is Warden Blackwall with you?"

"No," Rosa said, frowning at the sudden change of subject. Glancing to Tal, she saw him shrug as well. "Why?"

Leliana pinched her lips together. "He's missing. The last anyone saw of him was tonight at dinner. He retired to his tent but by the time the red Templars attacked…" She shook her head. "He seems to have vanished."

A cold shudder passed through Rosa, fearing for the warden. "Was he injured? Abducted?"

"I don't believe so," Leliana said. "His horse is missing. I think he left before the attack. But why?"

"He's been really moody lately," Tal put in. "He doesn't like Orlais for some reason."

Rosa nodded in agreement with her brother. Blackwall _was_ really moody the other day when he told her a disturbing story of how he watched urchins hang a dog and did nothing. She'd reprimanded him for his cowardice as gently as she could as now…

She grimaced. "Maybe it was something I said?"

Leliana let out a short chuckle. "What could you have possibly said that would drive him away from us? He has been devoted to our cause since you recruited him from the Hinterlands."

"Well," Rosa said, shrugging. "He was moody like Tal said. I said something that wasn't the most sensitive, though I tried to pass it off with humor." She chuckled dryly.

Tal snorted. "That's not going to send Blackwall away. I mean, have you _heard_ him and Dorian bicker? They say _way_ meaner things to each other than whatever you could have said to him. They just put up with it from each other. Blackwall wouldn't leave because you said something that miffed him. It has to be bigger than that."

"Has anyone searched his tent for clues?" Rosa asked.

Leliana nodded. "One of my scouts brought me this." She extended her gloved hand, holding a torn bit of parchment. Rosa took it and lifted it to read by the light of the moon behind her. It was a handwritten letter detailing the arrest of someone in Orlais. The name meant nothing to her, nor did the crime for which the man was accused. It seemed the man would be executed in a few days.

"Well," she said, shrugging as she passed the note to Tal. "It doesn't mean anything to me."

Tal wrinkled his nose as he read it next. "Me neither." He handed it back to Leliana.

"What would you have me do, Inquisitor?" Leliana asked, arching one sculpted brow.

Rosa frowned, considering. "Send Vivienne and a few scouts to ride to Val Royeaux to investigate this lead."

"Vivienne?" Tal asked from her side, snorting. "Are you sure? She _hates_ Blackwall. If he's in some kind of trouble I don't think she'd lift a finger to help him."

"She might be a heartless bitch but I'm sure she wouldn't just sit idly by and not help Blackwall," Rosa said. Facing Leliana, she said, "But just in case, can you make it clear we expect her to try to find Blackwall and bring him back? If I find out he's in danger and she didn't help him then I swear to your Maker I will make her sorry."

Leliana nodded, revealing no reaction to these orders. "I will gather a few scouts I can trust and ask the Enchanter for her help. I'm sure she will agree, though she may be reluctant to miss the confrontation with Corypheus."

"I'd send someone else but no one else is so familiar with Val Royeaux and Orlesian politics and history," Rosa said. "This man and his crime might have some meaning to her. Besides, I have an excess of mages for this voyage. I can spare her and I'll still have myself, Dorian, and Tal."

"Understood," Leliana said and turned to leave, hurrying through the tents and calling to a nearby scout by name.

For a moment Rosa stood, staring out to the south where the mountain slope rose up. It was littered with dead red Templars and the occasional glittering speck of crimson crystals. The sounds of the camp were faraway in her ears. The whine was loud in her head, whispering like a lover against her skin. The destruction here was wanton and uncontrolled. It would grow and spread until it reached and overtook the village. It would consume the trees, the river, the tuskets and snoufleur that roved this countryside.

_You can stop it,_ the whispers promised.

"_Asamalin?"_ Tal's voices finally cut through her thoughts.

She jumped, glancing back at him. "Yes?"

Tal's face twisted with worry. He reached out and gripped her arm just below the shoulder guard. "What's wrong?"

_Lead us,_ the voices pleaded in her ear. _We wait for you. _

"I'm…" She swallowed, clearing her throat. "I'm fine."

Tal frowned and shook his head. "You're not, _asamalin._ Come on. Don't lie to me." He edged closer, whispering. "It's the red lyrium, isn't it?"

She winced. "It's just…hard with so much around me." She glanced out beyond the camp to the mountain slope strewn with contaminated bodies. "I want to cleanse it." Her hands fidgeted at her sides. "And…it _wants_ me to do it."

Tal's frown deepened as he switched to elven. _"What happens when it gets tired of you just killing it rather than spreading it?"_

"It isn't evil," she said, repeating the same message it had told her. "It's just a tool. Just another kind of magic."

"Yeah," Tal grumbled. "Just like blood magic. You know too much of that is a bad thing, too." He tugged on her arm. "Come on. Let's go back to our tents. I'll move my cot into your tent."

The unspoken implication was there that he didn't quite trust her not to walk out into that field and begin commanding the red lyrium. He was hoping to babysit her. The idea made Rosa bristle but she pushed it down and let Tal lead her to her tent. She _was_ tired. It would be nice to go to sleep, even if it was dreamless.

* * *

In the darkness of Rosa's tent, Tal lay awake watching and listening as his sister slept. Anxiety gnawed at his stomach like a parasite. Tonight, when the red lyrium rogue lunged for Rosa, Tal had seen and felt it when she controlled the Blight magic. It showed subtly in a dark shadow around her and made his skin prickle uncomfortably. Though it lasted a mere instant the sensation haunted and troubled Tal long after.

The way Rosa seemed so easily distracted by the red lyrium. How quickly she reached for it in times of danger. The raw power it promised in the coming confrontation with Corypheus.

Something about it all didn't feel right.

How much was Rosa controlling the red lyrium and how much was it gradually influencing her? Would it sometime soon be able to control her outright? Would she eventually start using it as a weapon?

He already guessed the Blight magic deadened her to the Fade. Not once in their weeks on the road had she entered his dreams. And Tal, so used to his sister's touch in the Fade, had long since learned to sense her in the dreaming. He no longer felt her there. And on top of that was the conspicuous lack of dream communication Rosa had promised she would do for him to keep in touch with Nola and Felenaste.

Tal tried not to think of his son. It did nothing but twist his heart with regret. Nola had seemed okay with him leaving for this trip, but Tal knew her well enough to see she wished he wouldn't go. Of course she wished he wouldn't go! Every day he was away was one he'd never get back while his son was growing.

The dreaming was a way to stay connected with Nola and Felenaste…and Rosa hadn't brought them all together for a meeting in the Fade. Not even once. The first few times Tal mentioned it, Rosa brushed him off or delayed. She said she was too tired after a long day of marching or that she needed a night of rest alone in a dream warded against demons. Tal realized then something was very much wrong.

But what could he do about it? For the umpteenth time he cursed his bad luck not inheriting his father's talents as a Dreamer. He wouldn't have to rely on Rosa so much if he could dream lucidly himself. Now all he could do was think of his bond partner and son, hoping the Fade would connect them on its own.

Tonight, however, he didn't think of Nola or Felenaste. He shut his eyes and imagined Solas. He tried to push aside his anger and hurt for the Elvhen man's betrayal, not to mention the grief for his father's death. He couldn't change the past. His father was dead and Solas was a traitor and a liar and a coward. But he was the only one Tal trusted to know what might be happening now with Rosa and how to help her. As much as he might distrust Solas, he couldn't bring himself to believe the other man had deliberately sent Zevanni to poison them and their people. That meant it _might_ just be worth approaching him.

Because in the end the past didn't matter as much as the here and now. The dead didn't matter as much as the living.

He had to swallow his own feelings and do what was best for Rosa, just as she had so often for him. Right now that seemed to be reconnecting her with Solas, somehow, so he could stop the red lyrium from hurting or corrupting her.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"What do I do?" she asked, still staring at the pendant.

She heard a faint clink of metal and lifted her eyes to see Tal holding a small dagger. "Just a little cut. Here. Give me your hand."

Rosa clutched the pendant in her left hand and then extended her right for her brother. She winced as the knife slit against her skin. Blood welled up. Tal motioned for her to press the wound to the pendant. "Go on. Let me help you. Let me take the torment away."


	64. Raselan's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition arrives in the Arbor Wilds. Rosa is preparing for the very important campaign to beat Corypheus to the Temple of Mythal, but struggling with the weight of her many secrets and the frightening new power of red lyrium control.

When Rosa's contingent of soldiers and her inner circle arrived at the main encampment some of the advance Orlesian forces found Leliana and quickly pulled her aside. The Orlesians had experienced some losses in their ranks from fights with red Templars and Venatori. For those not outright killed healers in both herbal and magical arts were present to close wounds.

But a handful of wounded also became infected from exposure to tainted lyrium. Celene and Gaspard would have ordered these men and women executed quick and painlessly, but a raven from Leliana asked them not to do so. Weeks ago Rosa had agreed with the spymaster that saving their people from red lyrium poisoning was a great option, but it should be used sparingly. And, in a move Rosa was certain Leliana didn't understand, she didn't want it widely known she could perform this miracle.

That brought Rosa to where she was now: a large tent embroidered with Orlesian symbols and healing marks, announcing it as a medical ward. Her spymaster murmured orders that most of the nurses and healers were to leave after administering a sleeping draught on the infected. They did as they were ordered, though they tossed bemused expressions at Rosa and Leliana as they left the infirmary tent.

Inside the air was stuffy and smelled faintly of both herbs and sweat. The tent was silent except for the faint snuffle of sleepy human breathing. Leliana lingered near the tent flap like a guard, tense and alert. "Is this too much?" she asked, sounding nervous.

The red lyrium hummed in her ears, caressing her with whispers of reassurance. It would obey. Rosa reached out with her mind and felt the pleasure-pain burning of the red lyrium ignite inside. It was growing familiar to her, easier to the point it was as natural as drawing mana and shaping spells. But unlike her natural magic, this talent had a much heavier cost.

"I think I can do it," she told her spymaster as she walked toward the first bed. A chevalier lay sleeping, his fancy Orlesian armor sitting at his bedside. His skin was sweat slicked and was already too pale. The veins stood out stark purple. In a few days they would go red. Then the crystals would sprout. The Blighted lyrium had picked this man for a quick snack, which was typical for victims of red Templars. Corypheus could exert some control over the red lyrium, forcing it to eat his minions slowly. But he had no such interest in preserving chevaliers and Inquisition members.

Rosa held out her hand palm up and the red lyrium followed her tug on it. The glowing crimson flew up and out of the man's body, rising into her palm. She heard Leliana breathe in, still shocked at the display.

Circling round the foot of this soldier's bed, Rosa progressed to the next and then the next in quick succession. Soon she held a red lyrium ball the size of a watermelon. She walked to the center of the tent where there was enough open space to destroy it and tipped her palm over. The crystals tinkled as they shattered. Rosa used a barrier to keep them constricted and then summoned fire into her hand.

Now she hesitated, knowing this next bit would hurt. "Leliana," she called. "I'm going to need your help."

The spymaster hurried to stand just behind her. Rosa braced herself and then hurled the fire at the red crystals. The red lyrium screamed in her ears, sizzling. Her skin burned with it. Biting her tongue, Rosa tried to keep quiet. But as the pain built the cry escaped her throat anyway in a small, strangled sound as her knees gave out.

Leliana grabbed her from behind and dragged her backward to one of the empty beds. She laid Rosa down, her expression drawn with concern. "Inquisitor? Are you all right?"

Rosa hummed in her throat, dizzy as the world spun above. The painful heat gradually left her skin. The connection to the red lyrium died with the crystals in the fire. The pain disappeared slowly afterward. She shivered as the pleasure-pain burn faded, leaving her feeling small. Cold sweat doused her whole body. Leliana's hand on her forehead was blistering. She hissed through her teeth and rolled her head away.

"Rosa," Leliana said, using her name in a rare moment of personal appeal. "I wish you would tell me how you do this. It's clearly hard on you." She shook her head, brows furrowed and eyes worried. "You know saving these people means nothing if we lose you. Without your mark…"

"It passes quickly," Rosa said, which was somewhat true. However, it _was_ draining. "I'll be fine."

"The secrecy isn't going to work," Leliana told her, motioning at the sleeping men and women in the infirmary around them. "Just like with my scouts. Word will get out. We need to work with Josephine to decide on a strategy for—"

"I'm not talking about this right now," Rosa grumbled. Gritting her teeth, she heaved herself off the bed. She swayed as she stood and Leliana gripped her with steadying hands. "Thanks."

"Of course, Inquisitor," Leliana said. "But please, give some thought to how we address this new power of yours going forward."

Rosa mumbled agreement and then left the tent, doing her best not to quake at the knees. Her heart fluttered in a dangerous, uneven patter in her chest. The sunshine streaming into the opening the Orlesians had clear-cut out of the forest stabbed into her eyes. Her head throbbed.

And suddenly Tal was at her side, gripping her forearm and moving her to grasp him in turn. _"Asamalin,_" he said and clucked his tongue. "You don't look good."

"Yeah?" she answered, laughing dryly. "I don't feel so great either."

"The healing took it right out of you," Tal said, his features twisting with sympathy. He directed her left, toward the rows of Inquisition tents that Leliana's people were fast erecting. "Here," he said, soft with concern. "Let me take you to rest."

"Thank you," she said, sighing with relief as she let Tal carry some of her weight. A wave of dizziness made her vision swim. Time seemed to skip until she found herself standing in front of a large tent stamped with the Inquisition's sword and eye. She was about to duck through the opening, still holding onto Tal, when a chill passed through her and she heard Cole's voice whispering just behind her, urgent.

"Bright light, gold and glittering. Blood spilled, red clouds covering, cloaking." He sucked in a breath and suddenly spoke louder. "You have to stop! _See._ Remember Redcliffe—"

Tal half-turned, shushing Cole dismissively. "Would you stop bothering my sister right now, kid? Get out of here. Let her rest."

Cole's eyes were a dark blue, lips parted and pallid skin even paler than usual, drilling into Rosa. There was something plaintive about it, pleading and afraid. "It's not him. See—" He reached out toward her.

Tal slapped Cole's hand away. "Knock that shit off." His hand on Rosa tightened and she was glad for it. She was so woozy, so weak.

Cole flinched backward as though Tal had struck him across the face. He fidgeted and then his gaze flicked to her and he said, "Wait."

And then he vanished.

Dizziness made Rosa sway again. She clutched Tal. "I wish Cole made more sense."

Tal chuckled. "Me too. But come inside, have a nap."

She nodded and let him guide her into the tent. A bedroll waited, still secured in a roll and bound with twine. Tal unbound and spread it out for her. "There you go," he said, grinning. "Your feather bed awaits, Inquisitor."

"Thank you," she said and let herself half-collapse into the bedroll. It was warm in the Arbor Wilds enough that she shouldn't need a fur to act as a blanket, but she found herself shivering anyway. It was as though a strange chill had descended in her tent. Somewhere, distant, she heard the whine and hum of red lyrium, ever searching for her.

"You can't dream anymore, can you?" Tal asked.

She let out a long breath. "No. I'm sorry. I don't know why."

He chuckled darkly. "Of course you do. We both do. It's the fucking red lyrium."

"I can't turn it off," she admitted and felt fear open inside her chest, cavernous and all-consuming. "I don't know what to do."

Tal sat in the dirt in front of her and leaned close, whispering. "Will you let me help you?"

She frowned at him. "Of course. But how can you help?"

Smirking, Tal pulled back slightly and began fussing with a gold chain around his neck. It was oddly decorative and Rosa hadn't seen it before. Or…had she? Yes, Tal had worn something like this before. She tensed, struggling to pinpoint the memory, to understand her own strange reaction of fear as Tal produced a pendant, gold rimmed with a blackish stone set in the middle.

"Nola taught me some blood magic spells we could try." He shrugged. "Normally I'd say it wouldn't be worth it, but since you can't dream anyway what's the harm?" He extended the pendant out to her, resting delicately against his palm.

Rosa hesitated. "What spells? What will it do?"

"Bind the red lyrium, I hope." He shrugged. "It might not work, but it's worth a try, right?" At her ongoing hesitation he smiled warmly. "Would I lie to you, _asamalin?_ You know all I want to do is help you. Will you let me help you? For once?"

She sighed, realizing he was right. What did she have to lose? She wanted the dreaming back. She wanted to divest herself of the horrible temptation and horror of the red lyrium. If Solas was still here…if she could have found him…maybe he would know a better way.

But he was gone. He had betrayed her. Lied to her. Used her.

Her throat hurt, aching. Tears stung her eyes. "Oh, _da'isamalin,_ why did things happen this way?"

Tal shook his head, his expression sad. "Void knows. But…" He rattled the fine gold chain of the pendant and half-smiled encouragement.

Rosa grunted as she forced herself up on the bed and extended her hand out to her brother. As he passed it to her she saw a faint red glint deep inside the black stone. She frowned at it, hesitating again. Yet something inside her yearned for it, too. Release from responsibility. Silence. And, of course, a return to the dreaming.

"What do I do?" she asked, still staring at the pendant.

She heard a faint clink of metal and lifted her eyes to see Tal holding a small dagger. "Just a little cut. Here. Give me your hand."

Rosa clutched the pendant in her left hand and then extended her right for her brother. She winced as the knife slit against her skin. Blood welled up. Tal motioned for her to press the wound to the pendant. "Go on. Let me help you. Let me take the torment away."

She rested her bleeding palm over the stone and felt it flush hot. With a gasp she felt something inside the stone surge into her. Strength suffused her limbs—raw heat. The red lyrium whine faded from her mind. Joy made her cry, laughing with relief as she shut her eyes.

"Tal," she breathed, smiling. "You did it, you really did…"

"We'll work wonderfully together, _child of Dirthamen,"_ came a voice that was not her brother's.

Rosa thought nothing of it before blackness closed over her.

* * *

As distant booms echoed through the tall canopy, Sera yelped and ducked. When Iron Bull chuckled at her expense she cursed and slammed her elbow into him. "Come off it! That shite's loud!"

"It's got nothing on Qunari black-powder," Iron Bull assured her, winking his one good eye. "Trust me. Those shots are miles away."

"Andraste's arse! You serious? It's so loud I can feel the booms in my teeth, yeah?" Sera scoffed, shaking her head at him. As Tal smirked her ire switched quickly to him and he hurriedly blanked his expression. "What you grinning 'bout, Treeface? Where's Her Lady Inquisi-bits run off to? We going to go stick Cory-phen-nuts in the ballsack with arrows or not?"

Tal scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck. "She went off with Leliana last I saw." Their group, along with most of the Inquisition forces, had arrived fresh that morning to this staging point in the Arbor Wilds. The temple, and the bulk of Corypheus' forces, was thought to be just a few miles ahead. The soldiers were fresh from only light travel that morning and everyone had expected they would march out to take on Corypheus right away. But now, oddly, things had stalled. That left Iron Bull, Tal, Sera, and Varric with nothing to do but sit around a fireless hearth, waiting.

"Stoic," Varric put in from the stone he'd settled himself on, Bianca positioned on his lap. "I'm with Buttercup on this one—albeit a little more eloquently, I hope. I think we need to grab the Inquisitor and get moving before we lose this race. I don't want to find out how this goes down if we _don't_ win."

"If I knew where my sister was, trust me, I would be the first to—" Tal cut himself off as he sensed Cole abruptly, catching the motion of the spirit boy out of his peripheral vision. He flinched and then sighed, laying a hand over his chest. "Cole, you scared me."

Sera groaned, snarling at Cole. "Ugh. Get away, thing! No one wants you here."

"Don't worry," Tal said to Cole. "I'll make sure she doesn't try to hurt you."

A glimmer of something that might have been understanding and gratitude flashed through Cole's blue eyes. He nodded. "Thank you." Then he seemed to shake himself and spoke with urgency. "You have to come, now! Hurry!"

"What?" Tal asked, taken aback by the abrupt change. Cole shocked him then as the spirit boy grasped his arm and pulled, hard. Tal stumbled, walking to keep from falling. "What's going on, Cole?" he asked, alarmed now.

"It's here now, for her," the spirit rambled as he tugged Tal away from the other members of the inner circle. "You have to come stop it before it's too late!"

"What's here?" Tal asked, sweat breaking out over his skin. With his other hand not in Cole's grip he reached for his stave.

Iron Bull, Varric, and Sera were close enough that they overheard much of the conversation and when they saw Tal reach for his weapon they followed suit. "I don't like the sound of this," Varric said, rushing first after Tal and Cole. "Nothing gets the Kid spooked like this except something like Corypheus marching on Haven."

"Demons, I bet," Sera grumbled under her breath, following with Iron Bull at her side. "Arse-licking demons."

Horror clutched Tal's heart when Cole's response to this was to turn and say, "Yes. But she doesn't know. She thinks it's you. I tried to make her see, but it stopped me."

Tal's guts seemed to go liquid. "Fuck." He started running and Cole matched pace with him. "Where? Where is she?" He already knew who _she_ must be. Unless it was Nola. _Creators,_ he prayed, though he knew they weren't gods. _Please don't let it be Nola and don't let me be too late._

"There," Cole said, pointing to a tent. "She—" He froze and then recoiled.

Tal slowed for an instant, wanting to question the spirit, but his hammering heart drove him to rush past Cole. He scrambled under the tent flap, shouting for his sister. _"Asamalin! Asamalin!_" He saw Rosa laying on a bedroll, motionless and pale.

"Rosa!" he yelled and lunged for her, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up!"

She gasped and sat upright, blinking. Then she frowned. "Tal? Why did you wake me? I was…" She stopped, eyes widening and then she grinned. "I was dreaming. _Creators. _I was _dreaming!"_

Before Tal knew what was happening she threw her arms around him, shaking and crying as she embraced him. Her tears were hot against his neck. Stunned, Tal slowly lifted his hands to pat her back and then, as his own fear melted, he embraced her. "You were dreaming?" he asked her in a whisper.

"Yes," she breathed, still shaking. "Yes. _Thank you."_

He chuckled tightly. "You're welcome, I guess."

Suddenly Cole spoke from inside the tent. "It wasn't him."

Rosa released him and glanced over at the spirit, frowning a moment before she ignored him and looked back to Tal. "I feel so much better," she said, still beaming.

"I guess that nap really helped," Tal said, chuckling tightly again. Something…was _off._ Just subtly. "Sorry I woke you. It's just…" He glanced at Cole and saw a strange expression on the boy's face—something caught between horror and pain and fear.

"What?" Rosa asked.

"They're…we are all eager to go kick Corypheus' ass," Tal said. Something cautioned him to play it cool and tread carefully. His gaze flicked to Cole briefly and a chill washed over him. Repressing a shudder, he kept his smile up for Rosa's benefit even as the sense of wrongness grew like a tumor inside.

"Me too," Rosa said, blithely unaware of his distress. She felt around her back and frowned, realizing her staff was missing. "Well, as soon as I find my stave let's head out. Sound like a plan?"

"Yeah," Tal answered and then hurriedly turned to leave, snagging Cole by the sleeve as he went. The spirit fought weakly, straining to stare at Rosa as though he wanted to speak but couldn't force out the words.

Outside the tent Varric, Iron Bull, and Sera waited. Their postures had all eased, indicating they believed whatever threat Tal and Cole believed in had passed or never existed. Cole was sometimes odd and unpredictable, after all. Maybe he just cued off a nightmare or a threat in the Fade? But Tal knew otherwise.

"Did I hear that right?" Varric asked. "We're about to head out and put Corypheus back in the ground where he belongs?"

Rosa appeared out of the tent behind Tal before he could answer. She grinned at the dwarf and the other members of her inner circle. "You heard right, Varric. Let's go make his ugly ass pay."

As Rosa walked off with Iron Bull, Sera, and Varric in tow, Tal deliberately fell behind. He kept a hold on Cole, letting the distance grow until he felt he could speak to the spirit without being overheard. "What the fuck's going on, Cole? Something's wrong, isn't it?"

Cole's lips pinched together and his eyes stayed wide with fear. "She's not alone."

"What do you mean?" Tal asked, pressing closer as they walked at a snail pace, distancing themselves.

"She thought it was you, but it wasn't." Cole licked his lips, eyes darting to gaze at Rosa's back up ahead. "She didn't know. She still doesn't."

"I need you to be a little more lucid right now, buddy," Tal said, laughing nervously.

Cole's eyes glazed over. His voice dropped into a harsh hissing as he adopted a different voice, clearly channeling someone else. "_You are a stubborn one, child of Dirthamen, but no matter. The bargain is struck and if _you_ will not submit the payment in blood there is always the other."_

"Shit," Tal cursed. That sounded like…like…

"Raselan," Cole whispered, barely audible, taking the name straight from Tal's mind. "Like Redclife."

"Except it's not me this time," Tal muttered, heart pounding and aching with fear for his sister. How did the Formless One escape the Fade?

"Imshael," Cole whispered.

That made far too much sense. Imshael would have the knowledge and means to summon one of his brethren from the Fade. And he had no shortage of blood sacrifices from his enslaved red Templars if the ritual required blood. This was beyond both he and Cole. The only person he knew who could face off with demons as powerful and crafty as this would be…

"Cole," Tal said, his hand snapping tighter on the spirit boy's arm. "Could you find Solas if you wanted to? In the Fade or…?"

Cole froze, brow furrowing as though with concentration. "I don't dream," he said matter-0f-factly.

"Oh, that's right, shit…" Tal groaned and ran a hand through his hair with mounting frustration and desperation. What was the Formless One doing possessing Rosa? Why? What did it want? How had it tricked her?

"But I can feel him here," Cole said brightly, with the simple pleasure and certainty of a child.

"Here?" Tal repeated, squawking with shock. "You mean in camp here?"

"No," Cole said. "In the forest. The Veil is thin here. The song is louder here. Sometimes I can see it."

Tal ignored the gibberish about songs and drove straight to the point. "Can you take me to him? Now?"

Cole blinked, his expression open and hopeful. "I think so?"

Searching camp quickly in a cursory glance, Tal saw Rosa was some distance away, chatting with Cullen and Leliana. Otherwise the camp was in a state of orderly chaos as troops arrived in a trickle from Orlais and Ferelden, and those already present marched in to combat. Wounded returned and healers scurried about in a frantic rush to find and distribute herbs.

Rosa would worry if he and Cole suddenly vanished, but if Solas was close, perhaps spying on the battle just a mile or two distant…

"Let's go," he said and took off running. The faint tread behind him reassured him that Cole was running after him. Drawing mana as he ducked behind the nearest tent, Tal took on invisibility and rushed out of camp.

* * *

Solas had known seeing Mythal's splendid—and some might say excessively opulent—temple now in ruins would be painful. He braced for it, but the intensity of pain in his heart still hit him hard. Seeing Corypheus and Inquisition forces lay further waste to it with destructive canon-fire only twisted the knife in his chest.

This was where, so long ago, the Evanuris cornered and killed Mythal for supporting him and harboring his freed slaves and rebel fighters. This was where they sealed their fate in Solas' mind for their crimes. He was content, previously, to slowly wear away at their support, to free their slaves, and expose them as false gods. But after they killed Mythal, and with her a major base of his own power, Solas had to concoct a far more aggressive plan to outright eliminate them. Forever.

And that was how the Veil came to be. It was simultaneously his greatest folly and his greatest feat.

Why was it everything he touched turned to ash eventually?

Those melancholy thoughts plagued him as he and a small group of his people followed the progress of the clashing forces along the river beside the outer ruins of the temple. The fighting had gone on for a few days now, mostly in skirmishes as early arriving Orlesians and some of Leliana's advance scouts harassed Corypheus' Templars and Venatori. But now that more Inquisition soldiers had arrived the two armies were in open combat and drawing closer and closer to the temple proper.

Solas and his people were searching for some sign of Corypheus himself, hoping the darkspawn magister would show his Blight-tainted face here. Their goal if they found him was simple—take the orb. Once they did Solas would be halfway to his end goal and this battle outside Mythal's shattered temple would be an exercise in futility for both parties.

Mythal's sentinels were the sad third party in all this. Solas and his people observed them striking in sneak attacks against both sides. Once or twice, as Solas and his small group traversed steep, rocky animal paths or worked over completely wild terrain to avoid both Corypheus' and Inquisition forces, they ran across sentinels. The Elvhen recognized one another on sight—neither of their invading enemies traveled in exclusively elven parties—but still spoke the passphrase to each other. Each time Solas encountered them he saw the weariness in the sentinels. Their existence was an unending pointless quest that they had already failed ages ago. They were ghosts protecting ruins and the memory of a false goddess who was long dead in physical form.

Solas hoped that some of them would survive this conflict and choose to leave their duty for a new task that still held some hope. After today, if he succeeded, the Veil might be gone and the People restored. They would need these sentinels and all the Elvhen survivors who carried with them knowledge long lost.

He tried not to consider what success today also entailed—taking back the Anchor from Rosa or at least forcing her to use it for his purposes by any means necessary. And then, of course, dying. Most likely. He might perish just taking down the Veil itself, but more likely it would be in trying to take on the still weak and shocked Evanuris. He might kill one or two of them before they recovered their wits and slew him. That would be enough.

For Rosa and Tal's sake, assuming they still lived after this confrontation and the chaos caused by the destruction of the Veil, Solas would kill Dirthamen and Falon'Din first. Then Elgar'nan and Andruil, if he could. The other Evanuris were of gentler dispositions and would likely see Rosa and Tal as valuable pawns rather than slaves or enemies.

As the sun rose higher in the sky and the fighting by the river drew closer to the temple entrance, Solas led his group to a secluded, enclosed section of ruins. Frescoes still stood out clearly on the white stone bricks, crude versions of the ones Solas painted at Skyhold. They ate quietly in the shade of the enclosed space, ears perked to the sounds of fighting, which were entirely too close.

"The darkspawn magister isn't going to waste any time with the fighting by his minions, I think," Lyris said softly when she had finished the dates and wild mushrooms from her small pack.

Mathrel, her partner both in romance and combat, nodded his agreement. "We should not linger long outside the temple. This may be mere distraction."

Solas dipped his head to the arcane warriors. "I agree. We will make our way there." He popped the last of his own mushrooms into his mouth, enjoying the fleshy texture between his molars. He was confident he would feel the orb—and by extension Corypheus—well before they actually saw him. The orb tended to twist the Veil in a distinctive way that as long as Solas was in the same relative area, within a few miles, he would sense it. So far Solas had felt nothing.

Var, the last member of Solas' group, said nothing from where he stood beside one of the arches leading out of the darkened enclosure. He was lookout for this break, having eaten while Mathrel kept watch earlier.

And then, suddenly, Solas' skin prickled and he had the sense of someone behind him. Tensing, he shot to his feet and turned round, ice cracking in his palms—but he stopped as he recognized Cole squatting behind him in the darkness of the alcove. Mathrel, Lyris, and Var all leapt to their feet, responding to Solas's action. Lyris tossed barriers over everyone and Mathrel's spectral blade buzzed loudly in the enclosed space. Var drew daggers with a metallic noise. They all waited motionless, breath held.

"Cole?" Solas asked, dropping his hostile stance.

The arcane warriors and Var remained tense. They did not speak. Solas didn't know if they saw the boy or not. Cole could selectively choose who saw him and who didn't sometimes. Other times the boy seemed to have no control over it and passed invisible when he didn't even mean to do so.

Cole stood up from his crouch and stepped closer, a look of urgency and panic crossing his features. "It came for her! You have to come! You have to help!"

Solas stiffened. "What has happened?"

"What is it, _hahren?"_ Mathrel asked. "Has the magister arrived?"

"Hush," Lyris scolded him. "Let the boy speak."

Mathrel scowled at her. "What boy?"

Well, that cleared up most of his questions regarding who could see Cole. Judging by Var's baffled expression Solas guessed he couldn't see Cole either.

"You have to help," Cole repeated and then his voice went breathy in that way Solas knew meant he was reading something or someone. _"We'll work wonderfully together, child of Dirthamen."_

Solas stared, heart ramming against his ribs like a prisoner's fists hammering the bars of his cage. His memory flew back to shared dreams with Rosa in the Hasmal Circle, when they faced the Formless One together. It had called her that. Repeatedly. At the time Solas assumed it was only her vallaslin the demon keyed off. Now he knew otherwise.

He'd wondered for months what the demons' end goals were, where their plans were headed. Were they merely entertaining themselves or…? No, it had to be more.

_"The demons are at your back to make you fight Fen'Harel,"_ Cole rasped in the same breathy voice._ "__To make you __become__ him because you are far easier to manipulate." _

Solas' lips parted slightly as he realized, glimpsing it from Cole as he would with any open spirit, that the boy was channeling Felassan now. The memory was Tal's, from a moment months ago as the siblings summoned their father's soul to the Void Mirror in the temple of Dirthamen. He had thought the demons only wanted chaos, to weaken him. Now he realized his own vanity had blinded him. He thought the demons needed him to tear down the Veil and free their masters. He was wrong.

Rosa was the one with the Anchor. She was a Dreamer and the grandchild of an Evanuris. They could trick her into tearing down the Veil. They could make her replace him in that respect. They didn't care that she could never face down the Evanuris by herself or possess the strength to reshape the world. They only cared about destroying the Veil, and that she could do.

Cold sweat broke out over his skin as horror choked him with all the bitter chill of the grave. The demons had driven him from the siblings, using both his and their flaws against them time and time again. And they had used Zevanni to do it once more as soon as they overheard that Rosa might be making friendly overtures to Fen'Harel and his people. They wanted him at odds with Rosa and Tal so they could move in on the siblings to control them for the endgame.

They had all played right into the Forbidden Ones' plan. _"Fenedhis."_

Cole nodded urgently, knowing he at last understood. _"Claim the orb to stop the Dread Wolf," _Cole whispered, still reading someone or something. _"Take his power or he will swallow you and the world." _The glimpse came to him from Cole, given freely. This was Tal's memory, again. Cole was actively reading him, which meant…

_"__Hahren?" _Var called, grabbing up his bow and nocking an arrow._ "__Someone is here. And they're using an invisibility spell."_

"Yes," Solas said, turning to Var. "That would be Talassan." Walking away from Cole drew both Mathrel and Lyris to stand behind him protectively as bodyguards. He stared out at the forest and did indeed feel the tingle of excess mana in the air, indicating someone was nearby and using a lot of magic for a sophisticated spell. Yet the spellcaster was clumsy, too—at least to someone of Solas' age and experience.

_"__Fenesvir's son?"_ Var asked, still using elven to disguise what he said and using Felassan's pre-Veil name.

Solas shot his rogue a dry look. "Tal speaks elven fluently, _falon.__"_

Var's expression warped with confusion and unease. _"I did not know Fenesvir educated his children. I thought they were Dalish."_ Despite Solas' warning the rogue kept using elven anyway. The language was their native tongue, after all. They likely used elven more than Solas had over the last year and a half.

Clenching his jaw and staring out again to the forest where he knew Tal must be lurking, unwilling just yet to show himself, Solas added with unnecessary loudness, "There are many things we did not know about Felassan. I regret his death most of all."

His eyes scanned the greenery as he spoke, looking for a telltale shimmer from excess mana. That Tal was here spoke volumes of the young elf's desperation. He knew he needed Solas to save his sister and to defeat the demons. And, like Solas, he trusted Cole would never lead him to a trap.

As if summoned by Solas' thoughts, Cole appeared just outside the ruins, off to his left. "He won't let them hurt you," Cole said, gentle and coaxing. "He wants to help you. And her."

Var tensed, shifting his nocked arrow to the left. He apparently sensed Cole but didn't see him. Solas lifted a hand, motioning at Var to stand down. "There is no need for your arrow."

The rogue shifted, clearly uneasy with Solas' order, but he obeyed anyway_. _

_"_It's all right," Cole said.

At that Tal suddenly appeared some twenty meters out from the ruins where Solas and his group stood. The arcane warriors and Var all tensed, hands reaching for weapons even though they did not aim or draw them. Tal held his stave, ready to fight as well. He glowered at Solas, shaking slightly with restrained rage.

"Tal," Solas said, breaking the silence first, urgency demanding action. "Cole is right and if I understand correctly, we may be short on time. We must—"

"Fuck you, Dread Wolf," Tal snapped, glaring venomously. His brown eyes darted now to Var. "Or wait, let me put it in a language you all understand better." He cleared his throat and switched to elven. _"Fuck you, __Fen'Harel.__ And fuck you, whoever you are. Yes, my father taught me the language of the People." _Dropping elven, he growled, "He also taught me not to betray your friends or lie to the people you love. Guess you missed that lesson, huh Solas?"

Looking away, Solas steeled his spine. He deserved Tal's ire. It was entirely fair for what he had done. But they did not have time for emotional resolution. He drew in a breath as he sensed his bodyguards and Var all anxiously fingering their weapons. "You have every right to be angry. I regret misleading you and your sister, but we do not have time now to address it." He turned his head back to Tal, locking gazes with him. "Rosa is in danger. More so, I believe this world is at stake as well."

"I'm only here for Rosa," Tal snarled. "And the last I knew you had some not -so-great plans for the world, too, so don't try to motivate me with that halla shit."

Solas dipped his chin in formal acknowledgement. That was…interesting. The siblings knew something of his plans then. Felassan must have told them. Or Zevanni, before they executed her. Stroking his mana core for reassurance and finding it pleasantly large, still growing every day he spent awake despite the Veil, Solas stepped out from the protectiveness of the enclosed ruins.

Mathrel immediately moved after him, as did Lyris. _"Hahren,"_ his bodyguard protested. "They killed Zevanni."

Waving them away, Solas stepped closer to Tal. "Return to camp," he ordered them over his shoulder and await further instruction." To Tal he said, "Take me to the Inquisitor."

_"__Hahren,"_ Mathrel shouted, angry now. "Please! This is madness! They killed Zevanni!"

"Hush," Lyris said, grabbing her partner's arm to hold him back.

"Do as I command," Solas said curtly over his shoulder. Facing forward again he leveled Tal with a stern look. "I will aid you and help Rosa willingly, on two conditions."

Tal scowled. "You're going to dictate conditions now?" He scoffed. "Did Cole not tell you we think she's possessed? She isn't going to act like herself when she sees you again. You think she's just going to slap you on the wrist while Raselan is holding the reins?" He edged closer to Solas, his stance threatening and his voice deep. "At best she's going to have her Templars use you for target practice while she's possessed. At worst I bet Raselan would happily order you flayed alive."

Solas kept his expression impassive. He knew that the Formless One would be dangerous. It was old enough that it would know the correct spells to actually control him, too, at least in this Tranquil world. But he also knew the Formless One would be frantic when it saw him, desperate to kill him. That would make it careless and blind to other threats, meaning someone like Cole or Tal could sneak up on it.

"I understand the danger," he told Tal. "And I suspect I will be taken into custody at once and the Formless One, through Rosa, will order my death." He smiled humorlessly. "It will make no difference. In the midst of this battle she will have no chance to execute me, and her advisors and inner circle will advise against it, forcing her to wait. This will give us enough time to free her of the Formless One—as long as you ensure my conditions are met."

Tal hesitated a moment, frowning before he slowly nodded. "I hope you know what you're doing, Fen'Harel." He snarled the Evanuris name. "Because if you get my sister killed I swear by all that's holy, promises to my father be damned, I will kill you or die trying."

Solas ignored the bluster, though he did take note of the strange phrasing regarding Felassan. What had Tal promised and when? "My conditions are simple. You will ensure I am not kept from the Fade. Should Leliana or Rosa insist on dosing me with herbs, you will provide me with the herbs to counter this. Do you agree?"

"Fine," Tal muttered. "What else?"

"The Formless One will use runes against me that will weaken me." He deliberately did not specify what he meant, which in this case was that Raselan was probably the only one other than Imshael and maybe a handful of Mythal's sentinels who could effectively restrain him, even for a short time. Everyone else could bind him in any way they wanted and Solas would always be able to escape immediately. "You will dispel them as soon as possible. Repeatedly, if necessary."

"That's all?" Tal asked, arching a brow doubtfully. "What about if they beat you senseless? Torture you?"

Solas stared at the younger elf, completely unfazed. "That is all." Those were the only two things he needed to ensure he could escape at any time and take whatever action necessary to see his own plans reach fruition, regardless of Rosa and Raselan.

"Done," Tal said. His gaze shifted behind Solas, anxiously staring at the arcane warriors and Var. "Rosa—or Raselan—is never going to believe you just turned yourself in, though."

Now Solas allowed himself a hard smile. "But that is not what you will tell her."

Tal's suspicious expression was sour. _"Fenedhis,"_ he grumbled. "Motherfucking Dread Wolf. Just tell me what you're planning. Don't be coy and rub my nose in it."

Turning toward his warriors, Solas motioned at them. "Leave us," he repeated, letting his voice drop with irritation.

"But our plans, _hahren,"_ Mathrel said.

"Our plans will come to fruition another day," Solas replied, though it might indeed still be today. He hoped not, however. Then, slow and deliberate, he turned his back to them and began walking. "Cole, please join us. There is little time. I will explain as we walk."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"You truly believe he's going to spellcast through whatever rune that is?" Dorian asked with a disbelieving little laugh.

"You won't be laughing when he's torn you apart from within with a mindblast, Tevinter," she snapped.

"You do realize this is just our hobo ex-friend Solas, right?" Dorian asked, but something in his eyes hinted that he _was_ worried. He valued her opinion and suspected she knew things he did not.

"Did you not hear me when I said he's more dangerous than Corypheus?" she asked.


	65. Raselan's Rampage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa leads the Inquisition into battle, but she doesn't seem *quite* like herself...

"Eat it!" Sera shouted as she loosed an arrow at a Venatori downhill. The mage fluttered away in a black cloud before the arrow could hit. "Fuck!" Sera cursed as she registered the miss. But she was already nocking another arrow, tongue sticking out of one corner of her mouth.

Varric was with her, cranking Bianca and firing bolts into the fray. Dorian and Morrigan stood behind them, launching spells at enemies and periodically casting barriers over all assembled. Cassandra and Iron Bull rushed past, roaring out war cries. Red Templar soldiers stopped a short ways downhill, bracing themselves to meet the Inquisition's best melee fighters.

Rosa, meanwhile, was in the very back, arguing with Leliana. "What do you _mean_ you can't find Tal and Cole? They were back at camp just an hour ago before we left. Elgar'nan's fiery cock, Tal was the one who woke me up from my nap."

They'd delayed leaving for this assault for a solid hour while Rosa ordered a search of their camp for their missing companions. She was already down so many. Blackwall, who'd vanished for Creators knew, likely going to Val Royeaux. Vivienne, who Rosa sent after Blackwall. And now Cole and Tal were missing simultaneously. They'd barely begun fighting and this day already felt cursed.

Leliana frowned at her colorful curse. "There's no sign of them. With Cole, he could be anywhere. If he doesn't wish to be seen, we won't find him no matter how hard we look. He is a spirit, is he not?"

"Yes," Rosa said, exasperated. "Sometimes even I can't see him. But why would he skip out on us now? And why would my brother up and vanish?" She frowned, fighting the desire to just dismiss this concern and push ahead. What did she care what happened to either of them?

She shook her head, feeling a wave of dizziness.

"Inquisitor?" Leliana asked, reaching for her.

Rosa brushed her off. "I'm fine. Whatever. Forget it. I'm sure they'll turn up, but we need to stop Corypheus or none of us are going to live through today."

Turning away from the spymaster, Rosa moved to join the two archers and her mages. Morrigan was a bit of an unknown to her, but so far the witch seemed capable as she cast barriers and lobbed missiles at Venatori and red Templars.

"Inquisitor," Morrigan greeted her, shouting to be heard over the clash of steel downhill and the occasional roar and boom of canon fire. "'Tis nice of you to finally join us."

"Shut it, witch," Rosa blurted and then blinked, stunned at the outburst.

Morrigan arched a brow. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, my lady." There was a note of sarcasm and irritation in her tone, as though she had more choice words she'd like to say but withheld them.

Rosa ignored her as she focused on a new wave of red Templars rushing up from below. Lifting her stave high, she shouted, "Inquisition! With me! Charge!"

Iron Bull and Cassandra, already a ways downhill in their own skirmishes, shouted in answer. Orlesian forces and Inquisition soldiers already engaged below also lifted their voices in a rallying cry. Leliana ran up to join Varric and Sera, trotting downhill ahead of the line of mages.

The archers stopped short of the actual combat, nimble feet skidding over the slope to stop and aim. Sera dropped to one knee and fired first. Varric was next, adding a little explosive with his bolts that sent one red Templar's guts splattering the rocks of a large tree trunk nearby. Leliana shot with more precision than Sera, though not as swift. As Sera's arrows struck enemies in the arm, or the flank, slowing but not stopping them, Leliana finished them with shots to the neck or to the head.

Morrigan seemed to like fire, lobbing it repeatedly at foes. Dorian, meanwhile, used lightning, spinning his stave and slamming it down with a loud crack. Rosa refreshed barriers and then decided to show off with a veilstrike strong enough that she crushed one Venatori mage who was sizing up a frost rune for Iron Bull. One moment the mage was fully protected by his barrier, shaping the rune under Iron Bull's feet some thirty meters away, and then Rosa cast her own spell and jerked her fist down and the mage was a red smear under the green glowing circle. The mage's blood splashed out in a gory gush, splashing a nearby red Templar and the Orlesian chevalier facing off with him.

Seeing the red Templar and the chevalier both react with shock at the sudden violent veilstrike just behind them, Rosa couldn't resist. She reached out, connecting with the Blight in the red lyrium inside the tainted Templar. The pleasure-pain pulsed through her again, raw and more enjoyable than ever. She shivered at it, gritting her teeth against laughter as she commanded it to consume the Templar. The red lyrium buzzed with pleasure at this command and the whispers in her head were praise, prayers to a goddess.

Out on the battlefield the red Templar let out a short piercing scream and then red crystals burst out of his body in a sudden, violent eruption. Blood splattered and poured out onto the grass. The chevalier gasped and scrambled away. Where the blood fell the grass and ferns immediately turned black, dying. More crystals grew there, smaller.

The templar's death didn't hurt her now, another small miracle.

Empowered, Rosa yelled another rallying cry and they advanced. With most of the hill cleared they descended deeper into the jungle to a red Templar encampment. Leliana's people had already harassed it, slashing tents as they killed and sabotaged the enemy. But the Templars and Venatori hadn't given up yet. There were still ten or so of them holed up in this camp, dug in and ready to fight the Inquisition.

The first soldiers and warriors clashed with them well ahead of Rosa. The enemy's rogues appeared out of invisibility to hack and slash the first Inquisition fighters to enter the camp. Anger scorched Rosa from inside at the sight. She would make them pay.

Connecting with the red Templars through the Blight in their tainted bodies was easy. She could feel all of those nearest to her and knew she could command the Blight to consume them. It was what the red lyrium wanted by default, anyway.

She did it without considering it.

One moment the Templars in the camp were fighting, the next they froze and then an instant later screamed as one when red lyrium shards exploded from their bodies. Blood flew. Crystals clinked. A red haze filled the camp that was as much tainted lyrium as it was aerosolized gore. Inquisition archers and the mages around Rosa who hadn't yet quite reached the fighting stumbled as they gawked and recoiled.

Rosa had expected to feel a bit of fatigue from killing so many so quickly. Instead she felt dizzy with enjoyment. Her head buzzed. The song in her ears was beautiful, making her grin. The red lyrium was pliant and obedient, serving exactly as it promised. She would save countless people ending the fights with these tainted enemies so quickly. She touched the pendant Tal had given her, tucked away under her armor. With this to take away the drawbacks, she could do anything.

"The fuck just happened?" Iron Bull asked into the stunned silence of their group.

Just ahead of Rosa in the line of archers, Leliana turned and gazed at her over one shoulder, eyes narrowed with obvious suspicion. The spymaster guessed she was involved. Of course she did. Leliana's words from earlier that day rang in her ears now: _"…please, give some thought to how we address this new power of yours going forward."_

Now was the time to do just that.

Raising her voice, she shouted, "Behold the power of the Maker! I, as Andraste's herald, have been given the power to heal this poison and to smite the wicked with it. Do not fear the crystals. Even they heed the Maker's power."

She reached out a hand, aiming at one of the bloody crystals scattered about the former Templar encampment that had moments ago been a living man. Closing her fist, she commanded the crystal to shatter, to diminish and fade away. It obeyed as the crystal cracked and fell in a spray to the dirt, disappearing. The group gasped, staring at what remained of the crystal and then back at her, mute.

Now she grinned, knowing she had to get them out of this shock and back to fighting. "Now, friends, let's go kick Corypheus' ass!"

She lifted her stave and yelled, hoping they would take up the cry with her. They did, hesitant at first but as she let out another cry they grew more confident. Soon the soldiers ahead started running through the encampment, heading down toward the river that they knew led to the temple and more fighting.

They reached the river. The jungle lay thick on either side, boulders and stones peeking through at the sharp edges of the slope. A waterfall upstream and downstream roared. Mist clung to the air, damp but warm. It should have been an idyllic, beautiful place. It was anything but now with Corypheus' lackeys swarming all over it.

Red Templars fought chevaliers and Inquisition warriors in the knee-deep shallow river. Hacking and slashing, scrambling over slick wet stones. Rosa spotted Cullen in the fray, taking on two red Templars at once. He slew one while keeping his shield pointed to the other, blocking the frustrated fighter's swings.

Still connected to the red lyrium, Rosa made the second man die in a red haze of blood and tainted lyrium. Cullen yelped, alarmed at the sudden surge of crystals from the templar's body. Red crystals scattered over the water, glittering crimson as the current swept them away. The crowd around Rosa who'd heard her announcement earlier and now cheered as they noticed this new foe struck down by his own infection. Rosa could only grin as she and the rest of her inner circle reached the water.

"Inquisitor Lavellan!" Cullen called to her as she closed in. "We're holding our own for now," he said as she sloshed through the river to reach him. "Thank the Maker we brought as many of our allies as we did. These red Templars fight like demons with no care for their wellbeing."

Rosa nodded at his report and then blurted, "I killed the one behind you, you know."

Cullen stared at her a moment, then blinked. "I'm…not sure I heard that right." He glanced over his shoulder at the red lyrium spire that had just recently been a templar.

"No," Rosa told him, smirking. "You heard right. I can kill red Templars. I smite them with the power of your Maker." What did it matter if she lied to him, both about what she was doing and how she had the power? They all secretly thought her divinely touched by their precious Maker. Why not pretend to believe it openly herself?

Cullen's perturbed look only increased. His brown eyes flicked to Leliana and his lips twitched up and then down as he apparently did not know how to react to this. Rosa turned to look at Leliana to measure the spymaster's take on her announcement, but Sera blocked her line of sight as the archer stepped up next to her.

"All right," the other elf said, nose wrinkled. "What the shite's up with you?" She shook her head. "You don't believe in Andraste. What changed?"

"I had a vision," Rosa lied. "When Solas sent that infected woman to attack us back at Skyhold." She watched with satisfaction as Sera's expression blanked from suspicion to surprise.

Cassandra as well appeared to react with both disbelief and something akin to awe. "Truly, Inquisitor?"

"You're an elfy-elf," Sera protested, still stunned. "You never believed, not after everything."

"But now I do," Rosa said with mock solemnity. "I saw the Maker and Andraste in a vision and She cured me."

"Funny that we're only hearing about this now," Dorian put in under his breath.

"I don't care what you think is funny, Tevinter," Rosa snapped at him. She faced Cullen again. "We're wasting time talking about it. The truth is it's good news. I'll be able to save a lot of people." She grinned. "Let's get back to stopping C—"

She fell silent as she spotted a familiar figure emerging through the foliage across the river. The man who emerged, appearing suddenly at the edge of the river, was lean and dressed in Keeper armor. He was slumped with the weight of another figure slung over his shoulder. The fighting had mostly stopped in this immediate area, which was fortunate because she recognized this young man was her brother.

"Tal?" she blurted.

Her inner circle all reacted, shifting position to look at what she was seeing. Cullen was first to react. "Oh! Quickly, Cassandra, Iron Bull, come with me. He's carrying a casualty." The commander and the other two fighters all hurried forward, slogging through the knee-deep water with a prolific amount of splashing.

"Is that Cole he's carrying?" Leliana asked, squinting. From their perspective, so far away, they could only see that Tal carried a relatively slim-bodied person. Everything else was unclear.

And yet…Rosa tensed. Her spine snapped taut and her hands opened and closed at her sides. She fought with the desire to grab her stave. It couldn't be…no…why would she even think that?

But as Cullen, Cassandra, and Iron Bull reached Tal and he transferred his burden over to them, slouching with obvious fatigue from the weight of his unconscious passenger, she caught the glint of golden armor. A wolf pelt. A ragged green cape with a hood that covered the head. But as Iron Bull took the unconscious figure—the _man_—Rosa had seen enough.

Before she could think about it, Rosa stepped forward. She reached for her stave, mind churning and stomach roiling with a thousand emotions. Two burned clearer than any others: fear and rage.

"That's far enough," she yelled, stopping and adopting a fighting posture.

Iron Bull froze, frowning mildly at her. "Boss?" he asked in a surprisingly cool tone, despite the fact Rosa was facing off with him and the others as though she was about to fight them all.

"Is he unconscious?" she asked, glancing at Tal.

"Yeah…" Tal said, breathing heavily still. The caution in his voice and body language were unmistakable and only heightened Rosa's unease.

"Good, that makes it easy, then—and far safer for all of us," she said and jutted out her chin in a show of confidence. "Iron Bull, please put him down." When the Qunari hesitated a beat she clarified, "Please put him down face first in the river, I mean. Drown him."

"What?" Cassandra asked, mouth hanging open. "Inquisitor—"

Rosa shot the Seeker a cold glare. "Did I stutter?" Turning to glare at Bull now, Rosa pointed at the river. "Why aren't you doing as I've ordered? Did you not hear me?"

"You want me to drown him," Iron Bull said, impassively. Disbelievingly.

"Inquisitor," Cullen protested. "We can't drown an unconscious man!"

"A man we—_you_—were once allied with!" Cassandra added, horror plainly written over her face.

"Exactly," Cullen said, nodding to the Seeker. "More than that, if he is our enemy now, he's a valuable hostage."

"If he wakes up it will be a lot harder to kill him," Rosa said as calmly as she could, trying to be rational even as urgency made her twitchier than a Templar in need of a lyrium fix. She locked gazes with Iron Bull. "Trust me on this, Qunari. Solas is as much our enemy as Corypheus. I need him executed immediately. This is the easiest way to do it for everyone."

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra shouted again, red faced now.

Damn that fool Seeker and her conscience. And her romanticism. All of that rubbish.

"If none of you wish to do it, I will do it," she said. "I understand it seems abrupt on my part, even cruel, but if you knew what I do about him you would understand he's a _greater_ threat than Corypheus. If Corypheus were here now, unconscious, none of you would hesitate to do as I've ordered."

This drew some pause at long last as they considered her words. Seeing her chance to convince them Rosa added, "Perhaps you don't understand the full threat he poses. I'll explain. He's here to take the Anchor from me. It's why he was with us from the start. It was to protect the Anchor."

At their blank stares—from all but Tal who of course already knew—she further explained, "You all remember that the mark in my hand came from Corypheus' orb? Well, that orb came into their hands because a certain hobo eggheaded elf dug it out of ruins around Hasmal. And then he couldn't get it back from the Templars there. He knew it was dangerous, but he still went in sticking his nose where it didn't belong and now we're stuck dealing with the consequences."

She sucked in a deep breath before finishing. "And trust me on this, he was after power when he did what he did. He's back now because he wants to steal the Anchor from me. Only he will be better at it than Corypheus."

"Wait," Cullen said, frowning. "How can Solas know more about your mark than Corypheus?" Unlike her inner circle, Cullen knew about Solas' association with the orb. She had to tell Leliana, Josephine to explain Solas' sudden departure, and they in turn told Cullen because he helped manage her Templar escort and defense at Skyhold. So while Iron Bull and Cassandra both looked stunned, the ex-templar could plow straight to the weak spots of her story. The "Solas is a bigger threat than Corypheus and after the Anchor" was new to him.

Rosa rolled her eyes. "That's not important, but trust me he does. And that's why he's here and that's why we need to kill him _immediately_ before he wakes up and tears us apart."

"Seems to me, Boss," Iron Bull said with a smirk. "That he's here because Tal knocked him out or found him wounded." He swung his head to look at Tal, nodding at the much smaller man.

That…that was a good point. Rosa fidgeted, glancing at her brother. She was so twitchy, anxious. She almost wanted…almost wished she could knock her brother out. Whatever he had to say…she didn't want to hear it.

She shook herself, startled by her own thoughts.

"How did you find him?" Rosa asked her brother.

"Well," Tal said, grinning. "I went off into the bush to take a dump before you left camp." This drew an irritated growl from Cassandra. Tal ignored her. "While I was out I saw some strange elves skulking near our camp, spying. I tailed them and eventually they reported to you-know-who." He snorted. "Overconfident bastard was just hiding out in the forest a ways away, no bodyguards or anything." He jerked his thumb behind him. "When his spies left him alone again I got him with a knockout bomb."

Rosa scoffed, torn between the desire to question Tal in greater depth with disbelief or to just nod and accept his story. There were certainly stories about the Dread Wolf being caught unawares and she had personally seen Solas display overconfidence numerous times. He would leave camp without a stave, for example. She knew he didn't need a focus to be deadly, but still…he was weaker than he was…before…

A wave of dizziness passed over her and she thrust out her staff, splashing in the river. A chorus of concerned cries pelted her, but Rosa waved them all away. They had to press on to whatever lay ahead. They had to stop Corypheus. She would deal with Fen'Harel in due time, once they had Corypheus under control and had the orb in their possession again.

She shook off the strange hazy images in her mind that felt like memories, as if she could _remember_ seeing Fen'Harel at full strength. And she didn't consider the odd imperative to take Corypheus' orb. Or rather, Fen'Harel's orb. It would be a good strategy to claim it for her Inquisition, to thwart any crazies like Corypheus from using it. That included Solas, obviously. Not that she would have to worry about him much longer.

"We don't have time to dither on this," Rosa said. "Iron Bull, I need you to—"

"We _aren't _going to drown him," Cullen said, steel in his voice.

Rosa rolled her eyes at him. "If you would let me _finish_, pretty boy, I was going to say we need to shackle him. Thoroughly. With _severe_ anti-magic runes." She snapped her fingers. "Someone fetch a Templar. Actually, make it like twenty Templars. He needs a constant guard with Templars doing their anti-magic thing. I am going to _personally_ make the mana-sucking runes on his manacles."

As people scrambled to follow her orders, the witch Morrigan appeared by her side. "'Tis a bit much I should think for one rogue apostate." Her voice was more curious than anything else. She wasn't criticizing Rosa's actions, merely trying to understand them.

Rosa scoffed. "Bugger off, witch." She slogged ahead, following behind Iron Bull as they made their way to the far shore. She didn't like Morrigan. Something about her was…off. She had half a mind to have the witch bound and left outside the temple. The last thing she wanted was for Morrigan to stand around questioning the motives underlying her actions.

On the far side of the river Iron Bull laid Solas out in the grass and ferns, just beyond the mud. The Elvhen man wore armor she recognized as being of Elvhenan, bright and shiny and resplendent. And, of course, arrogant to a fault.

Tal had bound Solas' hands at the wrists and his feet at the ankles with simple cloth, torn from an undershirt. It was flimsy and would do nothing to hold one such as Fen'Harel once he woke. Rosa stood over his body, mana burbling anxiously inside her, as she waited for the Templars and the manacles she'd ordered to arrive.

Tal stood nearby, nonchalantly picking his nails. _"I spelled his bonds,"_ he said, using elven.

"_It won't hold him,"_ she snarled. _"You should have slit his throat."_

Her brother flashed her a tight grin that lacked all humor. "And break my promise to _babae? _Sorry. I can't live with that. Can you?"

"Yes," she growled, glaring at him. "Because he's here to kill me for the Anchor."

Tal clenched his jaw and said nothing, which was just as well for a gaggle of Templars appeared, along with Leliana, who carried the manacles. Morrigan and Dorian materialized as well, coming to lend aid presumably. Rosa didn't need them and rather wished the mages, including Tal, would leave.

She didn't let her discomfiture stop her, however, as she stooped and locked the manacles in place around Fen'Harel's wrists. Mumbling under her breath, Rosa cast the strongest rune spell she knew for sucking away mana. She'd seen this before, when Imshael used it to keep her hostage many months ago. Though the memory was hazy her hands moved with great skill and practice.

"There," she said when she was finished. She sensed the Templars, all three mages, Leliana, and Void knew who else leaning in to try to read the rune. None of them would recognize it and she didn't want them to linger long over it. "What are you all standing around here for? Someone fetch some more chains! We need to bind his legs. Chop-chop!"

"A very curious rune, Inquisitor," Morrigan murmured.

Rosa tossed the witch a warning glare. She _almost_ threatened the other woman aloud with a promise that if she said anything snarky like that again, questioning her, Rosa would have her chained and beheaded right alongside Solas. But that would probably spook everyone around her. They were already a little shaken by her decision to suddenly embrace Andraste.

Idiots. Every one of them.

But then Morrigan dropped very low on her list of concerns as Fen'Harel stirred. It was just a twitch at first, but everyone assembled noticed it. Rosa motioned frantically at the Templars. "Get over here. I need you all ready to start doing whatever you do to shut mages down."

"You truly believe he's going to spellcast through whatever rune that is?" Dorian asked with a disbelieving little laugh.

"You won't be laughing when he's torn you apart from within with a mindblast, Tevinter," she snapped.

"You do realize this is just our hobo ex-friend Solas, right?" Dorian asked, but something in his eyes hinted that he _was_ worried. He valued her opinion and suspected she knew things he did not. Which she did. A _lot_ of things.

"Did you not hear me when I said he's more dangerous than Corypheus?" she asked.

Dorian's expression spoke volumes. He could not comprehend that being true. Something akin to worry and sympathy darkened his brown eyes. He must think she was reacting this way due to a broken heart. Solas _had_ betrayed her, after all. The inner circle didn't know exactly how, but they knew he left suddenly and under painful circumstances. They also knew she wasn't interested in discussing it.

Before she could say anything more in response to Dorian, Solas inhaled sharply and his head rolled to one side. His face wrenched with something akin to discomfort. Good. The bastard deserved that. In fact…

She stepped forward and used her toes to dig into the dirt. Kicking, she knocked dirt and bits of plant roots onto Fen'Harel's chest, deliberately dirtying his precious armor and mussing his plush wolf pelt accent. "Fucking arrogant cocksucker," she cursed down at him.

The Templars shifted in their spots, perturbed at her cursing. She made a mental note not to do it in common again. Best not to spook the simpletons lest they start doubting her divinity.

Solas blearily opened his eyes and locked gazes with her. He swallowed after a tense few seconds and then casually moved his hands in the manacles, testing them. The runes flared red and green as he summoned mana and they drained it away. He hummed in his throat then and said, "Inquisitor."

She wanted to spit in his face. She wanted to claw out his eyes. But that wasn't how…that wasn't what…

The pendant Tal gave her earlier burned hot on her breastbone, beneath her armor. Another wave of dizziness made her withdraw a step, stumbling slightly. The Templars nearest to her reached out to steady her, but she was already recovered. She didn't acknowledge their help and instead spun on her heel to march away.

"Escort him with us. I need twenty Templars surrounding him at all times. And where the fuck are the chains I ordered for his legs?"

* * *

Cullen split the party as they pressed ahead. The Commander led Cassandra, Sera, Iron Bull, and Leliana back into the jungle to combat the bulk of Corypheus' foot soldiers. Rosa, meanwhile, took Varric, Tal, Dorian, Morrigan, the "twenty"—it was actually only sixteen by Solas' count—Templars, and Solas into the temple.

By now Solas could feel Corypheus ahead, by way of the orb. The Veil twisted, weighed down by the powerful artifact. It called to him, like spirits from the Fade. Solas tested his manacles subtly over and over again, feeling for weaknesses. Raselan through Rosa was very thorough. With the Veil in place it would take a long time to wear these runes down with repeated surges of mana. If the Veil were to fall Solas would overpower the runes in mere heartbeats.

That meant if Rosa obtained the orb she would kill him, no matter what Tal or any of her inner circle said. The Formless One already had a firm grip over her actions. There was only one moment that he'd witnessed since waking that suggested the Formless One's control and presence were not absolute. That moment when he woke and found her glowering down at him, like a dog about to tear out his throat, only to stagger and back off. The imbalance was clear there between host and demon.

That observation, combined with readings from Cole, who accompanied them invisible to all but himself and Tal, gave him hope because it suggested Rosa had not knowingly accepted possession. Raselan tricked her into accepting a token of itself and then binding it with blood. It was a weaker form of possession that he could disrupt merely by exposing it. Once Rosa understood she was under the demon's influence she could willfully resist it. Alternatively, if they could remove the demon's token and destroy it they would break the blood binding and therefore the possession.

That was where Cole came in handy. The spirit boy walked between Solas and his Templar guards, reading Tal from afar and reporting what he already knew of how Raselan tricked Rosa. The Templars were unaware of him, though occasionally one shuddered and looked over at Solas with suspicion. They might overhear whispers, but otherwise Cole's words fell on deaf ears.

"Black, round and shiny, with red deep inside," Cole told him, describing the demon's token. "It's hot on her chest, under her armor."

Solas nodded subtly. _Very good,_ he thought, knowing Cole would hear it. _Please warn Tal that Corypheus is near and if Rosa acquires the orb from him the Formless One will make her kill me immediately, before we can disrupt its hold on her. _He knew, of course, that Tal had little interest in preserving his life beyond their established conditions. But the idea of Solas not living long enough to save Rosa from the demon possessing her would motivate him.

Cole nodded and then disappeared to find Tal, somewhere up the line of the Inquisition's finest, led by a demon-possessed Rosa. He bit back a sigh and tried not to consider what he might have to do today if things fell apart. He had to place his plans first and foremost. If the orb fell into Rosa's hands today he would need to take the Anchor and the orb from Rosa by force—that force included killing her, if necessary. He could not allow the demons to so recklessly tear down the Veil without dealing with the Evanuris and reshaping the world. The Formless One, inside Rosa, was a serious threat he could not allow to endure.

With luck, however, he would be able to free Rosa from the Formless One first and end the threat from the demons today without actually dealing with either the orb or the Anchor. Corypheus was unlikely to leave himself open and vulnerable with his armies dying quickly around him. He might flee before he faced Rosa head on. That would give Solas more time to try and undo some of the damage of his betrayal.

If that was even possible.

Ahead the group reached an overlook. In the distance Solas saw the massive bridge leading to the temple proper. Miraculously, despite the Veil sundering the world and the passage of countless ages, the bridge stood intact. The magic here remained powerful, resisting weather erosion.

And on the near side of the bridge Corypheus and a dozen enslaved Wardens faced off with a few sentinels. Solas was not close enough to see the fighting firsthand, but he heard the whispers from ahead and the deep bass of the Darkspawn Magister. He could also see the head of one of Mythal's dragon statues guarding the bridge. He knew what would happen next as blue white light arced out. The ensuing explosion killed everyone on the bridge, including the sentinels.

Mytha's magic here was indeed still powerful. This ancient trap would not allow the unworthy to pass. It _should_ have discriminated between sentinels and Corypheus' people, however. That it did not was a sign it was not functioning as it was intended.

As whitish smoke rose from the bodies and the foul stink of charred hair and clothing filled the air, Rosa led the Inquisition forward. She and her people were cautious, knowing Corypheus survived the Conclave explosion. Why wouldn't he survive this one, too?

And then, before stepping past the guardian statues, Rosa spun round and shouted back in elven. _"Is it safe?"_

The words were clearly meant for him, but the rest of the Inquisition phalanx and all sixteen Templars didn't know that. They murmured and looked between one another nervously, unsure who she was asking. Tal, however, stood only a few paces ahead of Solas' Templar escort and turned to regard him, one brow arched.

"_Is it safe?"_ Rosa repeated, impatient and glaring. _"Speak, wolf." _

He squared his jaw, deliberately waiting to make a show of letting his eyes rove over the statues. Then he dipped his chin in a nod. The magic had to reset. That was its most serious drawback, even before the Veil. Now, with this world stripped of the Fade, the statues were as weakened as the mages of this modern day. It might be hours yet before they accumulated enough mana to unleash another burst. Prior to the Veil it would only be a minute or so to recharge.

"Good," Rosa said, snarling at him even over the distance. She spun round and marched forward. "Come on, people, we don't have much time."

The Inquisition started forward. The Templars at Solas' back nudged him onward.

Cole manifested at Solas' side suddenly. "He needs to know how to help you," the spirit boy said urgently. He pointed to Solas' manacles. "He's never seen the rune before."

Solas gazed down at his manacles, seeing the demon's markings in it. He used his thumb to motion at the symbol tying the spell together. _Disrupt this, here, and the manacles will no longer contain me, _he thought at Cole.

The spirit boy nodded, but rather than leave, he hesitated. His blue eyes were sad. "He's afraid you'll kill her. He knows you don't want to. It's why he asked you to help. But he's afraid." Cole swallowed, his face twisting with pain.

Solas smiled sadly. He couldn't promise anything and Cole knew it. Compassion wasn't going to lie, either. Tal might still decide to betray Solas and leave him to Rosa/Raselan's mercy. The only way out of this problem, as far as Solas could tell, was brutal honesty. Tal would never believe it coming from Solas' lips, but Cole was trustworthy. That left him a great deal of hope that Tal would still work with him.

_Please tell him what is at stake,_ Solas thought for Cole to read._ If I am dead there will be none who can counter the Formless One or Imshael if he poses a threat later. Should the Formless One gain control of the orb it will kill me and then tear the Veil down. Today. It has no interest in mitigating the consequences of that action. This world will be in chaos and the Evanuris will waken into it to re-enslave the People and the humans alike. I suspect they will see Rosa and Tal as enemies, which will force them to work with the demons to survive. The Formless One and its fellows do not care whether Rosa and Tal survive, they will use them as pawns and fodder to weaken and manipulate and distract the Evanuris as they consolidate their own power. _

Solas pinched his lips together, grimly. _This is a far worse outcome than the one I plan. _

Cole nodded once more, understanding still darkening his blue eyes. "I'll try to help." He vanished again.

A screech echoed through the air then, distant and difficult to locate. The Inquisition froze, eyes turning to the sky, searching. "A dragon?" one of the Templars asked form near Solas. A different man grunted in agreement. "I think so."

And then Varric, who was in the back of their line still gazing at the corpses slain by Mythal's guardian statues, suddenly cursed. "Shit! Guys, I think we're in trouble."

The Templars behind Solas pivoted to gaze backward. Solas did the same, curious yet also already suspicious he knew what he would see. Sure enough, from one of the bloodied corpses of the Wardens, gore and viscera erupted. The dead flesh jerked and twitched. It bucked and split with a sickening wet pop, like a caterpillar's cocoon bursting. Except what emerged was anything but a butterfly.

It was Corypheus, of course.

Solas had long suspected this must be how Corypheus survived. The connection between the Wardens and the Darkspawn Magister was well established, as was Corypheus' association with Blight. And, from what Solas gathered in his studies on Thedas' various Blights, the so-called Archdemon dragons could rebirth themselves endlessly from Blighted minions. Corypheus was much the same, then.

Except unlike the dragons he _should_ still be a mortal, Darkspawn influence or not. None of the humans knew it, but the dragons they assumed were Old Gods were actually the sleeping, living phylacteries of the Evanuris. Darkspawn, driven by demon-controlled Blight, sought them out to corrupt them in an act of vengeance. The tainted dragons continued returning because their true selves, the Evanuris, yet slumbered in the Black City, locked away behind the Veil. Wardens somehow broke that cycle in a way Solas did not understand. Would they need a Warden now, or was there an easier, better way to finally put Corypheus down for good?

The dragon screeched overhead, drawing closer.

"Run!" Rosa shouted.

That…was going to be a problem, considering Rosa had wound chains from his manacles over his hips and down to his knees that hampered his full leg motion.

The Templars started sprinting. Solas shambled awkwardly with them, pushing mana into the manacles repeatedly, testing the limits of Raselan's rune. Each pulse wore the spell down a little at a time. But it was frustratingly slow, as was his running speed.

Three of the Templars swept up behind Solas, grabbing him and dragging him as fast as they could over the bridge. Solas heard Corypheus roaring with rage, a sound echoed by his dragon as it circled. It was ready to fire and he had no ability to cast even a barrier.

The door to the temple rose up, tantalizingly close, but the dragon and Corypheus across the bridge were far too near for comfort. Solas' heart pounded as he and the last of the Templars rushed through and Rosa, Dorian, Morrigan, and Tal pushed the doors shut. Golden magic lanced up the huge doors in a magical seal, steadying it against the dragon outside. It roared in frustration and a moment later they heard its filthy wings flapping as it took off again, likely carrying Corypheus.

Breathing hard from the awkward and frantic dash, Solas flinched with surprise when an arrow streaked past him and struck one of his Templar escort. The man fell, gagging on blood. The arrow shaft stuck out of his neck, having caught him in a weak spot between one part of his armor and his helmet.

"We're under attack!" Rosa yelled. She motioned and tossed barriers up over almost everyone assembled—though not Solas, who was conspicuously unprotected.

Red Templars rushed them as arrows fired from further back. An explosion shook the walls and sent a temblor through the ground, opening a great gash in the floor ahead. A large number of red Templars, Venatori, and Sampson stood ahead of them in the enormous temple vestibule. As the dust cleared he turned round and smirked at the Inquisition, giving an order to his men. "Hold them off."

Then Sampson and the rest of his minions, except for those already engaging the Inquisition, jumped into the gash.

"We have to go after them," Rosa yelled, frustrated.

Most of the Templars guarding Solas hurried to engage the enemy. They shouted war cries and slashed, armor glinting magnificently. Only three of them remained close to Solas, tense and with their shields at the ready. They weren't watching Solas. Had he wished, Solas could have tried to flee the melee or perhaps smashed the manacles on a rock. He remained where he was, though he shot more and more mana into the manacles, weakening the rune. It glowed green continuously now, reacting to and absorbing his mana. If Rosa were to see it she—or rather Raselan—would know what he was up to and shore up the rune.

Then Tal was nearby. The young elf tossed a barrier over Solas and the Templars guarding him, then casually lobbed a fireball at an archer aiming at them from some distance away. Then, as he spun his stave to cast chain lightning, Tal stumbled as though the stones underfoot were slick with dew. They weren't, but he acted it convincingly enough that the Templars didn't bat an eye when he fell sideways into Solas and grabbed him, as though to catch his balance.

"Shit," he said. "Don't mind my clumsy ass." Tal's right hand on the manacles shifted, reaching to the demon script symbol Solas indicated to Cole earlier and glowed white hot with fire. He scorched it, destroying the symbol and rendering the rune a mere fraction of its power.

Tal pushed off him and then, without looking back, pressed forward to continue fighting. A few seconds later he did glance behind him, but not at Solas. He was checking on Rosa, to see if she had noticed. Solas did not dare do the same, lest he draw unwanted attention.

It seemed, however, that Rosa and Raselan were distracted and had forgotten Solas for the moment. As two of the Templars fell to Corypheus' men, Rosa lost her patience. She Fade-stepped in a blue streak and, as she popped out of the spell, she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Behold the power of Andraste! Die, filth!"

The red Templars all screamed in unison and crimson crystals burst violently from their bodies. Red haze filled the air. The Inquisition Templars recoiled, stunned. And then they whooped and cheered, turning to heap praise on Rosa. "Inquisitor! Inquisitor!"

"Now," Rosa shouted, still with more force to her voice than she should have, "let's go stop them!" She stabbed forward with her staff.

The inner circle with her started forward, as did the Templars, but then Morrigan yelled, "Stop! Inquisitor! Please—there is another way. While Corypheus and his men lay waste to this place, I propose we—"

"I've heard enough from you, witch," Rosa snapped. "We don't have time to dally."

Solas bristled, knowing what would happen if Rosa, or rather the demon controlling her, charged after Sampson and his men. The sentinels might be won over if they saw Rosa respecting the temple and using its magic, rather than wreaking havoc like Sampson. They would have a chance to face just one enemy, rather than two. And, most importantly, fewer Elvhen lives would be lost.

The demon did not care one way or another about that.

He had to stop her and this was the first true chance he had to do it with the rune so weakened. But he had to do it right…

Rosa swung her staff to point at the gash in the earth. "They went this way. We are going to follow as fast as we—"

"I would not advise that," he said, raising his voice to ensure she heard him.

Rosa's expression warped with too many emotions to count, but she settled on rage as she glared at him. She gestured at the Templars nearest to her who had left their guarding positions to fight the enemy. "What are you lot doing here? Get your asses over there and do your anti-magic thing on him a few times."

The Templars seemed taken aback. Their prisoner had caused zero trouble, but they were obedient and hurried back to check over him anyway. Before they could reach Solas, however, Rosa snapped, "Wait, wait, wait. Let me…"

It was just as he planned. Raselan feared the rune had failed. It wanted to reinforce and check over it, personally. It knew, more than Rosa, that Solas could not be contained indefinitely. It also knew to be cautious.

Rosa snarled at him as she approached and cast barriers over herself and all the Templars. "If he moves at all, run him through with your swords."

The Templars shifted their stances, readying their swords to kill him. Solas thrust out his chin and waited, heart pounding. He just needed her a little closer…_there…_

"Raselan," he said and she froze. He switched to elven quickly. _"It has been some time since you were on this side of the Veil."_

Rosa stared at him. Her body trembled slightly. Her face was a wrinkled mask of rage, but her eyes were confused. She was in there, struggling to see past the demon's influence.

"_You should be ashamed,"_ he said, still using eleven, drawing baffled and hostile looks from the Templars and the inner circle. Tal, with Cole standing beside him but likely invisible to everyone else, both understood his words and watched, stock-still. But Cole, able to read Solas and understand his intent, began to walk softly closer to Rosa, angling behind her.

"_How did you trick her?"_ Solas asked, continuing to distract her and the demon. _"What did you promise her?"_ He affected a condescending smug smirk. _"It does not matter. You shame yourself with this deceit. Such desperation does not become you and will not endure."_

Rosa's lips parted, her brow furrowing as the rage in her face gave way to more confusion. She closed her eyes a moment, lurching to one side before she steadied. _"What are you saying?"_ she asked. It was the true Rosa, speaking with fear. _"The Formless One…?"_

Cole was right behind her now and moved with lightning speed, grabbing the gold chain around her neck and pulling. The pendant was caught under her armor, but the chain snapped. Rosa gasped and spun around, casting a barrier over herself and lashing out with her elbow, but Cole dodged nimbly.

"Shit," Rosa cursed, eyes frantically searching. Anger returned to her features and Solas' stomach sank with fear. "We're compromised!" The Templars around Solas drew on their anti-magic powers with a shrill ringing that cut at his ears like glass. One of them struck from behind Solas, catching him on the back of the head.

Solas saw stars and fell to his knees with a gasp. His hands caught on the manacles and he resisted the instinct to draw mana lest the Formless One noticed it didn't activate the runes the way it should. But then another Templar, or perhaps it was the same man, he couldn't be sure, bashed him with his shield. Solas grunted with pain, gritting his teeth. Rosa and the Formless One hadn't ordered his execution, yet. There was still a chance they could recover this without—

"_Asamalin!"_ Tal shouted, his voice sharp with fear. _"Look at yourself! We aren't under attack! It was Cole you felt just now. Just Cole. Whatever pendant the demon gave you—"_

"_There was no demon,"_ Rosa snarled, but her words trembled slightly. She was afraid. _"You gave me this."_

When Solas managed to recover enough from the pain of the two blows he'd taken he lifted his head and saw Rosa holding the pendant. It was a black-red crystal, very similar to the kind Solas had seen used in Elvhenan by Dirthamen and Falon'Din's allies. The Evanuris gave such trinkets to their allies who could not control Blight and it then allowed them a measure of the same power. Elgar'nan, for example, carried a pendant from Dirthamen that gave him control over Blight, a power he lacked before Dirthamen and Falon'Din joined forces with him. Rosa already had some power over Blight, however, as a direct descendant of Dirthamen. Was Raselan just using it as a hiding spot? No, that couldn't be it. Rosa wouldn't clutch onto the pendant with such desperation and fear if it did not hold some value to her.

"What _is_ that?" Morrigan asked suddenly, interjecting. Her question was a stark reminder to the three elves and the spirit that there were others here to see this strange standoff.

"Nothing," Rosa said sharply, but the fear was still unmistakable in her voice, though her face was an impassive mask. She started to tuck the pendant away into a pouch at her waist, but Tal reached out and grabbed her arm.

"_Asamalin,"_ he begged. _"The demon is inside it. I didn't give this to you. It tricked you." _

"Harellan," she said, hissing at him. Her eyes darted to Solas, narrowing. "You lie."

"Perhaps if I could look at it a moment?" Morrigan asked, stepping closer. She walked with a sway of her hips, confident and unfazed by the bizarre argument between the elves. Something about it…despite the fact it conveyed nonchalance…Solas clenched his jaw. Morrigan understood at least _some_ elven. Perhaps enough she knew what was happening here.

"No," Rosa snapped at the witch. Solas' stomach cinched tight with dread, certain Rosa had decided to give in to whatever power or advantage the demon offered her, dashing their hope. Now he would have to break free before Raselan could stop him, killing the Templars and any others who stood in his way, including the inner circle if they opposed him.

But then Rosa turned, eyes searching behind her. "Where's Cole?"

The spirit boy stepped forward, and although he was visible to Solas this entire time, he must have just appeared before Rosa because she gasped and withdrew a step. "I'm here," the boy said and then hurriedly added, "He's not lying."

Rosa's shoulders rose and fell as she breathed hard. She seemed to wither before Solas' eyes as she said, "I know." Stepping forward, she held the pendant with its broken chain out to Cole. "Will you take it from me? Can you keep it…?"

Cole nodded, his blue eyes somber and sad as he accepted the pendant. "Bravery, would be proud," he whispered.

As she let go of the pendant, leaving it in Cole's hands, Rosa suddenly fell like a sack of potatoes to the ground.


	66. The Well of Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and company meet Abelas and reach the Well of Sorrows.

Voices erupted in shock. "Inquisitor!" "Herald!"

Tal and Cole were closest and so reacted fastest, lunging for Rosa to soften her fall. Morrigan and Dorian were next to rush toward her. Solas, for his part, sat rigid in place. He knew better than to attract attention at present. The Templars might beat him further if they perceived this to be his doing, somehow. He sensed them tensing around him, on high alert.

"I'm fine," Rosa said in a weak voice, stirring on the ground. She pushed feebly at Dorian and Morrigan, trying to send them away. The mages did not seem especially convinced by her reassurance and, as Tal and Cole helped Rosa stand again, Solas could easily see why. Rosa was gray as a corpse. She clutched her helpers, legs trembling. It was clear that without Cole and Tal supporting her she would still be on the ground.

"Whoa," Varric said, whistling. "You don't look so good, Violet." Disguising worry and fear with humor was so typical of the dwarf. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Rosa repeated, her voice a little stronger now. "We need to hurry if we're going to stop Sampson." Her shoulders rose and fell, clearly struggling to soldier on. She looked at Morrigan. "You…you said something about a different way? Is it faster?"

The witch considered Rosa for a moment and then said, "Perhaps. Corypheus' men blasted through this place with no regard for it whatsoever, but the magic here remains." She walked as she spoke, heading to a dais with pressure-sensitive plates. "If we walk the petitioner's path, I believe the magic will unlock the doors."

Solas clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay silent. Morrigan was correct that they could unlock the great door to the inner sanctum. But there was another possibility, one that would be even faster—_if_ it worked. But he couldn't speak it with Morrigan around, even using elven.

And even if he chose not to concern himself with Morrigan, Rosa and Tal and the Inquisition might not react well to his input unasked. He didn't know how much she revealed to her inner circle or her advisors—though judging by the bemused or even mildly sympathetic looks he earned from Dorian and Varric it seemed Rosa didn't tell them much. Best not to raise anyone's curiosity. Let them believe Rosa chose to chain him out of bitterness and pain from personal betrayal.

As if she could read his mind, Rosa glanced in his direction, eyes narrowed. But where the demon was all hate and rage, now Solas saw the pain and vulnerability in her violet eyes. He averted his gaze, staring into the muck and grass on the temple tiles. Even as shame cut him, relief soothed it. The Formless One's hold on Rosa was gone. Cole was the perfect carrier for the token, unaffected by whatever its powers were and immune to the demon's possession as he was somewhere between a real human and just a spirit.

"Tal," Rosa said, "I wonder if you might investigate the door up there?"

Solas let out a small breath, glad Rosa thought to check it. The magic in this temple might be strong enough to sense the siblings for what they were—direct descendants of Mythal who weren't here to sack the temple. It might grant them access without the delay of the petitioner's path.

"Uh," Tal said, grunting with surprise. "All right." The question in his tone was hardly subtle.

"I'm wondering if maybe this door is like the kind at the temple of Dirthamen," Rosa explained with a tired sigh.

"_Oh,"_ Tal said and let out a short, sharp laugh. "Okay. I'm on it."

"You visited a temple dedicated to Dirthamen?" Morrigan asked, sounding intrigued. "Was the magic there as strong as this temple's?"

"No," Rosa muttered, groaning as Dorian stepped forward to support her other side as Tal slipped away. "It was a flooded ruin and stank of death."

"'Tis pointless, I assure you, to try and force our way through," Morrigan said, moving after Tal. "The magic seal will—"

"Morrigan," Rosa said, stronger now. "Show me what you mean by this petitioner's path. What do I have to do?"

Morrigan scowled, caught between watching Tal as the young elf scampered up the stairs to the sealed door to the inner sanctum and helping Rosa. Did she realize Rosa was deliberately trying to hide what Tal was about to do? It seemed likely, but at the same time Morrigan was confident _she_ was the expert on Elvhen magic here. That hubris made her move to Rosa and forget about Tal.

While the witch stepped on the plate, demonstrating the magic of the temple and reading from the center obelisk, Solas watched Tal's progress. It was only a few moments after Tal reached the inner sanctum door that the magic seal glowed blue and then bright gold as it opened with a sharp ringing. As the door rumbled and creaked, swinging open, Tal yelled, "Got it!"

Morrigan's jaw dropped as she looked up from the center epitaph she'd been reading to Rosa. "What…? How…?"

"Your translation is off a bit," Rosa said, pointing at the pillar, as if Tal's miraculous work with the door hadn't surprised her at all…which, of course, it hadn't. "That symbol there can also mean—"

Cole gasped, interrupting her. "Look out!"

Tal shouted a curse from the stairwell beside the open doors and winked out of visibility as gilded arrows flew out into the courtyard. Lean elven figures appeared, glittering in rich armor. A Templar to Solas' left cried out with pain as an arrow found a gap in his armor.

Dorian tossed barriers over them all—including Solas. "_Kaffas! _What in the blazes is going on here?"

The answer was obvious to Solas. The sentinels were attacking.

But why? The fact that Tal unlocked the sealed door _should_ have reassured them…

"Shit," Rosa cursed as Morrigan tossed a barrier over their group. Dorian and Cole helped half-drag her back toward the Templars. In elven she shouted at the sentinels, despite the arrows still raining down around them. _"We aren't your enemy! Please, stop!"_

Varric's crossbow clacked as he returned fire and a handful of Templars roared war cries, rushing to fight the elves. Solas' mind raced, trying to puzzle out what went wrong here. What was he _missing_ and how could he _fix_ it? Did he dare call out to the sentinels and demand they stop in his Evanuris name? Would that do anything beyond possibly incriminate him in front of Morrigan who _might_ know what he said?

And then, at the top of the stairs and just inside the doorway, Abelas appeared. Although Solas had not met him in person, he recognized the body language of a leader. _"Stop,"_ he ordered his sentinels.

The sentinels in the courtyard with them froze, weapons at the ready and bows drawn. A few of the Templars had taken arrows already, but none serious enough to kill. Morrigan refreshed her group's barriers when they decayed. Dorian did the same a second later over the Templars and Solas. Everyone remained poised for battle.

"We are not your enemy," Rosa called out in common, but her voice was weak, strained with effort. "The Darkspawn Magister is—"

"Enough," Abelas cut her off using common now, slashing a hand through the air to silence her. _"_You blunder through our forest just as the other invaders, but you bear a mark of magic that is…_familiar."_

His gaze swept over to Solas for an instant, the only sign he recognized him. Whether he knew Solas was Fen'Harel or just believed Rosa's people captured one of the Wolf's people was impossible to tell. If Abelas _did _guess his identity, he must be stunned—or intrigued. Stunned that the Inquisition managed to hold him captive, or intrigued because he could guess Solas _chose_ to be where he was.

"How has this come to pass?" Abelas finished, fixing his stare on Rosa again. His features pinched with open dislike and suspicion. "What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?"

"We've come to stop the other invaders," Rosa said. The weakness in her voice remained, painful to hear. She still leaned on Morrigan and Dorian for support. "They're our enemies just as their your enemies too."

Abelas dipped his chin slightly, considering Rosa. A long, tense moment of silence drew out. And then Abelas spoke in elven, lips curling with disgust. _"What child of Mythal have you coerced into your service, _Dirthamenelan?"

Solas restrained a grimace, heart pounding with dread. The sentinels' hostility made new frightening sense. They believed Rosa served Dirthamen, one of the Evanuris primarily responsible for sacking this temple. They thought she had enslaved someone associated with Mythal to gain access to the temple despite the lingering magic. But this also opened new questions in his mind. How did Abelas identify Rosa's connection with Dirthamen?

Rosa recoiled as if he slapped her. _"What?"_ she asked, also in elven. _"No one!"_

Morrigan, for her part, gaped. "Dirthamen'elan?" she repeated in a shocked whisper. Rosa shot the witch a frown, registering that the human mage comprehended that.

"_Defiler,"_ Abelas spat from the stairs above. "_Have you returned to finish what your predecessor began?"_ It was clear his golden eyes were fixed on Rosa. The Templars and the rest of the Inquisition with them all tensed, readying anew for conflict.

"_You're wrong,"_ Tal's voice called out from the platform's left corner, near the opened door. The sentinels there pivoted, arrows nocked and bows drawn.

Abelas turned as well, scowling. He lifted one hand, preparing a sophisticated dispelling. _"Reveal yourself,"_ he snarled.

"_Please,"_ Rosa shouted, alarm coloring her tone now. _"Please don't shoot him! Tal—don't be stupid!"_

"_Abelas,"_ Solas called, raising his voice. _"Please do not harm him."_ A templar behind him slammed his shield into Solas' back, making him stumble forward—but not before he saw both Rosa and Abelas register his words with interest.

Tal dropped the invisibility spell then, hands lifted and palms out in a motion of surrender. The sentinels closest to him adjusted their aims but none of them fired.

Abelas stood side-on to the Inquisition and Tal, arms crossed over his chest. He glowered between the two groups for a short time before speaking. _"You wear Her mark, but you serve those who would destroy Her."_ The sneer on his face made it clear he didn't much like the look of Tal.

"_You've been asleep a long, long, long time,"_ Tal said, cocking a humorless grin. _"The _vallaslin _doesn't mean what it used to. I get to choose which Creator I want to emulate, but I don't serve any of them. And I especially don't serve Dirthamen."_

"What's happening here?" Dorian asked, hissing the question impatiently at Rosa. "Could we perhaps use common so that all of us can participate? Perhaps?"

"Their grasp of the elven language would suggest that somehow these elves survived here since the fall of Arlathan," Morrigan said, clearly stunned—yet also sharp as a knife. She glanced toward Rosa suspiciously, clearly counting her with these strange elves, wondering how she and Tal—and Solas, probably, too—conversed in elven with such ease.

Rosa, however, paid neither of the mages supporting her any heed. Her eyes remained glued to Abelas and Tal and the sentinels. _"Please,_" she called. _"We aren't here to harm you or your people. We don't want to destroy the temple, either. We just need to stop Corypheus."_

Abelas pivoted to glare down at Rosa now. _"You expect me to believe you, defiler?"_ He chuckled bitterly. _"My people saw you in the forest wielding Blight. Spare me your lies."_

Another wave of dread washed over Solas at this. _Of course_ Abelas and his sentinels would react with extreme hostility and prejudice based on this. For Rosa to wield Blight they'd know she was directly linked to Dirthamen or possibly Falon'Din, or perhaps both.

Abelas' eyes strayed to Solas again, lingering a long moment. Although his expression didn't change from a snarl this was still undoubtedly a silent request for input. The situation confronting Abelas would indeed be confusing. With the warning from Solas' people Abelas knew he faced two different groups of invaders. And, if Var communicated effectively, Abelas would know Fen'Harel assessed one threat worse than the other. It should have been obvious that Corypheus was that greater threat, but when Rosa came in wielding Blight and with Tal, a "servant of Mythal" in the sentinels' eyes, Abelas naturally had to wonder. He needed Solas to clarify for him—but doing so would risk exposing his identity in front of the broader Inquisition.

Rosa's mouth opened and closed, flustered. Her face was red and something like horror widened her eyes. "I…I don't…" She frowned and regained her composure, switching to elven as she quickly glanced at the Templars, her inner circle, Morrigan, and then briefly at Solas. _"I'm no defiler. I'm…"_

She swallowed, gripping Dorian and Morrigan a little harder and straightening her spine. _"I am Rosa of clan Naseral. I am Dalish, of the last Elvhen. The humans chose me as their leader, but in my heart I serve the People. I am…"_ She winced. _"I am the daughter of Felassan, who in Arlathan was called Ivun, grandson of Mythal. His given name was Eolas."_

Morrigan stared at Rosa, brows furrowed until the Inquisitor reached key phrases like _I am the daughter of Felassan _and _grandson of Mythal._ Then her eyes widened before she blanked the expression. The witch clearly didn't understand the majority of the phrases, but she still comprehended far too much.

From behind Abelas, still standing with at least six arrows pointed at him, Tal added, "I'm her brother."

Abelas shifted in place, eyes narrowing but lips twisting with indecision and hesitation. Rosa's confession explained why she could wield Blight, and Tal's addition revealed why he could unlock the magic of Mythal's temple. Tal's heritage and his magic must be similar enough to Felassan's that Mythal's temple read him as an ally, perhaps as Felassan himself. Felassan had certainly possessed access to this temple as he had great favor with Mythal.

But on the other hand, Abelas must see Rosa's use of Blight as a sign she wasn't trustworthy. The Blight was the evil tool of their enemy. Dirthamen and Falon'Din turned traitor against their mother. The sentinels likely could not comprehend how a Dalish elf of this modern world could learn and master Blight. They were certain to believe she lied about being Dalish and was instead a traitor to Felassan and Mythal, just like Dirthamen and Falon'Din—especially if she could truly hold _Solas_ prisoner.

It was time for his act to end.

"Abelas," he said, using common. "She speaks the truth." Then, for good measure, he used elven, too. _"She speaks truth. She does not come here as a defiler. She—"_

The same Templar who struck him earlier did so again, cursing at him. "Damn knife-ear, shut your filthy mouth."

This time as Solas took the blow, stumbling forward onto one knee, he snarled and pulled _hard_ on his mana. With a carefully aimed mindblast he knocked over the Templars around him with a booming explosion. Cries of shock rang out as Varric narrowly sprang away and Dorian cursed, turning and tossing barriers up over everyone. Morrigan quickly did the same, but her expression was so dazed she didn't have the wherewithal to ready her stave like the Tevinter did.

Solas stood upright in the half-circle of collapsed Templars and then casually channeled mana into the manacles. Shaping it into as cold spell, he weakened both the wood and the steel. When he flexed it cracked and fell to his feet. He did the same to the chains about his thighs, easily snapping them.

As the Templars scrambled, trying to recover and reach for their shields, swords, and anti-magic capabilities, Rosa shouted, "Stop! Leave him be."

"Inquisitor," a Templar cried, breathing hard. "He just—"

"I said leave him be," Rosa snapped. She let go of Morrigan and Dorian, struggling to stand upright on her own. Her violet eyes were wary as she stared at him, half glaring and half…something else. Wounded. Wary.

"There aren't any bindings that can hold you, are there?" she asked in a low voice. Her tone suggested she didn't expect an answer and already knew what his reply, if he made it, would be.

Solas dipped his chin to her, smiling dryly. Then he turned his attention to the sentinels. _"Please put down your weapons. I will vouch for the Inquisitor. She does not serve Dirthamen." _

Abelas hesitated a moment and then said, "Ar-melana dirthavaren."

Solas answered immediately with the other half of the phrase. "Revas vir-anaris."

The lead sentinel's gold eyes dropped to take in Solas' armor, lingering meaningfully on the wolf pelt he wore over his shoulder. A small smile curled his lips. "Very well." He nodded toward his sentinels. They lowered their weapons and their postures eased. "You seek the vir abelasan?" he asked, eyes flicking between Rosa and Solas.

Rosa frowned with confusion. "No, we're here to stop the Darkspawn—"

"_The time of your service to the Mother has come to an end,"_ Solas said, interrupting Rosa and earning dark glares from the Inquisition. He ignored them, committed now. _"Whatever comes, Mythal's well will be no more after today."_

"_It is not for them,"_ Abelas snapped, snarling. _"You ask too much. We do not serve you."_

"_Not yet,"_ Solas quipped, risking a little humor. _"But I assure you, I speak the truth. The other invaders will despoil it and claim it for themselves. You must concede that such an outcome is not acceptable. If the well is to be lost, surely you would prefer its wisdom in safer hands."_

"_Yours?"_ Abelas asked, frowning.

"_No,"_ Solas replied at once. The very idea of it made him shudder with repulsion. The question of _who_ was a very good one that he must solve quickly, however. Any who drank from it would suffer Mythal's compulsion. It was far more powerful than the one carried in vallaslin. Whoever drank from it would be enslaved to Mythal's will and Solas knew of no way to counter such magic. He would never subject himself to that. But of those present…Morrigan, Rosa, Tal, Varric, Dorian, Cole…who could be trusted and cursed with the burden of the well?

"What are you talking about?" Rosa asked, frustrated.

Abelas ignored her question. _"Who do you see as worthy of Her wisdom?" _

Solas started forward to the stairs. Dorian and the Templars all tensed, halfway moving as though to stop him or hold him back. But Solas shot Dorian a glare that stilled the Tevinter and Rosa must have motioned at the Templars to stop as well. None interfered as Solas reached the stairs and ascended them, walking behind the sentinels in their glittering armor that matched his.

"_That is a decision I suggest we leave for later,"_ Solas said, deliberately vague as he reached the top of the stair to be level with Abelas. _"For now, I suggest you escort the Inquisitor and her people through the temple. We must hurry before the other invaders despoil the well." _

Dropping his voice to so that hopefully only Abelas would hear him, he added, _"I will speak with you along the way."_ The sentinel would likely take some additional coaxing to give up his duty. Even though Solas was the next best thing to Mythal actually releasing these Elvhen survivors from their stewardship, they would be reluctant.

Abelas hesitated a moment, lips pinched together. Then he nodded. "Very well," he said and motioned to the sentinels nearest to him. As they marched down the stairs into the courtyard to surround Rosa and her people, Abelas addressed them. "You will be escorted through the temple. Do not deviate from the path."

* * *

Everything was spinning out of control.

Leaning on Dorian as they walked through the golden remnants of what was once a magnificent temple devoted to Mythal, Rosa wanted to collapse in a heap and sleep until this nightmare went away. Her memory from earlier in the day, when Raselan apparently possessed her, was hazy. But what she _did_ recollect was the insane power, the thrill of invincibility.

…and something about red lyrium erupting in the air like spores from fungus, glowing crimson like blood. She must have done it repeatedly for the sentinels to see it and realize what was happening. She wanted to ask Dorian what happened but doing so would reveal she wasn't entirely herself.

Wasn't herself at all, really.

Now as they passed sentinels fighting red Templars, Rosa felt the harsh whisper of the tainted lyrium swelling in her brain. She groaned and hung her head low, wincing as she tried to block it out.

"Are you all right?" Dorian asked with concern, gripping her harder around the waist to take more of her weight.

"No," she muttered. "Not at all."

"I'd ask what's wrong but I'm sure you wouldn't tell me," Dorian said, smirking. "I suppose I should let your brother carry you. Then at least you can kibitz together in that elven gibberish."

"I'm sorry," she said, still struggling to concentrate through the rush of voices in her head. "That was incredibly rude of us back there. We should have used common but I don't think these sentinels speak it well."

Dorian scoffed. "Rubbish. Their leader somehow seems to understand it perfectly."

She felt her cheeks grow hot. Yes, that was a shoddy lie and they both knew it. Guilt pressed on her. The stupid secrets she had to keep from her own people…

_They aren't your people._

A cold shiver crawled up her spine as she realized that was always what held her back. The Inquisition was a human organization, created by a human religion that had oppressed her people and magic for ages. She had always held back, hiding from it. Dorian was one of the few she might actually be able to fully trust because he was Tevinter and somewhat removed from the Southern Chantry and more tolerant of ideas that'd be seen as heretical by most of those around her. He already knew his people parasitized and stole from the elves of Arlathan better than most.

She thought back to the fight at Adamant, when she was stuck in the Fade and shaping it as a Dreamer. Only Dorian recognized her for what she truly was—a Dreamer, or Somniari as he called them. And despite her fear of him using that knowledge against her, Dorian never breathed a word of it to anyone that she knew about.

She might need his help, and that of the Inquisition, more than ever soon. She still didn't know exactly what Solas was up to. The demon left her confused, rattled, and unsure what was _her_ emotion and what was the Formless One's. Was Solas here to steal the Anchor? Would he kill her if she didn't do what he wanted? Was Solas going to destroy the world, tearing down the Veil, today?

"With how often we run into this sort of thing," Dorian said with a chuckle. "I'm going to have to ask you or Tal to teach me that language of yours." He hummed, gazing through the golden screens to their left where sentinels and red Templars faced off, oblivious to their presence. "I wonder what our hobo friend is up to."

Rosa let out a short chuckle too. "You and me both, Dore."

"If you truly don't know then I _am_ worried," Dorian said, shooting her a look that was truly alarmed. "You said he wanted the mark earlier."

"He does," she muttered. "But since he helped us get these sentinels to calm down back there I'm not so sure he wants to take it by force or kill me for it."

"You said he's more dangerous than Corypheus," Dorian reminded her.

_I did? Shit. Raselan strikes again. _

"I'm…not sure," she said. "But you saw how he got out of those bindings."

"You wanted us to drown him earlier," Dorian said, frowning. "Even _I _thought that was a little extreme, and I'm from Minrathous where a party isn't a party without murder."

She felt sick and groaned, feet stumbling on the stone. Dorian shifted, adjusting his grip to keep her upright. His stare on her still demanded an answer. "I…was a bit hysterical."

"Yes," Dorian said in a dry voice. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Inquisitor."

Tal appeared through the Templars and sentinels ahead of them then, his face pallid and eyes wide. _"Asamalin!"_ He rushed to her other side and slipped under her arm, taking much of her weight from Dorian. _"Are you all right?"_ he asked. _"The demon's gone now, right?"_

"_Yes,"_ she said, sweating with nervousness as she felt Dorian's masked interest and amusement at how true his earlier prediction was. The moment Tal was with her again they lapsed into elven to hide the conversation, like always. Clearing her throat, she deliberately used common as she asked, "What is this well of sorrows the lead sentinel keeps going on about?"

Tal hesitated a second, glancing at Dorian, but then spoke on in common. "That's what I came back to talk to you about. Solas and the sentinel leader, Abelas—"

Rosa snorted, laughing. "Pride and Sorrow? They really are two nugs in a cave aren't they?"

Tal smiled tightly and Dorian, catching on, chuckled. Tal was too anxious to find much humor in the Elvhen men's name meanings. "Yeah," he said and then pressed on. "The well is some sort of repository of knowledge and wisdom from Mythal. The elves here have been guarding it since the fall of Elvhenan."

Dorian arched a brow. "Dedicated chaps, aren't they? I bet they're quite lively at parties."

Tal smirked briefly and Rosa smiled, enjoying the little banter. It could make her forget briefly about what lay ahead. But all too soon Tal went on. "They think Corypheus is here for the well. The only way to stop him is for someone else to drink from it. But there's a catch." He grimaced. "There's some sort of…compulsion. From Mythal."

"_Fenedhis,"_ Rosa cursed. "And Solas expects one of us to drink from it?" She gazed at Tal, seeing the vallaslin still on his face. The blood writing was bad enough, but at least there were means to remove it, although Tal stubbornly refused to do so with his. Now she could see something in his eyes that frightened her—willingness, fearlessness. _He_ was ready to volunteer to drink from the well. With the vallaslin on his skin, what would one more compulsion matter?

From behind them suddenly Morrigan appeared, eyes wide and earnest. "Inquisitor," she said, "if someone must drink from this well I volunteer. I have spent my life studying the arcane. I am willing to pay the price the well demands and I am the most suited to using its knowledge in your service."

Rosa frowned at her, bristling just as she had when the human woman assumed she had superior knowledge of Elvhen writing and magic here, as if she had no idea a Dalish First might have some expertise on the subject. "Really? You think _you_ are better suited than an _elven mage_?"

Morrigan clenched her jaw, stubborn and proud. "To restore lost knowledge I would risk much." Her eyes flicked to Tal. "Can you say the same, Inquisitor?"

Rosa let out a breathless, sarcastic chuckle. "If only you knew, _shemlen._"

Morrigan scowled then and leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Are you so certain of that, Lavellan? I understood much of what you said back there."

The threat sliced at Rosa, making her inhale sharply, but she calmed the furious pounding of her heart. Both Dorian and Tal stared with warped expressions, trying to mask whatever they felt at this dangerous exchange. Rosa kept an even, cool tone as she asked, "And just what are you saying, witch?"

Morrigan's smile was cold and calculating. _"Daughter of Felassan,"_ she said coyly, using elven. _"Ivun, grandson of Mythal?"_ She clucked her tongue. "I wonder if Leliana knows…"

"Oh yes," Dorian said sarcastically. "Threats _always_ work as intended getting what you want from your supposed allies." He didn't need to have understood the elven to know a threat when he heard one.

Rosa looked to Dorian, shaking with a mixture of panic and gratitude for his input. Tal at her side was red faced with quiet fury.

Morrigan huffed unhappily and swapped tactics. "If the knowledge in this well can be used against Corypheus, can we afford not to use it?"

"You said Corypheus was here for an eluvian," Rosa reminded her tartly. "You were _so sure_ of it. But you were wrong."

"I am _not_ wrong about this," Morrigan insisted. "Are any of you willing to pay the price of the well?" She dropped her voice into a whisper. "Or would you rather your so-called _friend_ the eggheaded apostate pay the price the well demands? Then he will have both its power and its knowledge. _He _is far less trustworthy than I. Surely we can agree on that much."

Rosa laughed dryly. "You mean Solas?" She scoffed again at Morrigan's confusion. "Solas would _never_ agree to drink from this well. He's not an option here." _He already has plenty of knowledge and power without the well._

"I'd volunteer," Dorian quipped. "But I doubt anyone wants this repository of arcane knowledge in the hands of a scary Tevinter mage, no matter how charming and handsome."

Rosa chuckled at his suggestion, but Morrigan only glowered.

"I can do it," Tal interjected and gestured to his face. "I'm already devoted to Mythal. The elves here would probably be more comfortable with someone like me drinking from it because of that."

"You?" Morrigan asked and then scoffed. "Inquisitor, you truly wish to place your _brother_ in danger like this?" Looking pointedly to Tal, she said, "Don't you have a wife and child back at Skyhold? Will you truly be in a position to be of value long-term for the Inquisition?"

Tal went red-faced at Morrigan's mention of Nola and Felenaste, clearly offended. "I shouldn't have to remind you that _you_ have a kid, too," he grumbled. "But I am _way_ more suited to this. I'm a mage—an _elven_ mage. This is my heritage. And I am the Inquisitor's brother, so I am _way_ more dedicated to her and the cause than _you_ ever will be."

Morrigan scowled, ready with a barbed reply, but Rosa shushed the witch and her brother with a hiss and a wave of one hand. "Enough! We have to make it to the well before we can make this decision, so shut it."

Her heart raced despite her words, scrambling to come up with a solution. Both Tal and Morrigan had great points. Rosa wasn't inclined to let a _shem_ take something that should stay with and benefit the People. And yet the compulsion of Mythal might be far more worrisome than it was worth, and far more dangerous than Morrigan realized despite the witch's attempt to hype it up now. What if Mythal wound up commanding Tal to work _against_ Rosa, or to leave his bond partner and newborn son?

They left the temple, coming to an overlook where, in the distance, they could see an elevated spot where the well must be—though there was a significant gap with no bridge. Rosa stopped, staring for a moment as memory sprang strong into her mind, almost like foreknowledge. The gap between here and the well would form only with magic, much like the one Rosa and Tal used to access the eluvian leading to the temple of Dirthamen in the crossroads.

"Is that..." Dorian frowned, scratching his head as he stared low, to a grassy area before the gap. "What _was_ his name…? Corypheus' addicted Templar general…?"

"Sampson," Morrigan supplied.

Rosa hardly heard them as she hurried after the phalanx of Elvhen sentinels already moving down the stairway to the green. The sound of fighting echoed in the air first, but as Rosa drew close and saw the red Templars and Sampson with her own eyes the noise of Blighted lyrium built until it was deafening. She grimaced, her muscles going weak and shaky. Sweat broke out over her.

When one of his men called out a warning to Sampson, the general turned with a sneer to look at the approaching Inquisition and sentinels. He shouted something toward Rosa and her people, but she couldn't hear him over the din inside her skull. The red lyrium begged her to use it, tempting her. She remembered with hazy pleasure the thrill of power when she had used it earlier that day…when she wasn't herself. The awful temptation lingered now, too. She could save lives if she just used the power, smiting the handful of red Templars here and killing Sampson. It would make everyone happy—saving her people, ending the suffering of the infected Templars, and helping the Blighted lyrium by letting it grow and then pruning it back.

_Letting it grow…_

She felt nauseous as she glimpsed her role with the red lyrium in a new way. She was gardener and master, but she was also _spreading_ it. She _unleashed_ it, encouraged it. To grow fast and kill these Templars, the Blight _drew_ on her to overcome the physical and biological laws constraining it. All Fade-based magic was about the willpower of the mage overcoming reality, reshaping it. The red lyrium needed her to do the same. So it yielded to her as master, but it also drew from her like a parasite sucking her blood.

Dizziness made her freeze, locking her knees. She breathed hard, trying to steady herself so that Sampson and his men wouldn't realize her weakness. Yet something still passed between her and the Templars through the red lyrium. Silence fell as the two groups—_three,_ actually—regarded each other.

Finally then Sampson said, "What's the matter Inquisitor? Cat got your tongue? Fear stolen your nerve?" Rosa didn't know if that was Sampson taunting her or the red lyrium still trying to ply her.

A soft voice whispered in her ear—Cole. "You can't save them, but that's okay. You didn't poison them. You can't save everyone. You're just one person. The demon wants you to use it. Don't give it what it wants."

Swallowing hard with effort, Rosa pulled her inward senses backward, disengaging as much as possible with the red lyrium. Yet she couldn't withdraw fully. The ringing remained, ear-splitting and distracting, making her head hurt as she struggled to concentrate through the white noise.

"We spoke with your Tranquil, Maddox," Dorian said from behind her. "Poor fool sacrificed himself for your lost cause."

"I told him not to," Sampson said, sounding genuinely aggrieved to hear this news—but ultimately it would do nothing to dissuade him. "Corypheus chose me twice," he said, swapping topics. "First as his general and then as the vessel of the well. You know what's inside the well? Wisdom. The kind of wisdom that can scour a world."

_It doesn't seem like wisdom should be able to destroy worlds—more like power without wisdom—and we have a walking version of that,_ she thought, frowning as her gaze jumped to where Solas stood with the sentinels. The elves eased steadily closer to the red Templars, clearly taking advantage of the fact Rosa and the Inquisition had distracted Sampson and his men. The red Templars didn't seem to consider the sentinels much of a threat.

"I give it to Corypheus," Sampson said, turning his back on Rosa and her people to spread his arms out, as though holding the well in his arms. "And he can enter the Fade without your Anchor."

"So you're a tool," Tal said, snorting. "Figures. Cor-iffy-nuts will just discard you after."

One of the Templars suddenly jerked with alarm as a sentinel elf appeared beside him in a puff of invisibility powder. He slashed with his sword, roaring incoherently through a mouth disfigured by red lyrium. The sentinels rushed headlong into battle to protect their comrade and abruptly any chance of averting battle fell apart.

"The rune," Dorian said, rushing up behind her. "The one that strange arcanist—"

"Dagna," Tal said.

"Yes, the dwarven one," Dorian went on as Rosa fumbled at her waist. "Hurry before he—"

"I don't have it," she interrupted, horror washing over her in a cold wave.

"What do you _mean_ you don't have it?" Morrigan snapped. The witch had examined it with interest just before they arrived at camp that morning. It seemed a lifetime ago. Before Raselan made a play at possessing her and before Solas reappeared and threw her world into chaos. Rosa _remembered_ distinctly putting it in the right pouch at her waist, where she kept emergency elfroot and rags for bandages. She wouldn't have removed it, knowing she would likely face off with Sampson here.

Rosa dug through the pouch again with clumsy fingers, flinging out bits of fabric and elfroot leaves. As red Templar archers shot arrows at them and their retinue of uninfected Templars Dorian and Morrigan tossed barriers over everyone even though most of the Inquisiton had yet to engage the enemy. That changed as Varric and Cole hurried forward to help the sentinels and, after a moment of hesitation, the Templars formerly escorting Solas hurried to back them up.

The rune wasn't inside. "I don't understand…I _know_ I put it here!"

"_You must have taken it out,"_ Tal said, using elven and speaking in a somber, quiet voice. Even though he was careful not to say what he actually meant, Rosa understood him easily. Raselan must have removed Dagna's rune. Why would the demon not want it?

_Raselan would just use my power to smite Sampson and his men with a snap of the finger._

Yet, while that was true, why would the demon toss the rune away?

She filed that question away for later as she heard a roar from ahead. Sampson had drawn a long two-handed club and spun with supernatural speed for her huddle of mages. His men had killed a handful of sentinels already, poisoning them or spearing them with red lyrium. The ringing at the back of Rosa's head only intensified, as thought the red lyrium sang a hymn of gratitude with the spread of its pestilence.

Rosa's group splintered as the mages all dodged. Dorian and Morrigan rolled right while Rosa and Tal scrambled left. But Sampson's weapon caught the edge of Rosa's barrier as he moved to follow. The blow was powerful enough it popped it like a soap bubble. Rosa scrambled to cast another barrier, but her head spun from the sudden motion. The scream of red lyrium surged and instinct made her reach for it, connecting to take control and stop the deadly blow of Sampson's club.

But there was no need. Her skin prickled as a sharp magical ringing filled the air, followed by a gritty crackle. Gasps rang out and all eyes stared at the various red Templars and Sampson. They'd all become stone statues in the space of an eye blink. Sampson's momentum made the statue topple over, clattering into gray dust and jagged fragments. Pieces of it pelted Rosa and Tal, making them both flinch.

"The fuck just happened…?" Varric asked, gawking and spluttering as he slapped at a few chunks of the shattered red Templar he'd been fighting.

The sentinels whistled with triumph, unfazed the way their modern Inquisition counterparts were. That would have been enough to tell Rosa what happened—if she hadn't already seen this spell earlier. She twisted, looking to where Solas stood beside the lead sentinel. He seemed slouched slightly, but otherwise only appeared grim and didn't acknowledge the rejoicing elves.

The last time Rosa saw him use this spell it left him in mana burnout when he petrified one rogue. Now he'd dispatched…six red Templars? Simultaneously.

Seeing her stare, Tal asked quietly, "Solas?"

She pinched her lips together. "Yes."

Tal scoffed under his breath. "Figures."

The sentinel leader moved quickly then, even before his people had finished shouting in triumph. Just as Rosa had anticipated, he activated magic similar to the kind she and Tal used in the crossroads, forming a bridge over the gap. Morrigan hurried after him, brushing past most of his people.

"_Fenedhis,"_ Tal muttered. "She _really_ wants to drink from that well."

Rosa jogged after the witch, but locked eyes with Solas as she rushed past him. The Elvhen trickster fell along beside her, matching her pace but standing just behind her—right where Rosa didn't want him, where he could literally stab her in the back if he wished. She glared over her shoulder but before she could do or say anything he said, "Inquisitor, I would advise you order your people stand guard beyond the well."

She bristled. "Why?"

"As a gesture of respect to the sentinels." The truthsaying sense inside her was frustratingly silent as usual, but Rosa didn't need it to guess this was only a half-truth. Knowing who and what Solas really was now…she doubted she could ever just trust what he said as being whole and uncomplicated. Still, this advice did sound wise. Her people outnumbered the sentinels now after the fight and Rosa didn't want to make enemies of them.

"Go on," she said to Tal, ushering him past her. She did the same with Dorian and Varric after, but when the Templar escort moved to follow she ordered them to stay back. The men and women shot her surprised looks but didn't protest. And, oddly, Rosa realized most of the sentinels had remained on this side of the gap as well. They clutched their weapons warily, looking at Rosa and her Templars with suspicion.

When Rosa returned to the bridge, crossing it as fast as her still-weak legs would carry her, she overheard the lead sentinel bitterly saying, "Better it be lost than despoiled by the undeserving."

"Fool!" Morrigan raged at him. "You'd let your people's legacy rot in the shadows?"

"We need the knowledge of the well to defeat Corypheus," Tal said, softer than Morrigan and with a youthful earnestness. "We can't let Mythal's knowledge fall into his hands."

As she reached them Rosa saw the lead sentinel's golden eyes swivel to her and narrow with dislike and distrust. Her cheeks went hot with shame, knowing she earned this reaction when she wielded Blight. She could blame the demon for it, true, but the temptation was real regardless and she'd used it while not possessed, too, for healing purposes.

The power marked her very clearly as being "of the blood" as _Lin'es Dirthamen. _And, as much as she didn't like to consider her grandfather as being a monster—she preferred to envision _Dirthamen_ as a principle, as devotion to family—she knew the actual man wasn't someone she wished to meet. And while she was ever-wary of Mythal…well, her father seemed to only respect two of the so-called Creators.

But then again, was her father really a good judge of character? His most revered "Creator," the one he devoted his life to serving, was the one who killed him. She clenched her jaw, working very hard to scrub away those angry thoughts as unproductive right now. She didn't dare glance at where Solas stood at the edge of the well, deceptively relaxed near the eluvian.

"I care nothing for the petty conflicts of this world," the lead sentinel said, frowning at Tal.

"You'd better start caring," Rosa said, walking to stand at her brother's side. "Because Corypheus will come and take the knowledge of the well for himself and then destroy this world." She stabbed a finger at him as she used elven to add, _"You may not care about this world, but you're part of it now."_ She tensed, eyes darting to Solas as she realized the words she meant for the sentinel were also ones she'd long wanted to challenge Solas with.

Across the well from her, Solas glanced in her direction. His features were heavy with some potent mixture of emotions—grief, shame, and tenderness. But the expression vanished as quickly as morning mist burned away by afternoon sun. He seemed to lose interest in their exchange, refocusing on the eluvian.

She swallowed, fighting off the lump of emotion in her throat, returning to the lead sentinel. _"Please, help me save it."_

"_Kaffas,"_ Dorian grumbled behind her, standing with Varric. "I _really_ need to learn elvish, apparently."

"I could help," Cole said brightly. "I can tell you what they're…" He broke off then as across the well Solas frowned at him. "Oh…" Cole said. "I'm not helping? I'm sorry."

"I think you are helping," Varric said, laughing. "We could use a translator."

"I'll second that," Dorian said.

"I was…wrong," Cole said stiltedly. "Sorry."

The lead sentinel frowned at Rosa. _"You expect me to trust you?"_ He motioned at her gruffly, sneering. _"You are grandchild to the god of secrets, traitor to his own mother." _

She flinched at the way he so baldly described what Dirthamen had done. The word he used for _traitor_ was also the same archaic one she heard Felassan use often—not _harellan._ Just another reminder at how different this Elvhen sentinel's life and reality was. For all of Rosa's lessons and inferred learning from her Elvhen father, she was as much Dalish as she was anything else. Her blood might read as Elvhen to magic in the temple here, as Tal's did, but her mind was Dalish. She never saw Elvhenan or Arlathan.

With that in mind, she quickly replied, _"I did not chose to be of his blood. I did not choose to have the powers I do. But I have chosen to fight for the People and for this world. To do that, I need everything I can to stop Corypheus."_

Tal stepped forward now, closer to the well and to the lead sentinel. _"Abelas, I opened the sealed door, remember? We may be of Dirthamen's blood, but we're also kin of the Mother. Our father did not serve his father. He served the Mother, our great-grandmother."_ He motioned to his face. _"I chose these markings in his memory, in honor of her and my father." _

The lead sentinel—Abelas, Rosa finally recalled his name with Tal's help—regarded Tal with more curiosity now than hostility. Across the well, however, Solas spoke up. "We do not have time for this discussion. Abelas," he said, the authority in his voice unquestionable. "You will allow one of them to drink from the well."

Abelas turned and snarled at the other Elvhen man. "I do not serve you." After a moment of hesitation he added, _"Hahren."_

Rosa read the lingering moment between the two men clearly—Abelas was proud and stubborn, but there was no question he would defer to Solas. The respectful title he afforded Solas made that clear. Furthermore, Rosa expected from Solas' aloof but commanding attitude that technically Abelas' allegiance had already switched, even though the stubborn elf claimed otherwise.

Sure enough, as he faced them again, Abelas' posture eased somewhat. His golden eyes moved over the lot of them, assessing. "Those who drink from the vir'abelasan pay a great price. Whichever one of you drinks from the well, you will be bound to the will of Mythal for eternity."

"Bound to a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?" Morrigan asked, unimpressed. Rosa shot her a glare, silently imploring the witch to shut her ignorant mouth.

"Bound as _we_ are bound," Abelas told her, his eyes moving again over them and then lastly toward Solas. "The choice is yours." Then he pivoted on one heel and walked away, returning to the magical bridge. After a few moments of silence Rosa heard him calling to the other sentinels in elven, ordering them inside.

"I did not expect the well to feel so…hungry," Morrigan commented, breaking the silence.

"Still so stoked about drinking from it?" Tal asked her, arching a brow.

"Yes," Morrigan said without reservation, looking a little irritated as she glanced at him. "Perhaps some compulsion still exists, but I do not fear it." Her gaze shifted to Rosa, intense with her determination. "Please, Inquisitor, allow me to do this. We need this knowledge and neither you nor your brother can afford to take such a risk."

Tal blew a raspberry out his lips at her dismissively. "How do we know we can trust you?"

"You have my word," Morrigan said, intoning it solemnly. She looked to Rosa rather than Tal as she spoke.

This was…_hard._ The knowledge of the well might be the key to defeating Corypheus and…perhaps it would help them with Solas, too. She had little doubt that whoever drank and gained Mythal's wisdom would find a certain Dread Wolf taking a keen interest in them.

He seemed unconcerned now, placidly waiting on their decision, but Rosa knew him intimately enough that she could see the tension in his shoulders and in his posture. He'd spent some time near the mirror, covertly examining it. She knew Solas had a great affinity for eluvians and he'd shown her a little of them before he left. What was going through his mind? If she made a decision he didn't like, would he turn on her? Was he here to control who gained Mythal's wisdom? Or was he here in case this was the endgame, the way Raselan feared?

Looking over her shoulder, she made eye contact with Cole to read the spirit boy's reaction to her thoughts. He blinked a moment, turning his attention from elsewhere. He nodded his head once. "Yes."

_Delightful,_ she thought sarcastically. Cole was great, but he wasn't very good at being clear. Then again, she hardly gave him the chance to be clear in this situation. It was probably all of those things she wondered about, considering how complex Solas was and how convoluted his plans.

"Thoughts?" she asked the others, particularly Cole. "Or…anyone else willing to volunteer?"

"A human from Tevinter scoops up the last bits of elven knowledge?" Dorian asked. "I know why you ask. I know it's important, but…I can't be that man." He smirked then. "It all seems ghoulish, doesn't it? Let Morrigan use it, if she wants it so much."

"You're asking me? This is a lot of…weird," Varric griped. "I barely understand how any of this works."

"So many voices," Cole said in a rush. "They would be in your head, talking over you. You don't want them. You have enough noise there already."

She winced at that. A little too close to home. She felt herself blanche when Morrigan, Dorian, and Varric all looked at Cole, clearly wondering at what he meant.

Finally, with nowhere left to query, Rosa stared across the well to Solas. "And what about you? What do you think?" She frowned at the bitterness in her voice.

Solas clasped his hands behind his back—like the general and leader she always knew he was…though she'd not known to the great extent. "Morrigan is correct that someone must take the knowledge of the well. Even if it is merely to deny it to Corypheus."

"That wasn't what I asked," Rosa snapped. She drew in a breath, trying to control the tempest of emotions roiling inside. She didn't know if she wanted to sob or scream looking at him. _You killed my father. You lied to me. You used me._ She didn't know what was the worst part of everything he'd done to hurt her. And then part of her still reeled with shock and disbelief. Part of her still only saw Solas, beloved confidant, ally, and lover. It didn't matter what shiny armor he wore or the wolf pelt slung over his shoulder. Felassan was wrong. Solas couldn't be the Dread Wolf. Yet she knew intellectually he was right. Solas always was the Dread Wolf. Always.

Solas lifted his chin. "You wish to know who _I _believe should drink from the well," he said, clarifying—needlessly, she thought, since they all knew what she was asking. Was he stalling for time?

"Yes," she said, proud now that her voice was calm and even. "But I also want to know what you know about the compulsion with this well. Since I know _you'd_ never drink from it, I want to know who you'd ask to do it if you were in my place…_hahren."_ She couldn't help but add the last dig at him.

Solas tilted his head slightly, considering her question and probably trying to read her just as she was with him. She still didn't know how he came to be with their group, but she knew Tal must have lied to her earlier while the demon possessed her. Yet if Tal hadn't captured Solas that meant he was here willingly from the start. Considering she—or rather, the Formless One—tried to have him killed, it was a ballsy move on his part. What game was he playing?

She thought to the handful of spies, including the healer Lanalle, that she managed to ferret out of her Inquisition. She had Leliana imprison them and dose them with herbs to block them nightly from the Fade so they could not report to Solas. It was the prudent, sensible thing to do on her end with known spies, but what must it look like to Solas? She'd sent out mixed messages, with literal secret codes on missives that his agents could read and report back to him that professed peaceful intent, but then she turned around and imprisoned his spies and executed Zevanni. Yet from Solas' side he _must_ see she had reason for her actions. The fact he fled at all told her he feared what she'd do now that she knew the truth. It meant she was a threat to him, just as he was a threat to her.

They couldn't trust each other and they both knew it. She wanted to believe he was here mostly to help her when he learned of Raselan's trick, but she knew better. Nothing was truly altruistic with Solas when it came to his scheming. That meant whatever answer he gave now, she had to consider even that might be some sort of misleading trap. She tried hard to dredge up her full truthsaying talent, to _feel_ her way through his deceptions.

"The compulsion of this well is not one I believe any can counter," Solas admitted and that felt…well, not like a lie. "As such, I would keep in mind that whomever I chose, were I in your position, may involuntarily betray me." His blue eyes moved between Morrigan and Tal. "He or she will become a thrall of Mythal."

"A goddess that no longer exists," Morrigan said again. "But I am the best suited to—"

"Enough," Rosa said, cutting the witch off. Her heart hammered in her chest. Solas' words didn't ring false. In fact, they felt far too true. These were things she'd already considered, but hearing Solas speak them brought home the real risk. SHe migh tnot trust Solas, but this felt right. She could _never_ ask Tal to become a thrall for Mythal. Yet this meant letting an enormous wealth of _elven_ knowledge fall into _shemlen_ hands. It made her feel sick. What was she losing?

_I'm not losing Tal._

That was what mattered. The well's knowledge be damned.

"It's yours, Morrigan," she said and gestured at the well.

The look of relief and surprise that swept over Morrigan's face almost made her laugh. Tal, on the other hand, immediately pressed forward, protesting. _"She's a _shemlen," he said, shaking his head. _"If this is about Morrigan's threats, fuck her! And I'm not afraid of a compulsion, _asamalin._ Mythal isn't some evil goddess. She—"_

"I don't care what she is," Rosa told him, grabbing his forearm tightly. "I'm not going to make you a thrall to Mythal. I'm not going to put you at risk like that."

"This knowledge should stay with the People," Tal insisted, tugging against her, but halfheartedly. "Fuck whatever Solas said about thralls. He was Mythal's g—"

"I said no," Rosa cut him off, heart thundering in her ears. Despite Tal's lack of fear, Rosa had felt her vallaslin used against her _twice_ and it was terrifying. She regretted not forcing Tal to let Solas remove his tattoos.

When Tal started to grumble again, Rosa said, "We are the last of the Elvhen. We _are not slaves._ We do not submit."

"Except to our older sisters and their ex-lovers," Tal said with an annoyed sigh.

She couldn't help the dry laugh at his comeback, but now that the decision was made she was light with relief. Tal's irritation seemed to evaporate quickly too until he grinned at her. She pulled him into an embrace, wishing she had gods she knew weren't fake that she could pray to, thanking them for Tal.

When the well gurgled and splashed in a violent upheaval it took her completely by surprise. She and Tal parted, turning to gawp dripping wet at where Morrigan now lay in the dry well, unmoving.

"Shit," Tal cursed and rushed forward. Rosa moved after him, calling the witch by name.

They pulled Morrigan onto her feet, mumbling in elven. The sound of their language on the _shemlen's_ lips made Rosa frown but the moment faded as Morrigan regained her senses—and with not a moment too soon.

The Templars below suddenly shouted in alarm. "It's the Darkspawn Magister!"

Varric and Cole rushed to the edge of the well's platform. After a moment of hesitation Solas moved after them to gaze down on the green space toward the temple.

The dwarf cursed. "Andraste's ass, that's definitely him." He grabbed Bianca off his back and reached for a bolt to load into the weapon. "Shit, we gotta—"

"Into the eluvian!" Morrigan yelled.

The mirror glowed an iridescent blue just as Corypheus shouted in outrage. The sharp ringing from red lyrium started in Rosa's ears again, making her hiss with pain. Templars screamed from below, trying to fight the Blighted magister, but they were clearly no match for him and far too few to do much more than slow him down. Regret and horror twisted in Rosa's gut as she realized they'd never be able to get the Inquisition Templars through the eluvian. They were just fodder right now for Corypheus.

"We can't abandon our men," she shouted as Dorian and Varric scrambled by her. She heard the eluvian thrum as they raced through it. Now only Solas and Cole stood near the edge, surveying the Templars. Yet, strangely, they seemed to stare at one another instead of the fighting.

Tal pulled her toward the eluvian. "You can't face this asshole one-on-one, Rosa!"

"Inquisitor," Morrigan shouted. "Come on!" The witch disappeared next. The mirror rippled like water as it received her.

Just as Rosa gave in and let her brother pull her within arm's reach of the mirror Solas suddenly streaked in with a blue Fade-step. The chill of the magic made her shudder violently, gasping as he stopped just in front of her. He was intimately close, near enough she could see the fine wrinkles around his eyes as his features warped with anguish and sadness.

And that was when her initial surprise became fear and horror, making her stomach drop. He was looking at her left hand, still clasped in Tal's. _No. No, no!_

But then, just as suddenly, Cole was there, standing beside Solas. He laid a hand over the Elvhen man's shoulder. Solas blinked and the despair left his features as his eyes moved to Rosa's face instead of her left hand. "May I join you, Inquisitor?" he asked and then added, "Temporarily, of course."

Tal was already stepping through the mirror behind her. The eluvian hummed as he vanished and its magic so close by made Rosa's skin prickle. Or maybe it was Solas. Hard to tell.

Feeling vulnerable with her brother and the rest of the Inquisition—aside from Cole—all gone, Rosa backpedaled fast for the mirror. But, with one arm—her left one—thrust through it, she twisted round to shout back at him, "I don't care what you do, _Fen'Harel." Just don't get any ideas about taking the Anchor._

Then the cool magic of the eluvian closed over her and she was away from Corypheus, the Arbor Wilds, the temple of Mythal, the well of sorrows, and Fen'Harel.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"You were going to take the Anchor back there," she said in a growl. "Weren't you?"

"No," he said, truthfully. "I would have helped you kill Corypheus so that I could reclaim the orb."

Rosa scoffed. "And _then_ you'd take the Anchor."

* * *

So, obviously, Solas is still around next chapter. Finally time to clear the air a bit between these two. Rosa has a lot of anger to unleash on him.


	67. Telanadas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa, Tal, and Solas clear the air a little. Later, with Cole's help, they must dispense with Raselan.

The group followed Morrigan's guidance through the eluvian crossroads. This one was better preserved than most Solas had seen. It was dark but the ground was still firm. The Void hadn't consumed this place, though most of the mirrors were dark or shattered or locked. Morrigan knew this particular section well enough that she could navigate it to reach "her" eluvian, which would take them to Skyhold, apparently.

Solas did not expect to be welcomed there and had no intention of going there. He was surprised the witch explained the eluvian in front of him. A lapse of judgment on her part as she should view him as a prisoner or spy, not an ally. Then again, perhaps she and most of the others assumed Rosa had overcome her strange desire to see him dead earlier that day. Or maybe they'd given up on any chance of understanding their strange leader's motivations. Solas was so close to the endgame that it hardly mattered to him anymore. He'd part ways with the group when he was ready and coopt a different eluvian to take him back to the Arbor Wilds so he could rejoin his people.

In the way of the crossroads the elves in their group soon outpaced the humans with ease. The humans also complained of headaches and nausea. Varric seemed unaffected by it but didn't have the heightened speed of the elves. Cole, meanwhile, oscillated between being unaffected by the speed reduction and then suddenly being hampered by it again. It was as though even the magic of the crossroads didn't know what to make of him. When he was more spirit than human the magic here treated him as Elvhen. But when he manifested more corporeal—as he often did to comfort the ailing humans—he began to suffer with them.

The racial divide made Solas, Rosa, and Tal into walking companions whether they liked it or not. First Rosa spent her time with Tal walking just behind Solas. They used a sound-dampening spell to hide their conversation from him. But then, after the first hour of walking and then waiting for the humans to catch up so Morrigan could issue directions, Rosa left Tal and walked just out of arm's reach from him.

"You were going to take the Anchor back there," she said in a growl. "Weren't you?"

She knew him too well to have missed that, of course. For a moment he had everything he needed in the same place. Corypheus had the orb. Rosa had the Anchor. Both were just within his grasp. If he kept Rosa with him and let the eluvian close, facing Corypheus with her, they would have the orb in only a few minutes—however long it took the two of them to dispense with the Darkspawn Magister. Then, before Corypheus rebirthed himself, he could coerce or convince Rosa to open a Fade rift as he tore the Veil down with the orb.

"No," he said, and it was truthful after a fashion. "I would have helped you kill Corypheus so that I could reclaim the orb."

Rosa scoffed. "And _then_ you'd take the Anchor."

"Only if I could not convince you to aid me willingly," he told her in the same mild voice. He shot her a look he hoped imparted his unhappiness with this situation. "I have no wish to harm you, Rosa."

She glared at him, shaking slightly with the rage he could see stewing behind her violet eyes. He lost his nerve, thinking of Felassan. Her eyes were just his same shade. He could feel his old student and longtime friend reproaching him from behind his daughter's stare.

"Did you ever tell _lenalin_ that?" she asked in a low, dangerous voice and then spat, _"Harellan."_

He winced at her insult and bowed his head, eyes shutting. "I did not know Felassan was your father."

"Why should that matter?" she snapped, nostrils flaring. "You know, I could understand and _forgive_ everything else. Sure, you killed thousands of people at the Conclave. But they weren't _real_ to you, were they? They weren't _Elvhen._" She slashed a hand dismissively, brusque. "Void take me, even _I_ can just say almost none of them were Dalish. Most of them weren't even elves! I could say good riddance to all the Templars. Who cares, right? Not my problem. Not my people."

Hearing her sum up the callousness of his own thought process was…cringe-worthy. It did make him sound cold. But it was accurate. He still considered it all a regrettable but necessary sacrifice. Except that his miscalculations regarding Corypheus made that sacrifice pointless until he reclaimed his orb. It was a cruel waste that was all his fault. And _that_ did shame him. His cheeks felt hot and he clenched his jaw, staring straight ahead.

"But _my father_ was Elvhen. He was _real._ You knew him since he was a child. You were his teacher and he _devoted his life to you._" She leaned closer to him marginally, eyes narrowed with rage. "And you _killed him anyway."_

She was completely right. He already knew the point she was getting at. It was a devastating one. He could do nothing to deny it because he knew it was true, to his shame. Idly, he wondered if this was the first time she'd ever referred to Felassan as _my father_. It would do him no good at all, however, to mention that observation. There was something he could say, however.

"I apologize for the way his service to my cause affected your childhood," he murmured softly and meant it. He had grown up with a very present father, the spoiled only-child of his middle-class parents. Felassan could have been a wonderful father—but Solas unwittingly never let him have the chance. "I did not know he had any children. Had I known—"

"He didn't want you to know," Rosa interrupted, bristling.

"Yes, I know. But had I known I—"

"Don't lie to me," she snapped.

Solas shut his mouth, staring straight ahead as warmth and frustration burned his cheeks. Rosa's truthsaying sense was fickle enough he frequently could get away with lies but this time it had found a lie he wasn't entirely certain was a falsehood. Had he known Felassan had children he might have changed his orders to his friend, but more likely he would have distrusted him more and faster. Solas might have actually made him work harder to prove his loyalty. Siring children in this shadow Tranquil world was something Solas never could have understood while he slept in uthenera. How could Felassan let himself be tempted by such diversions? He knew better now, but his past self would have regarded Felassan's decisions with suspicion and judgment.

Unless, perhaps, Felassan told Solas he wished to raise his children as agents of the Dread Wolf. _Then_ Solas would become invested in them, too.

"I regret his death," Solas admitted now, softly. "I miss my old friend."

"He didn't _die_," Rosa growled. "You _killed_ him. He was real to you, but you killed him."

"He betrayed me," Solas said, sad and somber. "I could not allow—"

"Nugshit," she snarled. "He _betrayed _you? What, like he was your lover and hid who he really was? For _two_ years? Or did he say he'd never abandon you and then broke his word? _Twice? _Or did he kill your father and then not tell you about it for _two years?"_

Solas didn't reply to her. There was no sense in it. She was right. His betrayals were far worse, far more personal. But that did not make Felassan's defiance any less of an affront. At least not to the Solas of those days, before he understood exactly what motivated his old friend.

"No, it was nothing like that at all, was it?" Rosa asked, shouting in rage now. With the humans so far behind them there was no reason for her not to speak freely. "No, he just had the _gall_ to question what you were doing!"

"It was far more than that," Solas snapped now. "I understand you are angry. You have every right to that anger. Yet Felassan defied my orders and deliberately kept vital information from me. And this was after _years_ of dubious performance that made it clear he no longer wished to serve our cause." Now the fire left him and his shoulders slumped. "I could not release him from service the way you can with those in your employ, Rosa. His knowledge could have destroyed me had he chosen to use it against me. When he questioned our cause I saw no reason why he would not rise up to stop me."

Rosa was silent, shaking slightly still with fury. Finally she asked, "So when should I expect you to kill me, then?"

A good and terrible question. He fought hard against the painful grimace trying to form over his face and evaded answering. "I have no wish to harm you. I'd hoped my presence here to help stop the Formless One was evidence enough of that."

"I don't trust any of your motivations anymore," Rosa muttered bitterly. "So I don't know why you showed up, but I expect my brother lied about capturing you."

He smiled with melancholy, deliberately not answering her pseudo-question about how Tal 'captured' him. "Perhaps I simply wished to help you."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a naïve heartsick girl, Solas. You came to save the Anchor and stop the Formless One. You never really gave a shit about me."

"That is not true," he said at once, real pain lashing through his chest that she could doubt his affection. But, then again, how could she not? And even if she didn't doubt it, she could say this entirely as a test. She could play the Game, too, same as he—despite never seeing the court of Arlathan.

"You left me without a word," she snarled, ignoring his protest. "You broke your promise _again._ Just like Tal thought you would." She huffed, staring down at the pale paver stones they walked over. Gloomy gray void clung to the edges of the path, as if trying to swallow the mirrors lining it.

"_Ir abelas,"_ he said and meant this, too. "You are a powerful leader, with an enormous organization at your disposal. When it was clear to me you knew the truth but would not confront me in private, I could not risk that you may apprehend me." He hesitated a moment, considering his next confession. "I feared you would place me in a position where I would be forced to kill you and Tal."

Grief made her look haggard. "Just like you killed our father." She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "I almost wish Raselan convinced Iron Bull to drown you after all."

Now he blinked, taken aback. "Pardon?"

She shook her head. "You know it wants you dead. Badly."

Solas cast her a sidelong look, cautious. How much had she been in agreement with the demon? "This fact has only come to my attention very recently," he revealed, hoping to enlighten her as to the dangers of the Forbidden Ones. "It seems the Formless One and its brethren intend to use you as—"

She waved a hand at him, shushing him. "This is old news to me. _Lenalin_ figured it out." She glared at him. "Maybe if you spent more time _listening_ to him than doubting him and then murdering him you wouldn't have been caught with your pants down."

He bristled, affronted at her crass characterization. He bit his tongue, holding the volatile temper of his youth in check. Yet he couldn't help one harsh dig at her. "For one who had received forewarning of the danger, you played into their hands with astonishing ease."

"_Harellan,"_ she cursed him again, glaring with more venom now. "Knowing you have enemies and what they _vaguely_ have planned isn't as helpful as you'd think. How was I supposed to know the Formless One was on this side of the Veil now? And how was I supposed to know it could impersonate Tal so well?"

"You should have seen through the ruse," Solas chastened her, "as soon as it offered you relief with a blood magic spell."

"I wasn't thinking right," Rosa snapped. "And if I always turn down that sort of thing I'd have turned _you_ down when you made the binding for Rogathe."

He had to grant her that.

"Then again maybe that should be my policy," she grumbled. "Because you're sort of a demon too, aren't you?"

Now Solas frowned at her. If she thought to insult him with such a crude, Andrastian Fade-fearing comparison—

"You never cared for the People," she said, quoting Dalish hyperbole in a bitter voice. "You had more affinity with spirits than you did us."

"You know the Dalish do not remember the People's past with any shred of accuracy," he snarled.

"Seems pretty accurate to me."

"It is not," he said, still snarling. Hot rage coiled inside him. The banality of the Dalish still infuriated him. He'd thought her more Elvhen than Dalish, all the more _real._ But sometimes, despite her heritage, she was one of _them_ through and through.

"Even your given name," she went on, clearly goading him. That was his fault—he'd let her see she'd riled him. "Solas." She grunted. "Did you pick it for yourself or was that what your parents named you?"

Before he could reply she went on, apparently uninterested in the answer. "Fitting, either way. If I think of you as a pride demon everything you've done makes a whole lot more sense. Locking away the other Evanuris because you thought they were all awful, but _you_ were better and different so you got to be free. Killing _lenalin_ when he dared question you because _of course_ you're right. Your way is the only way, right? And then you completely _bungle_ whatever you were up to when you let Corypheus have your orb. Oh, three thousand people killed and it's all your fault, but no biggie, how could _anyone_ have foreseen that going awry?"

He glared at her for a time and then looked away before she'd finished goading him. He pinched his lips together, refusing to dignify her with a response. Yet, her words stung. Actually, they cut like knives. Hearing her analyze him from this other perspective made him feel a little sick. Had he fallen to hubris?

_Yes,_ he thought, considering the way the Forbidden Ones' plot to replace him had so blindsided him. In his mind he was indispensable, so although the demons' plans had been in motion with many clues along the way, he'd _never_ seen them for what they were. He assumed they were toying with him out of impatience or boredom or just for sheer dumb fun. Now he saw how they'd manipulated him and the siblings for months. _Years, _even.

And Felassan, apparently, had figured it out. Rosa's words earlier had confirmed for him how the siblings knew so much of his plans now and how they learned his true identity. They'd accessed the Void Mirror in the temple of Dirthamen, the one spot Solas' agents couldn't get into.

Would Felassan have foreseen this if he were still alive, too? In killing his old friend and pupil, Solas had lost a valuable outside perspective. How many times had Felassan's suave infiltration at court or his easygoing nature aided the Dread Wolf's cause?

_Countless._

And now, because of his pride in judging Felassan so quickly and harshly, he might have lost the siblings, or perhaps doomed them if they turned against him outright. He hadn't _completely_ wished he could change the past regarding this before, but now…

He let his shoulders sink now with despair and weariness. "You…are not wrong about me." He stared ahead, unable to look at Rosa to see her disdain. She deserved to see him vulnerable and to spit in his face no matter how earnest and open he was with her. "I have made many mistakes. I count Felassan's death among them." He let out a wavering breath, still not looking at her. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah?" Rosa asked, growling. "Don't expect me to forgive you." Her voice cracked. "I don't know if I can." She let out a shaky breath that mirrored his. "But I promised my father I wouldn't fight you—even if it was just to make sure you don't kill me or Tal like you did him."

Surprise now made Solas turn and look at her. Rosa glowered at him, more hurt now than angry. Tears stood out in her eyes.

Curiosity got the better of him. "You spoke with him in the Void Mirror? In the temple of Dirthamen?"

She thrust out her chin. "We did." She looked over her shoulder to where Tal purposefully had left them space to talk. Yet when Solas looked at the young elf it was obvious he'd been listening to every word. Tears stained his cheeks and he glared at Solas, though he stayed silent. Usually Solas saw the resemblance Tal bore to Falon'Din when he observed him, but now, with the open pain in his face, he saw Mythal within him—and Felassan.

How had he missed the resemblance between father and son before? _What a fool I've been._

With his heart aching in his chest, Solas looked away from Tal and back to Rosa. He fought to find his voice, speaking softly. "I know it is much to ask, but…can you take me to this mirror?"

"Why?" Rosa asked, eyes searching him with wariness. Behind them Tal muttered something under his breath, but Solas couldn't make it out.

He'd hoped it was obvious, but it seemed Rosa would make him speak it aloud. "I wish to say goodbye and apologize."

"Why?" Rosa asked, spitting the word, as if his request was complete nonsense to her. "You think telling him _I'm sorry I murdered you_ will make it better? You think saying that will bring him back?" Her hands at her sides were balled into fists. "You're asking something so _fucking_ selfish and—"

"It is selfish," Solas interrupted her, somber and grave. "But I do not ask for it lightly and I have a purpose beyond a selfish wish to make amends with him and with you both." There was no point in denying he _did_ want that now, if they were being completely truthful.

He felt his eyes sting and forced himself not to look away from Rosa, to let her see his emotion. "I wish to leave him in peace."

"He's dead," Rosa snapped. "And _you_ killed him. You really think he—"

Suddenly Tal was right behind them like a wedge trying to pry them apart. "I'll take you."

"Tal?" Rosa asked, frowning with disapproval. "You really th—"

"He's not at peace," Tal told her, speaking loudly over her. "He _remembered_ what I told him between visits. That means there's a _beyond_ for him, some in-between existence where he's still _him. _And he's not moving on to whatever comes next. He's waiting in between, stewing with worry. The last we left him he was worried for us." He looked at Solas, the tears still in his eyes intermixed with anger. "He slipped. He told us by accident who you were. He didn't mean to." Now Tal's look became a glare. "Even after you _murdered him_, he's yours. More than he ever was ours."

Solas quickly turned his head away at the pain in the young elf's eyes. That was an awful, gut-wrenching interpretation—yet it wasn't entirely true. He rushed to correct it, as he often had for Rosa when she had lamented or cursed her father for his absence, thinking he did not care about her. "Please do not doubt that you both mattered to him, immensely so," Solas said after a moment, hoping to comfort them. "Had he been as devoted to my cause as you believe he would have revealed your existence to me so that I could shape and recruit you. Instead he worked very hard to hide you from me."

"And you killed him for it," Rosa snarled.

Solas clenched his jaw, but hung his head with misery. Yet again there was no reason for him to deny it. "After a fashion, yes. I did not understand his distance from me and feared betrayal was inevitable."

"_Telanadas,"_ Tal said, sounding bitter with pain. "I will meet you in three days' time, _Fen'Harel._ Can you be on the other side of the Skyhold eluvian around noon on that day?" They all knew Tal meant the eluvian hidden beneath Skyhold, in the Elvhen ruins that the human occupiers built the current fortress overtop of.

Solas nodded. "I will be there." He paused a moment and then said, "Thank you."

Tal scowled at him. "I'm not doing it for _you." _Then, taking hold of Rosa's bicep, he tugged her back to walk at his side, leaving Solas alone.

Alone, on the _din'an shiral,_ with only his pride for company. He started to think that perhaps it wasn't Felassan who'd betrayed him, but the other way around. Solas' own pride betrayed him and Felassan both.

When Rosa and Tal stopped on the path, seeing a crossroads ahead and waiting for Morrigan to catch up, Solas continued on. He knew with the same senses he used to reshape the Fade where the Dalish siblings and the Inquisition needed to go and he knew where _he _could go to return to his people. He would let their paths diverge here. Even if Rosa and Tal tolerated him temporarily he doubted the rest of the Inquisition would do the same and would not think highly of Rosa if she defended would already need to justify her strange personality shift from the Formless One's brief possession.

It was better for everyone if he vanished for the next three days.

* * *

Rosa watched Solas vanish into the gray gloom of the crossroads, her heart twisting with a wild mixture of reactions. Anger at him for his many betrayals—but also for leaving her again. Loss of the wisdom he had long represented to her when she just thought him an Elvhen survivor and general to Mythal. Grief that not long ago, though it felt like another lifetime, she'd wanted so desperately for the two of them to be the cure to the loneliness plaguing them both. Now it seemed that chance at happiness had evaporated completely.

Yet in reality, it never was a possibility. Even when they were happy together, Solas carried the awful secret of who he was and what he'd done. He knew he killed her father. He knew his plans would destroy the world she knew and fought for. But he let her fall in love with him anyway. Had he ever really loved her back?

She wanted to be angry and rail against that idea. No, Solas lied to her. He _used_ her. She was weak and she let him do it. She shouldn't waste another instant thinking of him as anything but an enemy she needed to puzzle out and protect herself from.

But what she _wanted_ to feel and what she _knew_ in her heart were two very different things. She remembered Felassan in the Void Mirror, telling her to love Solas if she could. She heard her father say again that he believed Solas loved her as he had loved no other. _You may change his heart where I could not. _

"What are you thinking, _asamalin?"_ Tal asked her softly. He sniffed, brushing his cheeks and clearing his eyes. The display of Tal's emotion had seemed particularly potent for Solas, interestingly. He seemed prepared for Rosa's wrath, but not Tal's grief.

She heaved a quavering sigh. "I'm…I'm not thinking." That wasn't true and they both knew it. What she really meant when she said that was she didn't want to speak whatever was on her mind aloud.

And she _really_ didn't. Because as Solas faded into the gray she remembered his gravestone in the Fade at Adamant. _Dying alone._ What she saw now was a man she still loved in spite of all he'd done and some part of her that she desperately wanted to deny _pitied_ him.

_He_ betrayed _her,_ but she pitied him. She frowned, disgusted with herself.

"_Baba_ said his way will save the People," Tal muttered, lifting his head and looking around at the crossroads about them. "We've walked through places like this before, but…did you ever really stop to think about it? Our ancestors _made_ this. They were immortal. They weren't slaves or nomads. They were mages and free…" He shut his eyes, shuddering.

"But there were slaves," Rosa reminded him in a growl. "We enslaved our own people."

"What I guess I'm trying to say," Tal murmured, staring down at the path toward the gray mist behind them where, hopefully, their other companions would emerge shortly. "Is that I can understand the desperation." His shoulders slumped, as if with exhaustion. "If he just hadn't killed _baba_…"

"We'd be as devoted to his cause and to him as _lenalin_ was," Rosa finished for him in a dark voice.

Tal gazed at her, eyes sad. "Exactly."

Now she swallowed, finding her mouth suddenly overfull with saliva. "What would you do in my place, _da'isamalin?_" She kept her voice soft rather than challenging. "I don't know what I want anymore. I can't think about this objectively because…" She cut herself off, unwilling to finish.

Tal, however, smiled at her glumly. "You still love him."

"I do not," she lied in a kneejerk reaction. "How could I after all the shit he's pulled? But _lenalin_ thought I could change him, even though I've only known him for two years and he probably knew him for two _thousand."_ She scoffed. "It's stupid. We can't fight him because we promised we wouldn't—for our own safety. But if we don't fight him he's going to destroy the world." _And kill himself,_ she thought. _And all of our friends. _

Tal's smile was still sad. "You don't need to cover around me, _asamalin._ I know all the reasons you shouldn't give a flying fuck about him anymore." He shrugged. "But I know you. This is how you were with _babae,_ too. He hurt you, repeatedly. He lied to you. I always knew who my father was, but your _mamae_ and _lenalin_ lied to you for years. I got all the fatherly memories and you got all the mentoring, but I _know_ you wanted more. And that was why you got fed up at the end and you lashed out at him, even though you didn't really mean it. You were just tired of being hurt."

Rosa frowned, struggling with tears in her eyes. "And now he's dead." She let out a short humorless laugh that was almost more of a sob. Trying for lightheartedness she didn't truly feel, she forced herself to smile at her brother. "When did you get so damned wise?"

Tal shrugged, weakly returning her smile. He gazed off at the direction Solas vanished into. "I don't think you got what I was trying to say just now."

She frowned, brow furrowing. "I did. I just don't want to believe you're right." _You were just tired of being hurt,_ his words replayed through her head. The shameful word he _should_ have said was _afraid._ She was afraid of being hurt. Again. It was easier to cast the person who hurt her away, as she tried to do with Felassan—much to her regret. Would she have the same regret with Solas?

It wasn't the same, though. What was she supposed to do with a pseudo-god bent on destroying this world to restore the People to greatness? The easiest solution was to sit back and do nothing, much as she'd promised _lenalin._ But that wasn't even possible because Solas needed the Anchor. She'd have to tacitly allow him to destroy the world by letting him use the Anchor, or she'd have to actively aid him in destroying this world to help him survive. Or she'd set herself against him in some kind of peaceful protest to try and save this world, which probably broke her promise to her father.

"The lines of communication are open now," Tal said with another shrug. "And I think he will meet me to go to the temple in three days." He shot her a look. "Will you come with me?"

She stiffened. "Of course I'm coming! You think I'd leave you alone with him?"

Tal smirked at her. "Just thought I'd check rather than assume." He drew in a deep breath as, behind them, they heard voices. "Good. They're finally catching up. I was getting antsy." He fidgeted, as if he really needed to prove how he felt. "I need to make sure Nola and Felenaste are all right."

Rosa smiled at him even as that same heartbroken place inside her that still loved Solas squirmed with miserable jealousy. Tal had what she'd always wanted—a peaceful life waited for him at Skyhold with someone he loved and a child they'd raise together. Though seeing her brother's worry made her anxious, too. She hadn't dreamed since the infection with red lyrium—until she briefly dreamt while napping after Raselan tricked her into letting it possess her.

They needed to deal with the pendant and the demon as soon as they reached Skyhold. That was going to be difficult considering all the people who'd be clamoring for an explanation of what happened in the Arbor Wilds and how she got back so quickly.

And they still had to deal with Corypheus.

They'd frustratingly gone from one false-god trying to destroy the world to another.

* * *

The pine trees were dark against the snow that still lingered here so high in the Frostbacks, despite it being summer now throughout the rest of Thedas. Somewhere, distantly, Rosa heard the howling of wolves. A cold, cloudless sky stood over them, dark with the moon beneath the horizon.

She stood with Tal, Nola, and Cole in the somber, beautiful night of this high alpine forest—some miles walk from Skyhold where they could be truly alone. Rosa had excused herself from the keep despite protests from every human dignitary and available advisor. She claimed she had to make some obeisance to the elven gods for trespassing on the sacred ground of Mythal's temple and letting Morrigan—a human—drink from Mythal's well. None of her traditional advisors were present, having gone with her to the Arbor Wilds, but most of their stand-ins and the dignitaries cringed at her mentioning heathen gods. Some dared argue with her, as if by virtue of logic they could convince her not to be a knife-ear savage. But Rosa wouldn't be dissuaded, though of course her motives weren't religious.

What _did_ make her hesitate about doing this, however, was when Dorian and Varric both questioned her about it, which was out of character for them. Dorian seemed concerned and doubtful of her when she said she would leave the fortress for a religious ceremony with the Dalish leader. Varric, thankfully, was more straightforward and made her realize what she'd done wrong.

"You're going to give me whiplash, Violet," he'd said, laughing.

"What?" she asked, frowning. "Why?"

"One minute you're smiting red Templars and saying you believe in Andraste and the Maker. The next you're running out to dance naked in the pine forest with the Dalish to make nice with the elven gods we _might _have pissed off at that temple." He laughed. "It's damn funny, but I don't get you."

And that was when she realized, riffling through her hazy memories of the possession, that the Formless One had embraced her supposed divinity from the human Maker with open arms. She felt sick as she tried to laugh off the hypocrisy with Varric. "Oh, I was just saying what I thought would inspire the soldiers the most while we were fighting."

Varric's look suggested he didn't buy her explanation for one second. There was something dark and worried in his brown eyes, but he didn't voice it. She wished he had so she knew what he was thinking. She wished she could tell him the truth to explain it and maybe ask for his advice. He _did_ have some experience with a possessed friend from his time in Kirkwall, from what she'd gathered. But in the end she just couldn't risk exposing herself.

And she also couldn't let what him or anyone else stop this from happening. They _must_ send the Formless One back to the Fade and destroy the pendant it used to anchor itself on this side of the Veil. Cole had held onto the pendant for the last two days because he was the only one truly immune to the demon's possession and tricks. Rosa only wished they could _kill_ the demon instead of merely banishing it back into the Fade, but she didn't know how. Even if she did find a way to try and kill it…that would entail great risk to herself and anyone taking on the demon. If they lost they'd probably pay for it with their lives. Better not to risk it.

"Thank you," she said to Nola as the young Keeper guided Cole into a circle of stones they'd set up. "I really appreciate you helping us with this. And of course for your discretion."

Nola nodded to her, distracted as she was ensuring the summoning and holding circle was aligned properly. She and Tal had used their blood and a mixture of coal for the binding. As Keeper for her clan, Nola was still teaching Tal blood magic, a school she relied on for a lot of specific spells. This was as much a ritual to banish Raselan as it was a lesson for Tal.

The young Dalish woman wore a sling of soft halla and nug skin that held Felenaste close to her at all times. She held the bundle with one arm while she knelt and sketched the shape of the last rune into the dirt beside the final stone. They wouldn't draw this rune on the last stone until just the final moment. They'd have only seconds between when Cole in the circle set the pendant down and when the Formless One burst free. In that precious last second Cole needed to flee the circle or he would be bound, too.

When she finished with the rune in the dirt and was satisfied with Tal's recreation of it beneath hers, Nola stood up. She smiled and dipped her head to Rosa. "Of course, _hahren._" Her eyes were still a little wary, however. She knew of their heritage, that demons like this one hunted them because they were grandchildren of Dirthamen. Generally, however, Nola didn't seem to want to acknowledge it—even though she was helping them directly with just that problem.

Well, not exactly that problem. This possession was a result of _Solas_ and his plans rather than the siblings' heritage.

"Are you ready?" Nola asked Tal.

He nodded vigorously. "As ready as I'll ever be." He held a small brush and a tiny bowl with the mixture of ash and blood. The brush bristles were wet, ready to draw. He scooted to one side, ensuring Cole had enough room to rush by. "You ready, kid?" he asked the spirit.

Cole stood in the center of the circle of stones, staring down at the pendant on his pale palm. "Yes. It's dark in here. I don't like it."

"It's dark out here, too," Nola said, confused. "It's night."

"It's okay not to understand what he means," Rosa told her softly in an aside.

Nola nodded again, but she continued to frown, clearly trying to puzzle it out. She bounced in place, swaying when Felenaste made a little burble. Rosa worked hard to block the sound out, thinking unavoidably again that had she not lost her own baby her life would be very different…possibly happier, because then even if she never saw Solas again she'd still have the child to love and raise. And she wouldn't be stuck with the Anchor like a noose around her neck. The Conclave, Corypheus, and _Fen'Harel_ would all be someone else's problem.

"All right," Tal said, ignoring their banter behind him as he lowered the brush to the stone. "Set it down in three…two…one…"

Cole stooped and set the pendant onto the dirt and needles of the forest floor they'd cleared for this ritual. Then he flickered into green invisibility and vanished. A heartbeat later as Tal hesitated over the final stroke the spirit reappeared at his side, outside the circle. In the center of the circle the pendant glowed red-black and bubbled like molten metal—except it was translucent like ether. It swelled out from the pendant, rolling out like fog to touch the circle of stones where it crashed against them like ocean surf on breakers.

A vague shape appeared in the center, hunched and twice as tall as any of them—like a Qunari, but with no sign of horns. Rosa felt its gaze on her even though it didn't seem to have eyes at all. _"Little fool,"_ it called to her in elven. _"You and your brother will die in the chaos to come without me. My brethren and I would have protected you. We would have made you invincible." _

Rosa concentrated on the Anchor, willing it to come alive. Tal, Nola, and Cole all shrank back from the shape and its booming voice. Felenaste whimpered from inside his sling. Normally they would use more blood magic to force the demon back through the Veil, returning it to the Fade. But with the Anchor Rosa had a much more direct route. She tugged on it now, activating it.

The Formless One jerked in place, reacting to the crackle of the Anchor with what Rosa interpreted as alarm. It might know they weren't a serious threat to it and could only send it back to the Fade, but Rosa suspected crossing the Veil took up serious resources even with the aid of one of its kin, Imshael. Specifically, she guessed Imshael used her blood, gained when he and his Freemen ambushed her and Tal in the Dales, to fuel Raselan's crossing _and_ make the pendant for the possession. After summoning Raselan, making this pendant, and freeing Deceit, how much more of her blood could Imshael have left? It had to be running low.

That meant the Formless One knew that if it didn't manage to convince Rosa to work with it in this moment the Forbidden Ones' plans were defunct.

"_Listen to me,"_ Raselan said in a voice like the buzzing of a hundred bees. _"You need me, _da'lan. _You know you are too weak to wield Dirthamen's Blight without my help."_

Rosa scowled at it, lifting her hand as the Anchor crackled. She aimed for a spot above the hulking darkness of the Formless One and concentrated, trying to pierce the Veil and tear open a little rift.

Seeing Rosa wasn't listening, the demon switched tactics. _"Talassan, how will it feel for you, I wonder, when you watch your sister wither away with the rot of Dirthamen's Blight?"_

"What?" Tal asked, alarmed.

"It's lying," Rosa growled. "Don't listen to it." Yet, despite her words, her focus on the Anchor wavered. The rift above the demon's head didn't rip open.

The demon noticed the pause and knew it had them. _"Has she told you she can no longer dream? No, she hasn't confessed this to you, but no matter. You knew she could not enter the Dreaming any longer. You are clever and figured it out by yourself. But did you know it is because of Dirthamen's Blight?"_

Rosa had already guessed as much since she'd stopped dreaming around the time of her red lyrium "infection." Cold sweat broke out over her as she continued hesitating, glaring daggers at the demon even as she waited with rapt attention for its next words.

"Is it lying?" Tal asked, turning to look at where Cole stood nearby.

The faraway glaze of Cole's eyes didn't match the furrow in his brow or the twist of his lips. "I…don't think so."

"_Fenedhis,"_ Rosa growled and closed her fist, silencing the Anchor.

"What is it saying?" Nola asked, flinching when the Anchor went dead. _"Hahren?_ Tal?"

"You don't want to know," Tal muttered. And then, when Nola shot him a look, Tal added, "It has to do with our heritage." This made Nola pinch her lips together and tighten her grip around Felenaste protectively.

"_Talk, demon,"_ Rosa barked at it. _"Before I change my mind."_

The looming shape diminished slightly, shrinking and condensing. True to its name, however, the Formless One did not take a shape. But now it seemed less intimidating. _"Dirthamen's Blight exacts a terrible price of those who wield it. A weak mortal such as you will have no chance to survive it long term."_

"_Funny,"_ Rosa snarled. _"I've had it for weeks and I'm not showing it. You're lying."_ She kept her eyes glued to the demon, refusing to give into the impulse to look at Cole, who might _actually_ know if Raselan was lying at the moment. Her own truthsaying talent was mum.

"_But you are,"_ the Formless One said, sounding amused. _"You cannot access the Fade. That is how it begins. Next your mana will begin to diminish. You see, _da'lan,_ the Blighted lyrium is strangling you from within. Once your magic has gone, your mind will follow. Only after you are a soulless husk will the Blight begin to consume your flesh."_

Rosa steeled her spine, shaking her head. _"You lie. You would say anything to keep me from—"_ She lifted the Anchor as she spoke and the Formless One rushed to interrupt her.

"_Ask Compassion if I lie. It will tell you I speak truth. You are stubborn and strong, but the Blighted lyrium will eventually consume you."_

Now Rosa swallowed the tightness in her throat, putting on a stolid, brave face as she glanced toward Tal and then Cole. Her heart sank to the ground and went cold as she saw the spirit boy's sad eyes and anxiously wringing hands. "Cole?" Tal asked. "Is it telling the truth?"

"I'm sorry," he said, anguish clear in his words. "It believes, but…I don't know…"

"_I would know the truth,"_ the Formless One said, booming in volume and swelling in size again. Rosa took a step backward before she could stop herself, gazing up at the dark shadow of the demon that'd hunted and haunted her for years now, since it first found and harassed her in Hasmal. _"I am ancient. I was old already when your sire was young. I was there when Dirthamen dared twist the natural order, mangling Blight to serve him and the other false gods he favored. That is how I know you are doomed, _da'lan._ Blight can be made to serve the People, but it cannot be anything but what it has always been since the dawn of time."_

"_And what exactly is that?"_ Tal asked, taking the demon's bait.

The Formless One's shape rippled, as though it laughed but kept the sound to itself. _"Death. Decay. Blight is the tool of the Forgotten Ones, my masters the first demons, to curtail the physical beings in an immortal world. Your ancestor, the false-god Dirthamen, bent a strain of Blight to his will, but he did not tame it. Even he, in time, succumbed."_

Now it did laugh and the sound made Rosa's skin crawl. _"Did you ever wonder, foolish children, about the demons Dirthamen trapped in the shape of ravens? They were not merely enslaved to him for daring to taunt him. The false god needed them to share the burden of the Blighted lyrium. Do you see now? That is why you need me, _da'lan._ I am the only chance you have to survive."_

Still staring at the demon, Rosa asked, "Cole?"

He understood her unspoken question and answered, "It's true." He kept wringing his hands, eyes downcast.

_Did Solas know about this?_ She wondered. Had he known this and kept it to himself? Or was the fact that he hadn't mentioned this a sign he didn't know at all—or that the Formless One truly was lying, somehow fooling Cole?

The demon laughed again, an ugly sound. _"Pride believes he knows all, but he is mistaken. He does not know all the secrets of the false-gods. He cannot help you. Only me."_

"That wasn't right," Cole said, brightening.

The Formless One rippled and twitched, as though irritated. Rosa seized on the brief hope this offered and activated the Anchor again. It crackled sharply and she thrust her hand up, aiming for the space above Raselan. The demon let out a frustrated roar, but the tearing sound of the rift opening swallowed the noise. In a moment the dark shape of the Formless One had vanished from within the summoning circle. Rosa let the rift pull in a few sticks and dried leaves before she reached out and winced, forcing it shut again.

The little party of elves and the spirit boy stood in somber silence. Finally Tal said, "Fuck that bastard." He walked over toward Rosa and threw his arms around her. "Don't worry, okay?" he asked in her ear. "We'll figure something out. _Telanadas, asamalin."_

* * *

**Elven used**

_Telanadas-Nothing is inevitable._


	68. Solas and the Void Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tal takes Rosa and Solas to the Void Mirror one last time, to try ad bring closure to everyone. Including Felassan.

Rosa found herself inescapably occupied when it came time to meet Solas by traveling with Tal through the eluvian buried in the Elvhen ruins beneath Skyhold. Vivienne had arrived early that morning, riding with haste from Val Royeaux and accompanied by several pompous Orlesian representatives. All of them had business that needed to be dealt with _now._ And once Rosa learned Blackwall's life was apparently hanging in the balance she had no choice but to push aside her other, secret plans—at least momentarily.

That was why she was in the war room when Tal rapped his knuckles on the huge wood and metal door, interrupting their longwinded meeting. He opened the door even before Rosa called him in, a fact that had her feeling flushed, considering the Orlesians in this meeting had been trying her patience for the last two hours, constantly challenging her authority. Now to have Tal inadvertently show insolence with his casualness would only weaken her position.

"What is it?" she asked him, more brusquely than she meant to—particularly since she already knew exactly why he was there.

Tal's easygoing expression tightened as his gaze swept over the masked Orlesians and Vivienne. He cleared his throat and dipped at the waist in a brief bow. "Your worship," he said, adopting an uncharacteristic formality. "The scouts on patrol outside the keep reported a band of darkspawn sighted nearby. I had them evacuate to a safe distance so they can keep watch but won't be in danger. With your permission I'd like to gather a small group of soldiers and scouts to—"

"Yes," Rosa said quickly, knowing this was all a cover. He was _trying_ to give her a pressing reason to excuse herself from this meeting. "Thank you. You have my permission to investigate. In fact, I'd like to accompany you, but I'll need a few minutes to finish up here."

Now Tal's lip twitched in one corner. They both knew Solas might not linger long. He might suspect they were trying to trick him, somehow, if neither of them were at the agreed upon meeting place at the agreed upon time. That meant time was of the essence.

"Go on without me," Rosa told him, trying not to reveal how anxious this all made her. "I will join you as soon as I can." As much as she wanted to spit in the Orlesian men's faces and tell Vivienne that her attempt to clean up this Blackwall mess was an awful clusterfuck, a good man's life was on the line.

Er, well, she _thought_ he was a good man. Enough that she didn't want to see him executed.

Tal's lips pinched together as if he would protest, but he only dipped his head to her again. "Of course, your worship." Then he slipped out of the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

"You allow those tattooed savages into your ranks, Inquisitor?" one of the Orlesians asked her. She could see his mouth as he only wore a half-mask and his disgust was on full display with the way he sneered.

Because Rosa no longer had vallaslin, and with her connection to the Andrastian religion through the Inquisition, she knew there were thousands of humans who lived under the mistaken assumption that she was _human._ These men with Vivienne probably weren't under that false belief as they were well connected within Val Royeaux, which meant they'd have heard all about the ball at the winter palace. And, from what Rosa had heard of the rumors repeated of herself from the winter palace, her race played into the tales to hype up the court's astonishment. Supporters saw her race as a sign of the Maker's extreme favor. Enemies used her race as a way to ridicule her. Gossipmongers and the depraved enjoyed whispering and wondering about the Inquisitor's sexual proclivities—because to them being an elven woman _guaranteed_ Rosa was an oversexed slut.

But what these two men _wouldn't_ know was that she was Dalish. They likely imagined her as a city elf, from Ferelden or the Free Marches based on her accent, and probably raised in a Circle—thus explaining her presence at the Conclave. Without her vallaslin to announce her background to the _shemlen_ they quickly let their biases come racing up to the surface and even, as this man was doing, tried to use them against her for their benefit. In their minds they wanted to paint her into a corner, implying the Inquisition was lawless and unworthy of respect based on the caliber—or lack thereof—of its recruits. After all, Rosaa had included a murdering ex-Orlesian army scumbag posing as a Warden into her inner circle. A heathen Dalish man wasn't much better in their eyes than that and they wanted her to know it.

Now, struggling to hide her irritation at this Orlesian's accidental insult to her people and, more personally, to her brother, Rosa said, "Yes, ser, the Inquisition allows people of all races and backgrounds to join." She smiled coldly. "I think it would reflect poorly on me if I were to exclude my own brother."

Now the Orlesian jerked slightly in place and his companion also lifted his head marginally, clearly taking note. They were both surprised at discovering she had a Dalish brother, and that _could_ mean she was Dalish herself. It reminded them that they didn't know _anything_ about her, beyond barest rumor and her being Inquisitor. While they'd spent hours trying to unsettle her, disparaging her for sheltering the man formerly known to her as Blackwall and trying to secure some political exchange for the criminal's release, Rosa had just shown them in seconds that she was anything but easily defined. They expected to shame her, twist her with their skillful employ of Orlais' grand Game. But it was hard to trap someone they knew next to nothing about.

Vivienne, standing to Rosa's right in a wordless show of solidarity, wore a blank, unreadable look on her face. Yet, having trained with the Iron Lady in preparation for the ball at the winter palace, Rosa could still make out the slightest smugness in the set of the other woman's lips. She might not agree with many of Rosa's decisions, but she deeply enjoyed watching and playing the Game. She didn't disappoint now, either.

"Indeed, my dear," Vivienne added, nodding to Rosa. "Andraste herself welcomed all into the Maker's light, regardless of background. Elves and dwarves are children of the Maker, just as men are. And mages. The Inquisition is all-inclusive, just as the Maker is, and just as the Chantry must be."

Rosa resisted shooting Vivienne a sidelong look. The Circle Enchanter was always about worming her way into the Chantry, specifically onto the Sunburst throne. Had she brought these two lords as messengers and representatives to try and save Blackwall (Rainier?) or maneuver herself deeper into power? _Fenedhis,_ what kind of question was that? Rosa already knew the answer: both.

Before they could recover from either the revelation about Tal or Vivienne's point about diversity within the Chantry, Rosa said, "Gentlemen, if you please, I do have pressing business to attend to elsewhere. Might we continue this later tonight or tomorrow morning?"

"Your messenger mentioned Darkspawn," said the Orlesian who'd been silent before. "Here? This high in the Frostbacks?"

"Skyhold was constructed atop ruins that connect to an outlet of the Deep Roads," Rosa told him and wasn't even certain it was a lie. The Elvhen ruins were real and they _did_ extend deep underground, which _was_ somewhat unusual in her experience. "Occasionally we have had darkspawn emerge, yes."

"I will show our guests to their rooms, your worship." Vivienne seemed to approve of this. The slight smugness about her had yet to fade. It was good to remind these men that the Inquisitor had much bigger challenges to deal with. But then again, for Vivienne, who had despised Blackwall from day one, this entire task was probably beneath her and a waste of time.

Rosa made a mental note to quickly bring Leliana and Josephine into this matter, replacing Vivienne. She didn't trust the enchanter not to just let Blackwall…Rainier…hang. After excusing herself from the war room, Rosa quickly found one of Leliana's scouts and asked her to pass on a raven with a message, asking the spymaster to intercede on the matter regarding Blackwall's fate as soon as she could. Even while still on the road, traveling from the Arbor Wilds, Leliana would pick out the pieces and take over from Vivienne. Chances were high she'd already worked out a separate way to free Blackwall anyway that didn't require wining and dining Orlais.

Rushing to her tower, Rosa donned her armor and some traveling clothes and supplies—just in case—then took on invisibility as she slipped out again. Walking out of Skyhold while visible was too likely to attract ill-timed messengers, servants, or friends looking to consult her about Creators knew what. The long walk out of Skyhold and then through the constantly cold glacial valley to the base of the keep where the ruins lay left her surprisingly weary despite the churning anxiety in her stomach. It wasn't physical weakness, but magical. Holding the invisibility spell had never left her so drained. It wasn't mana-burnout…just…_fatigue. _

The Formless One's voice echoed in her memory: _the Blighted lyrium is strangling you from within._

Was this what it felt like? Was it starting in earnest now? How long did she have left?

By the time she reached the eluvian, deep in a dark, dusty room still coated in golden tiles, Rosa had dropped the spell and was struggling not to breakdown emotionally. Her hands shook as she stood before the mirror, which had gone dark, staring down at her brother's barefoot tracks where they disappeared into it. She needed to restart the magic, but more than that she needed to find her composure. She _refused_ to face _Fen'Harel_ as a blubbering, pleading girl seeking a miracle that she doubted existed.

_I have no wish to harm you,_ Solas had said. She believed that was true, but she also believed he would kill her without hesitation if he saw her as a threat to his plans—just as he had with Felassan.

And his plan was to destroy the world. And he needed her left hand, specifically, to do it.

That meant if he had no means to save her life Solas would have to act on a timetable forced by her illness. If the red lyrium drove her mad as it had Zevanni, letting the demons on the other end of it eventually take control _despite_ her heritage, Solas would have to kill her or at least take the Anchor to keep her from threatening his plans. If the red lyrium simply killed her he'd have to take the Anchor or use it before she died.

If he even could take the Anchor. Corypheus couldn't and claimed it was permanent. Solas might have more knowledge of it, but what if he couldn't take it either?

Her heart ached in her chest as she stared down at her left hand, gritting her teeth. If not for the damned Anchor she could do as Felassan asked and recuse herself, turning a blind eye to what Solas planned—even though that felt morally reprehensible because it might get her non-elven friends killed. She promised _lenalin_ she would do just that, or change Solas' heart if she could, but…

_The only thing I'll be doing is dying of red lyrium poisoning._

She swallowed the hot aching lump in her throat and blinked until the stinging in her eyes went away. Sobbing wouldn't help her face this. She envisioned Rogathe and felt her chest constrict with old grief. _I miss you, _falon.

What would Rogathe counsel her to do?

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Rosa stepped close to the dark eluvian. Lifting her hand to it, she summoned mana and felt a little shudder of relief at how readily it came to her. _You are strong and stubborn,_ the Formless one had said. That meant she had a little time yet. A little hope remaining.

The mirror rippled like water as its surface lit up, forming the connection to the other side. Rosa saw the fractured rainbow light of the far side and squared her shoulders as she stepped through.

* * *

After Solas spent the better part of an hour waiting in the crossroads with Tal, Rosa finally joined them. She looked pale and tired, tossing him only a brief look before she stared off into the crossroads, clearly trying to evade his gaze. Tal hadn't been much friendlier, either.

That was just as well, he supposed, though his stomach sank with this latest sign that any chance at reconciliation had long passed. He'd tried to summon her in the Fade over the past three nights, only to find she was never there. She must still be dosing herself with herbs to keep her mind from the Fade. She clearly wished to avoid him, but he had to keep trying if only to ensure the Forbidden Ones didn't come after either sibling again.

Tal pushed off the rock he'd been leaning on and hurried over to his sister. "You okay, _asamalin?"_ he asked her, sounding anxious.

Solas kept his expression blank but immediately sensed his original assessment of Rosa might be wrong. Something seemed off in Tal's posture and in how swiftly he became concerned for her. Still, he did not question it aloud. He was not an ally and not a trusted comrade. It wasn't his place to pry into their personal affairs. Doing so would be overstepping his boundaries and they might misconstrue his intent, believing his curiosity stemmed from a place of treachery rather than compassion.

Yet his disquiet only grew when he saw Rosa brush Tal off with irritation. "I'm fine. Let's get this over with." She glanced again at him for an instant and then away as she marched ahead out into the narrow bridges of rock connecting this island to the next.

In that short look Solas saw just a hint of fear and vulnerability. He'd known her so well—and intimately—that he recognized what she was doing now though she tried to hide it. Each time she encountered a trial that overwhelmed her on a personal, emotional level, Rosa either faced it head-on like a charging bull, or she denied and buried it. Confronting him about the loss of the child they'd accidentally conceived was the first time he saw it so plainly, but not the last. She'd done the same thing when she learned the truth of who he was and what he'd done. Solas let his fear then convince him that she and Tal actually plotted against him, which forced him to flee rather than risk conflict with them that would likely result in their deaths or his own. Now here it was again, but why? Was their present situation enough to warrant such a reaction?

He shook himself from his reverie as he saw Tal fumbling with his pack to pull out an artifact he recognized: the Crown of Falon'Din. He restrained a sneer upon seeing it, though he did not turn away or disguise his interest as Tal put it on. The Crown transformed, the metalwork warping and growing with magic until it formed part of Falon'Din's vallaslin over Tal's forehead.

Tal winced briefly, shaking his head as he adjusted to the Crown's magic. Solas had seen the Crown before more than he cared to recall. The first time was the worst, when he happened upon an entire village being slaughtered and glimpsed, through horrific memories left in the Fade, Falon'Din wearing this very same Crown as he tore apart those who would not kneel. The sight of it on Tal's brow left him cold as the grave.

"What?" Tal asked, half-barking the question as he frowned at Solas.

Solas dropped his chin, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. "My apologies."

Tal grunted at him and then started after Rosa. Soon he overtook her, leading with confidence. They walked for perhaps fifteen minutes before Tal suddenly changed direction, walking off the path into the void. Solas' chest went tight with alarm for an instant, but Tal didn't fall. Solas felt his skin prickling and realized the path actually _was_ there, it was just hidden.

The crossroads were similar to the Fade in a number of ways. The real world beyond an eluvian often leaked over into the crossroads, just as it did into the Fade. Another similarity lay in the fact that two people could stare at the same object and see vastly different things. Reality was fluid here. What appeared to be void to Solas was actually a pathway for Tal.

This should not have surprised him. Their destination would be hidden from casual travelers using the eluvian network. Dirthamen and Falon'Din's people were allowed access while others were not. Whether this was a trick of illusion only or an actual gated pathway was hard to gauge. Either way, Tal and Rosa's presence would allow him to tread on it, but he must not tarry far behind them or, if the path was a sort of gated reality, the invisible walkway might dissolve, leaving him to die in the void.

Solas closed the distance between himself and Rosa as he stepped onto the void. When he found his foot hit hard stone, despite the dizzying view into the void, he was relieved. There'd been a small chance the magic of this path would sense _who_ he was and deny all of them access. Either that magic had faded in time or had never been added.

When Rosa looked over her shoulder at him, Solas took advantage of it to quickly ask her, "Do you see a path beneath us?"

She frowned at him, her tread slowing. "What?"

"Do you see a path?" he asked her again and smiled tightly. At her ongoing bewildered expression he nodded. "As I suspected, then. You do see a path. It is not the same for me."

She arched a brow. "Are you telling me you walked out over thin air, following me and Tal?"

"A calculated risk," he told her, his smile loosening slightly. "I had reason to believe I would not fall as the two of you managed. This place is similar to the dreaming. Reality is dynamic here and can differ depending on the beholder."

She faced forward again, uninterested or unfriendly. Or both. He couldn't blame her for that reaction. Their destination was not a happy one. With that thought Solas turned inward, trying to anticipate what he would find in the temple. Would he truly find his old friend's soul waiting for him in the Void Mirror?

They returned to their steady pace, following Tal to an island far separated and, to Solas' eyes, unconnected with the others. Also, unlike the other islands and their corresponding eluvians, this one appeared unremarkable. To Solas' eyes it was completely nondescript, with no adornment or bleed in from the outside world. He would have thought nothing of it had he passed by it on some errand. He wondered if Rosa and Tal saw it the same way, but he guessed not based on their body language. Rosa walked with tension in her every step, hands tucked close to her sides, and a slight scowl on her face, as though repulsed. Tal, meanwhile, was somber but much more comfortable.

As they stepped onto the island Rosa held a hand out, motioning him to stop. "Tal has to open it," she explained. "It won't open to anyone else."

Solas waited, watching as Tal approached the mirror. He held out his hand and magic swelled, thickening the air. The dark mirror's edges lit with bone-white light, glittering. Yet the glass surface did not glow the familiar watery blue the way nearly every other eluvian did when activated. This one remained dark, showing a velvety blackness scattered with twinkling stars and translucent bands of color.

Something pressed against Solas' lungs from the inside, making him inhale sharply. This magic was…odd. Was it a ward that left him tingling with awe or was it the beauty of the strange star-scape scene in the mirror? He heard Rosa nearby take a shuddering breath and knew some wave of emotion had hit her, too.

Tal turned slightly toward them both, his brown eyes so dark they might as well be black like the mirror. The Crown on his brow glowed faintly. Usually the Crown made Solas feel wary and bitter, remembering Falon'Din—who Tal sometimes resembled passingly—but now he only felt that somber awe as a weight in his chest.

"Take my hand," he said to Rosa. "The three of us will pass through together." Tal held out his hand to Rosa. She took it without hesitation and then, as she walked closer to the mirror she turned and offered her palm to Solas. He accepted it, nodding to her reverently.

They passed through the mirror, one right after another.

They emerged into a dank, foul room. Veilfire braziers ignited, reacting to their presence. The greenish light illuminated tiled mosaic walls coated in ages worth of scum. Water dripped somewhere, sending ripples out all around them.

They stood on a dais beside a massive eluvian that, for the moment, appeared like any other. It glowed blue, the surface wet like water. Was this the Void Mirror?

Tal turned to it and motioned, shutting the eluvian down by disconnecting it from the crossroads. He was clearly a natural at operating the mirrors, just as Rosa was. She must have been the one to teach him, which was impressive because all she knew came from her one brief lesson with Solas. He quashed the unreasonable pride that sprang up within him at that thought. It wasn't that he was an especially good teacher, more that _she_ was an exceptional student and he had always enjoyed seeing a quick study flourish. But thinking like that only brought pain at the thought he would never get to act as a mentor, teacher, friend, or lover to her ever again.

And now he was about to, possibly, confront the very reason why.

"Don't touch the mirror for this next part," Tal warned them. He lifted his palm again to the mirror and the Crown suddenly glowed bright as the sun. Solas winced, shielding his eyes, but the light only lasted a few moments before it went black. The mirror did the same. It seemed to absorb the already limited light in the room. Then, slowly, small spots of starlight appeared.

Tal slumped, dropping onto his knees with exhaustion. He breathed roughly a moment before he said, "Give me a second. I have to let my mana come back before I summon him."

Solas tensed, standing stock-still. He swallowed, trying to slow the sudden hammering of his heart. On some level he'd not thought this would truly happen. And he still wasn't certain whether he truly believed the being on the other side of this mirror would be Felassan. True, everyone believed Falon'Din could control and summon the souls of the dead, but Solas had long believed some of the tales were wishful thinking by those who wanted to reconnect with loved ones long dead. Falon'Din _did_ control the souls of the newly-departed. Solas had seen that horror close up and personally. But the souls of those long dead? They should have passed to the beyond, out of Falon'Din's reaches.

And even if Falon'Din could summon long dead souls into this mirror, he was still an _Evanuris._ Those with such exceptional power could achieve such extreme abilities. That was a believable notion for Solas. But the idea that someone like Tal, who was not even a Dreamer with the Veil in place, could also summon long dead souls to the mirror…it didn't fit into Solas' worldview. Yet, that was one major reason he'd wanted them to take him here. He needed to see if it was possible. If his preconceptions were wrong, after all.

And if they were…he needed to know what he would say.

He didn't have long to think before Tal sat up and lifted his hand to the mirror again. The Crown glowed once more and the eluvian let out a deep, rumbling groan. The fine hairs on Solas' arms stood upright with unease. He dropped his hands to his sides, ready to cast a barrier over the three of them and the mirror if the rotting room began to collapse around them.

The effort of this summoning was obvious on Tal. The young mage trembled in place. If he'd been standing Solas expected his knees would have given out. The transfer of mana into the mirror was massive, leaving a lot of stray energy lingering in the space. Solas idly manipulated his own core to passively absorb some of it for healing or barriers if needed. The cracks in the walls and ceiling still worried him.

Finally the image in the mirror began to change. It reflected the three of them back, along with the scummy ruined chamber. Then, gradually, mist overtook their images, blotting them out.

And in that mist a figure took shape. Male, lean, and instantly familiar even just in the outline. Solas had seen that same silhouette in many dreams over the twenty-five years or so that Felassan reported in to him through the Fade.

He steeled his spine. This could easily be a spirit or a demon. It might read their memories of Felassan and then playact the role very believably. With a tiny bit of mana to harden his consciousness, Solas veiled his mind from spirit reading. It was a tactic he used often before the fall of Elvhenan, but in modern Thedas it was rarely needed. Yet the practice came to him easily anyway out of long habit. Now, if this was a spirit, it could not read his memories of Felassan. It only had Rosa and Tal to read.

The figure moved slowly at first, as though fording through thigh-deep water. Then he picked up speed, moving more urgently until they could see him in detail. He wore a worn traveling cloak with a hood over his head to obscure his features. Beneath it was a crude intermixing of simple leathers and Dalish style male Keeper armor. Solas recognized it at once as the garb Felassan wore the last time he met with him in the dreaming.

When Solas killed him.

Shadowed by his hood, the man's face was difficult to make out in great detail, but Solas saw the familiar shape of his old friend's chin and the long, narrow nose so distinctly Elvhen. Dark lines of vallaslin marked his chin in Mythal's pattern. His eyes glittered, reflecting light from the mirror on his side as he swept his gaze over the three of them and stopped in his tracks a little more than a meter out.

"_Baba,_" Tal greeted him, his voice already thick with emotion. "Do you remember when you last came to us here?"

Felassan dipped his chin once and answered in a gravelly voice. "I remember." He shifted his stance, clearly tense. His posture suggested he was prepared to fight, though that did not seem possible. His face was inscrutable in the shadow of the hood, but Solas was sure Felassan's eyes were on him. _"Hahren,"_ he said slowly, cautious and anxious, "why have you brought my children here like this?"

He was afraid, Solas realized. Was it because this was a spirit or a demon playing a trick on them all and finding it was now in over its head with Solas' presence? Or was Felassan's soul truly there on the other side of the Void Mirror? If it was not a trick and this truly was Felassan, reacting with fear…

Solas swallowed, guilt and grief twisting inside him. "I wished to see this mirror," he admitted. "To ascertain whether you truly are Felassan."

His old friend took a step back, shaking his head. "Whatever conclusions you come to about me, I don't care. Just please, spare my children. _Hahren, _I know I betrayed you. I kept secrets from you. I have paid the price. But they are innocent." He looked to Tal and then Rosa, desperation growing in his voice. "Have you honored the promise you made me?" he asked them.

Did he believe Solas had tricked Rosa and Tal into bringing him here so that Solas could execute his children in front of him? Had he always thought so little of Solas? Anger and grief tore at him, but he tried to comfort himself with the reminder that this might not truly be Felassan's soul. If it was a spirit or a demon masquerading, then it would only have Rosa and Tal to read from. It wouldn't know how close Solas and Felassan were, once—as brothers.

But then again, Felassan _had_ hidden a great deal from him. His heritage as Dirthamen's son. The existence of his two children.

He felt his cheeks growing warm and struggled to maintain composure. "I have no intention of harming either of them," he said, the words clipped. He tried to hold back from saying more, but it tumbled out anyway. "You truly think so little of me that you would believe I would use them to punish you?" His lips curled with mounting outrage. "I do not believe you are Felassan. You have deceived Rosa and Tal, but you are _not_ my old friend."

Rosa was staring at him now, a wary and perplexed expression over her features. Tal had turned his head slightly but wasn't looking at Solas. The young mage faced the mirror again. "I know you're real," Tal said to Felassan. "And I brought _Fen'Harel_ here because he claimed he wanted to make peace with you. He _claimed_ he wanted to put you at ease." The growl in Tal's voice was impossible to miss. "I'm starting to regret bringing him here."

"You know as well as I, _hahren,_ that I might never satisfy you," Felassan said, somber. He lifted quavering hands to his hood and pushed it back, revealing his face exactly as Solas remembered it. The resemblance to both Rosa and Tal, in different ways, was as piercing as a knife blade between the ribs. Solas had to frown, wondering again how he never saw it before. He'd seen Mythal in Rosa, and Falon'Din in Tal. Yet he'd missed the connection to a man who was far closer to him.

"And I doubt I have enough time to try proving what I am to you," Felassan went on, shrugging. His features were weary and sad. "To be honest, I don't even know what I am anymore." He closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. "But one thing I do know is that I care about my children, _hahren. _I care about the People, too. I have no wish to argue with you about what has happened between us or try to dissuade you from your plans. I only want to know the ones I love are safe."

Solas fought the desire to shift his weight nervously from foot to foot. This sounded…real. The pain in his old friend's voice and features reached through time and distance, life and death, to claw at him with guilt and shame. Felassan had ever been witty and clever, humorous even about terrible topics. But, in the long ages Solas had known him, he'd seen Felassan breakdown numerous times and knew his friend was very wise beneath his levity. Underneath everything he had a heart that was vulnerable. Like Tal, he shielded himself with humor, but when that fell away…

He felt his eyes stinging and blinked hard. _"I would never have harmed your children,"_ Solas said, lapsing into elven as he dared let some of his own vulnerability show. Whether this was a spirit, demon, or truly Felassan's soul, this was a chance for healing and understanding. He had to let go of his skepticism, just a little, or risk having Tal decide to end the encounter. _"I do not understand how you could believe me capable of such callous cruelty." _

Felassan's lips twitched, as though he didn't know whether to laugh or scowl. But his violet eyes were both angry and sad, a mirror of Solas' own emotions. _"How could I not worry for them?"_ he demanded. _"You had decided the fate of an entire world, _falon._ Without even meeting any of them face to face, you had decided they were inferior. And not just the _shemlen_, but also the _shem-elves._ That is what you called them before I woke. It is what I called them, too."_

Felassan shook with growing conviction, stepping closer to the mirror. _"You decided they weren't real. You, who championed the rights of spirits and demons when the People used blood magic to bind them. You, who fought so hard to free slaves from all masters. You, who saw value in the lowest of the low despite being revered as a god! You had found this world unworthy."_

Felassan broke off, shoulders rising and falling as though he breathed fast, seized with fervent passion. Solas stared at him, his own heart pounding and his eyes unashamedly wet now. Every word fell like a hammer on his soul. _I was wrong about this world,_ he thought but couldn't yet bring himself to say it yet.

"_And I believed you,"_ Felassan spat. _"I believed you, because you were my brother. My teacher. My closest friend. And my leader, a great and respected elder."_ His face twisted with grief. _"But then I woke and I had to live in this world you had condemned to die."_ He motioned at Rosa and Tal. _"I loved their mothers. From the moment I met Rosa's mother, I knew she was real. As was her entire clan. And then Tal's clan and his mother, too. They were all real. Everywhere I looked, I saw echoes of our world, just with different players. My ward, Briala, reminded me so much of you before the fall. So vibrant, so determined to change society for the better."_

Felassan spread his hands in a motion of helplessness._ "Whenever I spoke with you I had to pretend I didn't know these things. But I wondered, constantly. If I told you about my children, what would you have done? How would you have reacted? They would have been throwaway tools for you and you would have grown to doubt my loyalty to the cause even faster than you did. Or my children might be real to you because they were half-Elvhen, but they would be bound to you as I was. You fought for freedom before the fall, _falon, _but after it…"_

Solas gnashed his teeth together. _"Enough. You're right. You were correct about this world. It _is_ real."_ He shut his eyes. _"I just did not wish to see it."_ He fought to even out his breathing, to wrest back a measure of control from his emotions. _"But it can't change what must be done and you were wrong about Rosa and Tal. I would never have harmed them to control you."_

"_You are not a father,"_ Felassan snapped, though grief still warped his features. _"You don't understand the responsibility and fear that comes with safeguarding them."_ He broke off then, breathing raggedly, and said, "Abelas, ma ashalan."

Rosa stood with her arms wrapped around herself, eyes directed to the floor and tears staining her cheeks. Solas' back went rigid and his face grew hot with an entirely different reaction now as he realized Felassan knew of Rosa's lost child. He pinched his lips together, humiliation now mingling with all the other tumultuous emotions inside. Felassan was right, again. He wasn't a father and there was nothing more to say about that.

"_I wanted them to live freely," _Felassan said in a soft voice now. _"I wanted them to be unburdened with the death of an entire world on their consciences. I saw what that did to you, _falon._ And I know what it did to me, as well." _He shook his head miserably. _"And I did not know, in truth, how you would react once you learned of them. Mythal was like a mother to me, and like a sister to you. We both know you admired her. And I also knew full well how often she used hostages to control others."_ He shrugged. _"Why wouldn't you use my children against me? You had decided the fate of an entire world, again. What were two half-Dalish shem-elves to you against all that?"_

Solas shook his head, anger sizzling within, but the words he wanted to shout wouldn't come. _I never would have used them against you! Never!_ But Felassan was right about Mythal. And he was right about Solas' read on this world. What were two lives against the millions he would likely kill when he tore down the Veil? What were two lives against the millions of elves he killed when he erected the Veil in the first place?

_I wanted them to be unburdened with the death of an entire world on their consciences._

Solas was not a father, but he could understand _that_ sentiment all too clearly.

"_I'm sorry,"_ he finally ground out, struggling with the roiling pressure in his chest. _"You are right, _falon._ I…I am sorry."_ He shut his eyes, bone-deep grief and weariness dragging him down. _"But I cannot abandon my plans. I cannot allow the People to wither and die. I must amend my mistakes and return the Fade to the People."_ He opened his eyes now, feeling tears that he still refused to shed. _"You know what will happen should I fail."_

Felassan nodded gravely.

Solas went on, _"And you know that I have little time remaining."_

Felassan nodded again. _"I was mortal too, remember?"_ He smiled dryly. _"It quickens your thoughts. It sets you to panic. It makes you rash. Every day gone by without progress. Every night lying awake to contemplate how many days you have left now to accomplish the impossible."_ He sighed, switching to common again. "As I said before, I have no desire to try and change your plans. And I know you will not set them aside. My only request is that you would do me the small favor of protecting my children in whatever future you usher in, _hahren."_

Loss cut at Solas, but so did something akin to relief at hearing Felassan's request. He would grant it, without hesitation. "You have my promise, _falon._ I long planned to safeguard them at the end, no matter what comes." He dipped his chin, somber as grief began to well deeper inside. Some part of him still did not believe this was Felassan's soul, but the rest did not care any longer. "I'm sorry," he murmured, voice roughening with emotion. "For what happened between us. If I could change what transpired…"

Felassan's smile was wan. "The feeling is mutual, old friend. I'd be lying if I said I had no regrets." His violet gaze shifted to his children and grief warped his face. "You will keep your promises to me, yes?"

"Yes," Tal answered, tears clearly in his voice.

But Rosa spoke up then, bitter and angry. "I can't, _babae."_

Felassan turned to her, frowning, though his lips parted slightly—perhaps reacting to her actually calling him _father,_ affectionately. Solas looked to her as well, striving to maintain an inscrutable expression. He knew, vaguely, the promise Felassan had extracted from his children—something to the effect that they would not fight Solas. Now he tried to still the anxious dread twisting inside as he wondered if Rosa would abruptly turn on him. If she did…

_No,_ he decided. He would not harm her, only defend himself and flee. He would not break his own promise to Felassan. It was the least he could do for his longtime friend in penance for the misunderstandings that had brought them here.

"Rosa," Felassan said, his tone dropping in a mixture of fear and anger—and of warning. His eyes flicked briefly to Solas, wary. That only tightened the pain in Solas' chest at how little trust he had. "You—"

"Whatever happens," Rosa said through gritted teeth as she lifted her left hand. "_Fen'Harel_ can't complete his plans without the Anchor, and I have it." She glared at Solas now, eyes narrowed and pain etched in her features. "If I refuse to help you, you'll just take it by force from me. If I just let you use it, or let you take it…" Her brow furrowed and angry tears spilled from her eyes though she quickly flicked them away with her right hand. "Then I'm helping you destroy _my_ world."

Solas clenched his jaw, remaining silent. There was nothing to say. She was right and they all knew it.

"And there's something else," Rosa said, tucking her hand back under her other arm, crossing them over her chest again as though she was afraid Solas would spring for the Anchor now. She sucked in a shaking breath, her eyes dropping to the floor and then moving to Felassan instead. "I'm dying of red lyrium poisoning."

"What?" Felassan said, gasping. He lurched closer to the mirror, as though he would rush through it to hold his daughter.

Solas was mute, frozen with shock. That was not possible. She was of Dirthamen's lineage. He _knew_ she could control the Blight strain inside red lyrium. She was immune, just as Dirthamen was. He saw Felassan glance at him, full of alarm and a dozen other emotions—including suspicion.

"The Formless One told us," Tal explained, sounding wretched and a touch desperate as he looked to Felassan and then to Solas. He quickly told Felassan that the Formless One had briefly possessed Rosa and that when they returned it to the Fade it warned them Rosa would die without its aid. _"Babae,_" he said, pleading. "I need to know if you know _anything_ about this." Tal twisted and shot Solas a defeated look. "And you. If you know anything, _please…"_

Felassan wore an expression of worry as he surveyed the three of them before he settled on Solas and used the guttural tongue of the Forgotten Ones to ask, _"Did you poison her?"_

"No," Solas answered immediately, affronted but also torn with sadness. He swallowed the offense as unproductive. "I would never do such a thing."

"It's not his fault," Tal said quickly, clearly guessing what Felassan asked.

"We don't think," Rosa muttered.

Solas bristled now before he could stop himself. "I have done many things I am not proud of—but I would _never_ poison you." He frowned at her, but the anger faded quickly into grief and loss. She often enjoyed goading him to get an emotional reaction, but could she really think him capable of something so evil?

_You are her people's greatest adversary,_ the annoying little voice inside reminded him. And, more than that, he killed her father, a man he had been close friends with for ages. Why _wouldn't_ she doubt him?

Tal glowered at Rosa, surprisingly coming to Solas' defense. "You're not helping."

Instead of let the awful self-revelations of a few moments ago sink in, Solas said, "The Formless One must have been manipulating you. Much like Corypheus, you are immune to the strain of Blight within red lyrium. You control it, but without the demon's strength to aid—"

Felassan interrupted him, addressing Rosa and Tal. "Listen to me, carefully. The demon was right. You need to find Rog—_fenedhis,"_ he broke off, cursing. "I forgot." He stared at Tal and then Rosa with a mournful expression. "Rogathe's dead. You told me it sacrificed itself when you fought in the Fade?"

"Yes," Rosa answered. She'd stood silent and frozen in place, just watching Felassan. Solas, in turn, kept gazing at her, still shocked to hear she was, somehow, vulnerable to red lyrium after all.

Felassan nodded, slow and sad. Then he gave a body-wide shudder and cold horror bloomed over his face. "I don't have long." He moved closer still to the mirror, straining against whatever pulled him back. "You don't need a demon's help, just any willing Fade being. A spirit, like Rogathe, should be able to absorb the corruption and shield you from Dirthamen's damned Blight."

"Is there a cure?" Tal pressed. "Some way we can get it out of her? I mean, she can heal others, but can she heal herself?"

Felassan pinched his lips together. "Possibly. I never knew any who did it because they didn't want to give up that power."

The casual reveal of how much Felassan knew on this subject left Solas reeling. His friend _had_ kept secrets, more than he ever knew. "You knew Dirthamen far more than I ever suspected," Solas murmured and then, pointedly added Felassan's birth name, the one Solas had never known until the man was already dead. "Eolas."

Felassan glared briefly. His jaw clenched. "Knowledge in itself is not inherently evil," he said soberly. "You used to tell me that often, but I knew if you ever learned my true heritage it would only bring me ill. Now, what I know might save my daughter. This is the one magic I know you wish to see die, but while it can help the living it yet holds value for the better."

"I can't feel the red lyrium inside me," Rosa said, urgency coloring her voice. "I don't think just willing it out of me will work."

"The spirit might know what to do," Felassan suggested. Gazing at Solas now, he said, "Please, help her. Find an ancient spirit that will willingly aid her and meld well with her, physically. A spirit of bravery, perhaps, or Wisdom would—"

"She has passed on," Solas interrupted, sadly. "But you have my word I will do all that I can to see Rosa cured as soon as possible."

This seemed to reassure Felassan. His shoulders sagged and his eyes slid shut. "Good. Good." He shuddered again and slowly opened his eyes to stare at his children again. "My time is at an end, I think. Please, take my love with you when you go."

"_Babae,"_ Tal said with a little noise like a whimper as he swallowed. "My bond partner had a son. You are a grandfather." He let out a wet, teary laugh. "We named him Felanaste, after you."

Now Felassan's eyes were wet with emotion, love and loss. He smiled, gloomy with grief but also shining with love. _"Ma serannas, ma ishalen._ You do me more honor than I deserve. I wish I had gotten to see him."

"Maybe you still will," Tal said, struggling to speak over his tears. "Someday."

Felassan nodded. "That is my hope, but you and I both know one day you will come to this mirror and I will not come. Prepare yourself for that day and don't despair." He looked now to Rosa. "Be safe, _ma ashalan._ Do not lose hope."

Rosa reached out to him, though she did not touch the mirror. "I will…_babae. _Thank you, for everything."

The shape in the mirror had already grown fuzzy, fading. Solas watched, speechless and troubled, half-wondering if his old friend would vanish into the growing mists behind him without saying a final word. He did not deserve one and he knew it. Felassan had not offered him forgiveness and Solas wasn't certain he had provided any peace of mind with the clear distrust still lingering so obviously between them. Yet he still yearned for it nonetheless.

Just as Felassan's shape began to be truly lost in the white mist, his voice faintly called out, "Please, _falon,_ protect them. _Dareth shiral._"

"_Ma nuvenin,"_ Solas whispered back, though he doubted the words would carry.

Dareth shiral_, my old friend._

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, Rosa looked her brother hard in the eye. "If it looks like I'm losing my mind to the red lyrium I want you to promise you'll kill me."

Now Tal recoiled as if she slapped him. "That's not going to happen, _asamalin."_

"But if it does," Rosa pressed. "If I ever ask you to do it…promise me you'll kill me. If you don't I could become Imshael's puppet and kill you or Nola or Felanaste."

Tal grimaced but nodded, slow and solemn. "I swear I will, if it comes to that. But it won't."


	69. Morrigan's Eluvian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visit from Flemeth. Meanwhile, Rosa struggles with red lyrium poisoning.

After Felassan's shape had vanished from the mirror the three of them stood in silence, each miserable in their own way. Solas looked as though he'd aged a decade. Tal sat before the mirror hunched over, his hands over his face.

Rosa, for her part, just stared into the starry scene of the Void Mirror, unsure how to feel and yet feeling _everything. _Betrayal and hurt that her lover had lied to her for so long. Rage that he had killed her father, denying her the one man who apparently _did_ know how to help her now in the face of her red lyrium poisoning. Grief that her father was gone just when she'd finally reached an understanding of who he truly was and how enormously he loved her and Tal. And then the quiet horror squirming in her gut when she thought about how her life was spiraling out of control.

Well, that was nothing new, was it? She best do what she always did in that scenario—smash her fears and carry on.

Swallowing, Rosa rolled her shoulders and straightened her back. Stepping forward, she knelt and laid a hand on her brother's shoulder. "I need to get back to Skyhold," she told him softly. "When you're ready."

Tal's chest heaved under her hand, but he sucked in a quavering breath and nodded. "Okay." As Tal slowly rose to his feet, regaining his composure and lifting a palm to reactivate the Void Mirror to use it as an eluvian once more, Solas shifted his attention to her.

"We must act quickly," he told her, his voice scratchy. He cleared it and went on. "Meet me in the Fade tonight and—"

She interrupted him, scoffing as she glared at him. "That's not going to work." It took all her patience to ignore the flash of irritation that spread across his face. She could explain _why_, but…something hard and cold inside her bristled against that idea. Solas was not her lover, not even an ally, really. Revealing her inability to enter the Fade seemed like divulging something intimate that he couldn't be trusted with. A terrible weakness. Instead she focused on the Void Mirror again, giving him the cold shoulder. "Tal and I will find a spirit without your help, _Fen'Harel."_

Before Solas could react, Tal stopped working with the Void Mirror—leaving it completely dark. He pivoted round, a mixture of fear and anger warping his features. And he leveled it against _her,_ not Solas.

"_Fenedhis, asamalin,"_ he growled at her, gesturing with exasperation. "Just tell him the truth. We need his help."

Rosa frowned at him and pinched her lips together, defiant. Her face burned at Tal's interference. Any words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. She felt Solas' eyes on her, but she didn't dare meet his gaze.

Now Tal's red-rimmed eyes narrowed, too moist again. He stepped forward, reaching for her shoulders. Rosa edged backward, knocking his hands away from her. _"Venavis,"_ she ordered him brusquely.

"Why?" Tal snapped. "Do you _want_ to die of red lyrium poisoning? Is that it?"

"No," she rejoined, laughing dryly. "Of course not!"

"Then we need all the help we can get," Tal insisted, pressing close to her again. This time she let him grip her shoulders, giving her a little shake. "You heard _babae._ He asked Solas for his help. He's the best resource we have."

Rosa struggled to keep her breath slow and even. "You expect me to trust the Dread Wolf after what he's done to me? To _us?_" she asked in a low voice, though she had no chance of Solas missing her words. The chamber was too rounded, amplifying every small sound.

"I expect you to _face him_," Tal replied in the same hushed volume. "I expect you _to stand tall._" His hands squeezed her shoulders.

"I am," she grumbled.

"No," he said. "You're pushing the problem away. Just like you did with _babae_ after he hurt you."

She winced at that, pulling back from him and glaring. Tal faced her with the same hard stare, challenging. They remained in that standoff like two cats primed for a fight over the next tense minute. But Rosa knew Tal was right, even though she cursed him inwardly right now for driving the point home _in front of fucking Fen'Harel. _

Steeling herself, Rosa turned toward Solas then, scowling. "I can't meet you in the Fade," she bit out. "Because I can no longer dream."

Solas gazed at her, blank for several moments. Then his brow furrowed, as though he hadn't understood the language she spoke. Finally he said, "You can no longer enter the Fade?"

"Not since your agent poisoned me," Rosa said bitterly. "No."

He went red-faced at the reminder that it was one of his people who'd poisoned her. The bob in his throat moved as he swallowed, grimacing as though this latest revelation pained him. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "I wish you had revealed this to me sooner." He evaded her eyes now. "I believed you deliberately blocked yourself from the dreaming these past few weeks."

_He was searching for me all this time,_ she realized. Judging by the vulnerability she could just hear at the edge of his voice and see in his face, he must have placed a lot of effort into searching for her. And meaning, too. She imagined his perspective on this and a chill passed through her. Just before she was poisoned Solas tried to call her into the Fade to warn her, but Rosa ignored him. She was preoccupied with Nola giving birth. And after Zevanni attacked and poisoned her…

From Solas' viewpoint Rosa had stringently cut off all contact after Zevanni's attack. It was as close to being overtly hostile as she could get without actually attacking him or his people. Yet Solas had still risked his life to intercede when the Formless One tricked her. That suggested he was so confident in himself and his powers that he never really saw actual risk from her or her Inquisition…_or_ he really was invested in saving her.

Or his plans and the Anchor, actually. Because that was what she really was. The living avatar of the Anchor, and when the Formless One possessed her it endangered his plans.

Rage boiled her insides. She felt like throwing up. Everything always came back to his plans in the end. Even now, helping cure her of red lyrium was just another way to safeguard his plans and the Anchor.

Shaking, Rosa just managed to speak, quiet and strangled. "Well, now you know. The Fade won't work." Revealing her weaknesses to this man who'd so used her, so hurt her…it felt like she was flaying her heart open. She wanted to scream and cry, to pound his chest with her fists. She was angry with him for hurting her, for killing her father, for lying so long…but she was also furious with herself.

Furious that she let herself fall in love with him at all. And she was even more furious that beneath all the pain and rage she was still in love with him. Two parts of her, constantly at war with each other. One that saw him as a monster she hated and couldn't trust, who'd robbed her of her father, lied to her with every breath, and plotted against her even as he used her for the Anchor. And then the other part of her saw a lonely, tormented man who carried the weight of an entire world crushing him, who'd loved her in Hasmal, long before she ever possessed the Anchor.

"We must find a way to overcome this," Solas said matter-of-factly. "We cannot locate a suitable spirit without your presence in the Fade."

"Can't you find one that's willing and just bring it back to her?" Tal asked.

Rosa tuned them out, still struggling to master her wanton emotions.

"Yes," Solas said, "but the spirit must be able to interact with her to make its decision, and she with it in turn." He considered for a moment, watching her. Tal stared at her, too. She could almost feel the worry radiating off her brother. Rosa didn't look at either of them.

"There are numerous herbs we might use to open your connection to the Fade," Solas suggested, slipping into a scholarly voice he so often used when he was still with the Inquisition. The sound of it cut at Rosa with memories of better days. "The lyrium the enchanters used at Hasmal is another option," he added. Then, gently, he asked her, "Have you tried administering the mixture of felande—"

"Yes," she muttered, not looking at him. "I tried all the herbs I know of." She frowned. "Might as well be a dwarf using them. They were useless."

"You have not tried the ceremonial lyrium mixture the Circle mages use for Harrowing?" Solas asked.

She sneered at the memory of Hasmal. "No."

"Then that is what we must do next." He paused a moment and then, softly, added, "I will wait for you both in the Fade every night. Should you succeed, I will be there to help in selecting and binding the spirit. I will also research the matter on my own and tell you if I discover anything that may prove helpful."

"Thanks," Tal said, nodding. "Appreciate your help."

Rosa pointedly said nothing. After a few awkward seconds she nudged Tal with her elbow. "I do need to get back, please." _I need to be _anywhere _but here. _

Tal shot her an unhappy look but said nothing. Sighing, he adjusted his pack and then walked to the Void Mirror to activate it. Rosa watched him go, arms crossed over her chest and pretending Solas wasn't standing a few paces in front of her, soulful eyes sad.

"My agents have news for the Inquisition," Solas said abruptly, still using his formal scholar's tone. "I had hoped to communicate with you in the Fade, but now I see why that was not possible." He shifted his weight, clearly anxious. And though his tone was businesslike his eyes were full of unspoken regret. _"Ir abelas."_

She shrugged, refusing to engage. If she did…she felt so brittle she was sure she'd crack. It was shameful and cowardly, but…she was afraid of that. She didn't know what would come out if she spoke. She might spew vitriol or, worse, she might admit that awful truth about still loving him, somehow, despite everything.

"The Freemen, under Imshael's leadership, appear to have broken ties with Corypheus' Venatori," Solas told her. "My agents have been following them and I am happy to report more as I learn it."

Still, Rosa said nothing.

Eventually Solas went on. "We have seen Corypheus heading north as well." He frowned now. "You have humiliated him at every turn. As a being aspiring to godhood, he will be most dangerous now in defeat and will strike you, sudden and direct. Like a child, enraged at losing a game, he will turn over the entire board rather than admit defeat."

Now she did lift her eyes, meeting his stare. _A being aspiring to godhood._ She took him in now, considering him as a rebel leader, fighting the other Evanuris who proclaimed godhood. Felassan's words echoed in her head, all of it directed at Solas but still so revealing. _You had decided the fate of an entire world. Without even meeting any of them face to face...You decided they weren't real. You, who championed the rights of spirits and demons when the People used blood magic to bind them. You, who fought so hard to free slaves from all masters. You, who saw value in the lowest of the low despite being revered as a god…_

That was the man Felassan followed, the leader he devoted his life to serving. After Elvhenan that young, idealistic Solas must have died. This new one was willing to destroy a second world, giving his life in the process, to correct his younger self's mistakes somehow. She saw Felassan's point with piercing clarity: Solas had lost sight of who he was in his insane need to tear down the Veil.

The Void Mirror glittered blue-white now, transformed into an eluvian. The flash drew Rosa's gaze, as well as Solas'. Tal's shoulders slumped as he glanced over his shoulder at her and offered a wan smile. "Ready?"

She nodded, pinching her lips together. Walking over to Tal, Rosa extended her hand out to grasp his palm. It was clammy with sweat. She lifted her other hand to Solas, keeping her eyes low to avoid seeing his face. He hesitated a beat and then gripped her hand with his tightly. Like Tal's palm, Solas' was damp with perspiration, too. It took her an instant to realize why Solas must have hesitated.

She'd accidentally offered her left hand with its damned Anchor to him.

Tal walked through the mirror then, tugging her behind him. Rosa moved after him and Solas followed. They traveled for a short time together through the crossroads, but Solas bid them a polite farewell before the Skyhold eluvian was in sight. Tal did the talking, agreeing to meet in the Fade nightly to check in with Solas in Rosa's stead.

After Solas was gone, Rosa and Tal moved on in silence until they reached the Skyhold eluvian. Then, as Rosa stepped forward to activate it, giving Tal a break, he said, "If he's right and Corypheus is coming soon to us for a final showdown…we need to be ready."

She gnashed her teeth as the eluvian activated with a whump and a rush of magic. "You think I don't know that?" she asked, bitter.

"Oh, you absolutely _do,"_ Tal told her, his voice surprisingly humorous. "But I don't think you've thought through what you'll do. Or maybe you don't know what you'll do in the moment."

She knew the moment he meant. If Corypheus faced off with her and if she and the Inquisition defeated him that would leave the orb without a master. Tal was right. She didn't feel ready for that scenario. They both knew Solas would either be there during the battle or would appear shortly after to take the orb for himself. It seemed chances were high he would use it on the spot to tear down the Veil. Then he would need Rosa and the Anchor, too.

Could she bear holding the weight of an entire world's destruction on her soul?

Her thoughts skittered and fell apart whenever she tried to spin the scenario in her head. She imagined facing Solas with the orb in her grasp and the Anchor still part of her left hand—and Tal was right. She didn't know what she would do. The part of her that still loved him might drop the orb for him to take and then lend him the Anchor when he needed it. But the part of her that saw a monster wanted only to stop him by any means necessary, even though she'd long promised she wouldn't oppose him.

How could she _not_ when he intended to destroy their world?

Slowly, Rosa turned and stared at her brother. Her heart whooshed rhythmically in her ears, filling the somber crossroads with sound only she could hear. "What would you do, _da'isamalin?"_ she asked, barely above a whisper.

Tal drew in a breath and walked forward to stand in front of her. Taking her left hand in his, Tal opened her palm and stared down at where they both knew the Anchor rested, dormant. She saw his face twist with emotions she knew all too well: grief, rage, and conflict.

"I don't know," he admitted in a whisper. His index and pointer finger stroked the crease in her palm. "If Nola was the Dread Wolf and I had to either kill her to save the world…" He lifted sorrowful eyes to her, narrowed with concentration. "Or help her destroy it…" He shook his head, jaw clenching. "I'd find another way."

Now Rosa snarled and ripped her hand out of her brother's hold. "There isn't another way," she growled, fighting tears.

Tal's stare was full of pain. "Weren't you listening to _babae?"_ he asked. "He broke Fen'Harel back there. He whittled him down in front of us. If you do the same thing, maybe you won't have to choose between helping him and stopping him. You can _make_ another way."

"He _killed_ Felassan for challenging him like that," Rosa said, voice cracking. "Why wouldn't I wind up dead, too?"

"Because you won't try to stop him like _babae_ did," Tal said, chin wrinkling. _"Babae_ tried to bargain with him and tell him our world was real before Solas woke up. Now, he _knows_ we're all real. He _knows_ he's a monster, but he doesn't want to be. He's halfway across the bridge. You just need to coax him the rest of the way."

"We can't trust him," Rosa bit out. _"I _can't trust him." Yet, what she heard in her head was Felassan telling her _love him, if you can. _

"When has that ever stopped you from trying?" Tal asked sadly, a small smile twitching one corner of his mouth. Then, frowning, he dropped his gaze to the cold stone beneath their feet. "Some part of me will always hate him for killing _babae_ and lying to us, hurting you. But I think everything he's done since we found out the truth has been to avoid being in a spot where he thinks he has to kill us. He left suddenly because of that. And he tried to warn us about Zevanni so we wouldn't turn hostile to him outright. And when I came to him with Cole in the Arbor Wilds to ask for help he dropped everything else and left his people in an instant to do it."

"Because he has to protect the Anchor," Rosa spat. Tal shot her a look she immediately hated. "What?" she snapped.

"He loves you," Tal murmured. "I see it every time he looks at you."

She scowled, shaking her head. "He needs me because of the Anchor."

Tal cocked his head to one side and snorted. "You don't actually believe that's it."

"And _you_ don't actually know what's going on in that bald head," she shot back. She didn't want to hear this, didn't want to encourage the side of her that just wanted to be held in his arms so that they could comfort each other.

"I feel like I do," Tal rejoined, a little testily. "I spent _almost a year_ pining for Nola, thinking she didn't love me the way I loved her. I sabotaged my own chances with her. I ran away. I was terrified of her hating me, rejecting me, so I tried leaving my clan before she could act. But when I saw her again at the Arlathvhen…" A warm smile curled his lips and lit his eyes. "All that changed when we were just honest with each other."

"It's not the same," Rosa growled. "Not even close."

"I know," Tal said. "What he's done is a lot worse, but he definitely still loves you." He grabbed her shoulders, squeezing. "Use that against him. Buy us some time, at least. When Corypheus attacks we can be confident then he isn't going to destroy the world the second the battle's over if he knows we're—_you're—_on his side but we just want him to stop and _think _about it first. Because we don't know how things will go down when he uses the orb. I don't think _he_ even knows. He's made mistakes before and guessed wrong. We—_you_ can leverage that against him to get him to doubt enough that this problem goes away, at least for a little while."

Rosa stared off into the crossroads as Tal spoke, her heart galloping with something other than despair and rage for once as she felt the truth of what Tal said. It was one thing when Felassan told her to try and change the Dread Wolf's heart. That seemed foolish because when Felassan attempted the same thing it wound up earning him a merciless death at Solas' hands. Why wouldn't it end the same for Rosa? Yet, Tal was right. Felassan had _broken_ Solas from the other side. If she tried it now…

But the stubborn, angry place inside her still pressed on her chest from the inside. It was hot and cold simultaneously, bitter and painful. "I don't know if I can…" she admitted.

"I believe in you," Tal told her seriously. Then, smirking dryly, he added, "And, no pressure or anything, but if you don't convince him we might wind up dead." At her sharp look he quickly explained, "Not from Solas killing us, at least not directly. I don't think he's going to break his promise to _babae._ But whatever happens when he tears down the Veil is going to be awful and dangerous. He doesn't even think he'll live through it, so why would we? Plus…if Corypheus attacks us before we find a spirit for you…"

"I might just die of the poisoning," Rosa muttered under her breath. Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, Rosa looked her brother hard in the eye. "If it looks like I'm losing my mind to the red lyrium I want you to promise you'll kill me."

Now Tal recoiled as if she slapped him. "That's not going to happen, _asamalin."_

"But if it does," Rosa pressed. "If I ever ask you to do it…promise me you'll kill me. If you don't I could become Imshael's puppet and kill you or Nola or Felanaste."

Tal grimaced but nodded, slow and solemn. "I swear I will, if it comes to that. But it won't."

Rosa pulled him into a tight embrace and, as she felt Tal's arms wrap around her, patting her like a mother might, the fear inside her cracked the brittle shell of control. She let out a strangled sob and tucked her nose into the crook of Tal's shoulder as the tears flowed. After a few moments she heard Tal snuffling too.

"Thank you," she whispered through her tears. Her heart hurt with love for her little brother and, for the millionth time in her short life, she thanked whatever divine power might be watching over them for giving her Tal.

"No," Tal said with a weak laugh, still holding her. "Thank _you._ For saving Thedas."

_I haven't saved anything yet,_ she thought but quickly pushed that aside. She had to try, and that meant she couldn't leave room in her mind for doubt.

* * *

"What in the world do _you_ need _that_ for?" Dorian asked with a knowing smirk.

When she said nothing for a long moment Dorian closed the book he was reading with a pronounced thump and rose out of his traditional spot—the stuffed chair up in the library above the rotunda. Clucking his tongue in a tsk-tsk, Dorian inched closer to her, still wearing that damnable smirk. "Are you really going to make me repeat myself, Inquisitor?" he asked, playfully. "We both know you don't need concentrated lyrium to access the Fade." He paused meaningfully and then leaned intimately close to whisper, _"Somniari."_

Rosa frowned at him and swiftly lied. "It's not for me. It's for Tal."

Now Dorian's brow quirked. "Why does he have _you_ asking after it?" Something like worry darkened the Tevinter mage's eyes. "The last I knew we were on good terms. Did I say something to cheese off that wife of his?"

Rosa tried not to sigh with frustration. Coming to Dorian for the special ceremonial lyrium she needed might be a mistake after all. She'd hoped he would be the most discreet and knowledgeable of her available options. Presently, with most of her forces still marching back from the Arbor Wilds, as none of them had the benefit of near-instantaneous travel by eluvian, her options were limited.

Enchanter Fiona had led the Inquisition's rebel mages to face Corypheus. Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were still days away from Skyhold with the first soldiers, scouts, and the rest of her inner circle. Dagna was here, but Rosa still thought another mage would be her best bet over a non-magical arcanist. Besides, Dagna kept a few shards of red lyrium in her workshop for study and Rosa wanted to stay _far _away from them. She didn't even consider Vivienne an option because the Enchanter would likely refuse or she'd want to know what it would be used for before she agreed. And as for Morrigan…well, the witch had been indisposed as she struggled to understand and master the voices of the Vir'Abelasan and Rosa didn't trust her.

She _did_ trust Dorian. Yet she didn't much like the coy little game he played at present, teasing her with the secret of her heritage as a Dreamer. Spinning a lie to him also felt like betrayal after he _had_ kept her secret.

"He's just busy with Felanaste," she lied again and made a mental note to ask Tal to play along with this ruse later if Dorian asked. "The baby's got a spot of colic and Tal's out searching the woods for some herbs to treat it."

Humming, Dorian considered this. "Well, that's a relief, I suppose. Sometimes my glib tongue gets me into trouble without my even realizing. Oh, but do tell him I'm sorry to hear about the…what was it? Colic?"

Rosa nodded. That wasn't even a lie. Felenaste was fussy with colic and Tal volunteered to leave with a few Dalish hunters to search for herbs and catch some prey to subsidize the clan's diet. They were stubborn about remaining as independent and self-sufficient from the Inquisition as possible out of pride.

Dorian tapped his thumb idly over the book he still held clasped in his hands. He eyed her, searchingly. "You _do_ know concentrated lyrium is dangerous, yes? Why does he need it?"

"It's a ceremony clan Manaria practices," Rosa lied, striving not to lose patience. Every moment Dorian wasn't giving her the lyrium or busy making it was less time she had to see if it worked. It was more time she spent dying, inch-by-inch. Her magic was strong and stable, for now, but she sensed that wouldn't last. It didn't help that she'd begun experiencing insomnia as well, lying awake nightly with exhaustion but unable to slip into blissful unconsciousness. Was it just her anxiety over everything happening in her life or was it a sign of the red lyrium manifesting?

"But you _are_well aware of the dangers?" Dorian asked pointedly.

"Yes," Rosa said, sighing with exasperation. "We're not stupid. Can you make it for me quickly or not? I don't want to ask Morrigan and Vivienne is right out."

Now Dorian chuckled. "You're right on that." He stared at her a moment longer, considering. Then, finally, he said, "I'll whip up a small batch. Shouldn't be too hard. I was only top of my class in Carastes, before they kicked me out, of course. I didn't—"

"You haven't made any before, have you?" Rosa asked, realizing that might be as much his issue as anything else.

Dorian scowled. "Not…really." Somehow the scowl transformed into a vaguely smug expression now as he dusted at his sleeves. "Honestly, love, you came to the right place. Concentrated lyrium is as common as wine in Minrathous. Every magister and altus worth his salt is huffing the vapors behind their gilded walls to take a walk through the Fade to chat with their favorite demons for tips on more advanced blood magic spells. I've seen it made dozens of times, so I'm sure I can make it for you."

The mixture of lighthearted, sardonic joking and mild bitterness in his voice left Rosa confused. Was Dorian bluffing to reassure her or was there something she didn't know about the concentrated lyrium she asked for? But the moment she asked about it she'd be revealing she had _zero_ experience with it, beyond _one time_ in the Hasmal Circle.

So instead of risk exposing her ignorance, she asked, "How long will it take?"

Dorian shot her an unreadable look. "Impatient, I see."

She shrugged and lied again, sort of. "The ritual Manaria needs it for is time-sensitive."

"A few days, I imagine," Dorian told her after a moment of thought. He tucked the book he still held under one arm and used his free hand to tap at his chin as though calculating. "Yes, that should do it." He glanced at her, raising both brows in question. "Will that be soon enough?"

Rosa nodded. "That will do." She felt her shoulders slump with relief and she smiled genuinely at him. "Thank you. This means a lot to me. And Tal." _That_ wasn't a lie.

"Of course," Dorian replied, returning her smile. "I'll find you as soon as I have it ready."

Late that night Rosa snuck into the library to root through whatever tomes they had regarding lyrium as used in Circles for Harrowing and other rituals. After finding a good title that appeared as though it would have all the answers she needed, Rosa carried it off to her bedroom in the tower. If she was going to suffer insomnia and be unable to dream at all she might as well make use of the time by studying.

She kept the book tucked away in a nightstand drawer beside her bed, bringing it out whenever she had downtime or found herself lying awake over the next two nights. She was just pulling it out from her drawer for the evening after dinner on the third night when she heard rapid feet pounding on the stairs leading up to her room.

Shutting the book, Rosa hurriedly put it away—it would hardly seem right for a mage like her to be so uneducated when it came to lyrium and she didn't want that kind of scrutiny—just before a scout burst in. "Inquisitor! I'm so sorry to disturb you like this—"

Rosa was still fully dressed and waved off the scout's frantic apology. "It's fine. What's happened? Is it Corypheus?"

"No, your worship." The scout fought to catch her breath, gasping for a few moments before she went on. "Lady Morrigan's mirror has turned on and her boy vanished through it! She's in a right panic, that she is!"

Fear grabbed at Rosa's throat. She hurried to where she left her stave and quickly picked it up. She raced with the scout down the stairs. "Has anyone or any_thing_ come out of it?"

"No, your worship," the scout replied. "But Lady Morrigan ran in after the boy!"

"Send for the captain of the guard," Rosa ordered. "I need a full troupe posted outsider the mirror in the next five minutes, fully armed and ready for a fight."

"Yes, your worship!" the scout answered, puffing in a panic. She took off running for the courtyard as Rosa headed for the garden and the room housing Morrigan's eluvian.

Upon reaching the room, Rosa discovered the mirror was active, just as the scout reported. A pair of other scouts stood just inside the door, tense and gawking. They snapped to attention when Rosa entered and greeted her in quavering voices. "Inquisitor!"

Striding past them, Rosa moved to the mirror, opening her inner senses to it to _feel_ the magic of it. Nothing seemed unusual, except…just faintly, at the edge of her mind, Rosa heard the subtle whisper of red lyrium. She halted in her spot, swallowing as a wave of weakness passed over her at the mere thought of that dark, evil power slowly consuming her.

"Morrigan went through?" she asked the two scouts over her shoulder.

"Aye," replied the young man. The other was an older woman who nodded in agreement. "She went in after the boy, Kieran."

She should go after the witch. Morrigan was a valuable member of the Inquisition now as the carrier of the Vir'Abelasan. She hadn't yet come up with a way to kill Corypheus for good. They desperately needed that and the secret knowledge of the well was their surest hope for obtaining some shred of true victory against the Darkspawn magister.

Yet, with that faint whispering, she knew the other side of the mirror would be contaminated with red lyrium. If she went through it…

_Fear does not become you, _da'len, came the memory of Rogathe's encouragement.

Drawing in a breath, Rosa clenched her hands into fists and touched her mana core for reassurance. She might be dying of red lyrium poisoning, but it was in slow motion. She could do this. She had to find Morrigan and Kieran, help them if she could, and learn what happened here.

"Keep watch on the mirror," she ordered the scouts. "More soldiers will join you shortly. If anyone or anything you don't know comes out of this mirror—kill it."

"Yes, Inquisitor!" the woman answered for them this time.

Rosa stepped through the mirror.

And emerged out of it onto wet stone. It was a landing at the top of a small stairway. Rocks circled around behind her. The air was thick with moisture and foggy. Her mana swelled and her blood flushed hot, vibrant with energy. It set her grinning before she could stop the reaction and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. It was like being tickled from within and simultaneously being relieved of all her worries and cares…

For a moment, anyway, before she adjusted to the sudden change and stood atop the stairway, blinking in astonishment. The eluvian had taken her directly to the raw Fade. How…? And why?

"Kieran!" Morrigan's strained voice cried somewhere ahead. The echoes here were strange, making Morrigan sound much closer than she was because Rosa couldn't see her. "Kieran! Where are you?"

On slow, cautious feet, Rosa started down the stairs. At the bottom, around a craggy wall of rough-hewn stone, she saw the sickly crimson glow of red lyrium. The whispers surged in her head, but there was no weakness as she'd feared. Morrigan's worried shout made Rosa march on, ignoring the whispers in her mind as the red lyrium pleaded with her to command it.

The path divided ahead. Morrigan's voice echoed from the rocks, the shattered crags and bricks hovering impossibly in the sky. Grotesque statues stared out from the corners, mouths yawning open in dread as Rosa walked by, her feet crunching on gritty dirt. Which way was the witch?

Rosa stopped and focused outward, reaching to connect with the Fade to actively reshape it just as she would while dreaming. The connection came easily, though she still felt a sluggish side to it—the red lyrium. But when she shut her eyes and thought of Morrigan, willing the Fade to open a path for her, it pushed back at her.

Actually, it _shoved_ her.

_What?!_

Rosa stumbled, feet splattering into a nearby low point where water collected. Sneering at the slimy moisture, Rosa moved away from it and steadied herself on the hard rock wall. Touching the raw Fade like this further grounded her. It must be the red lyrium disrupting her power as a Dreamer, because the Fade had _never_ reacted that way to her attempts to control it before.

Except…one other time.

_Solas. _

She'd tried to summon Solas in a dream right after he disappeared and, though she grasped him firmly in the dreaming, he freed himself. The whiplash of having her own power turned back on her was like struggling to reel in a large fish only to have the line snap. This felt similar.

Was he here? Had he betrayed her _again_ somehow?

Pushing those thoughts aside, Rosa focused everything on the damp stone beneath her hands. She poured her consciousness and her mana into it, grasping the Fade like a drowning woman clutching her lifeline. The Fade was firm in her grasp for an instant, connecting with her even with the shadow on the edge of her mind. Red lyrium, gumming up her connection but not blocking it while she was physically here.

And then, right as she tried to focus on Morrigan or Kieran, the metaphysical line snapped. And again, just as before, the blowback was hard enough that Rosa flinched. She let go of the rock, glaring at it in frustration even as her heart hammered with icy fear.

_It's Solas. It must be._

But she would _know_ Solas. She would _recognize_ him. Whatever this was, it wasn't familiar.

"Kieran!" Morrigan shouted, still shrill with alarm.

Rosa huffed, realizing she would have to let the Fade take her in its gradual way to Morrigan. She set off running, trying to calm the tight wad of anxiety in her chest.

"Inquisitor!" Morrigan shouted with a bit of relief when Rosa finally found her in a soupy clearing. An ugly splinter of the Black City hovered overhead, complete with flickering orange light from its creepy windows. "Please, will you help me look for Kieran?"

"Of course," Rosa agreed. "Did you see which way he went?"

"He could be anywhere," Morrigan cried, mouth twisting with turmoil. "I don't understand! He activated the mirror on his own and turned it _here._ The power required to redirect it…" She shook her head, on the verge of tears. "'Tis unimaginable."

"Try not to panic," Rosa told her. "You'll attract a fear demon. If we keep walking the Fade will take us to him."

Morrigan groaned and set off, boots squelching and scratching on the grit. Rosa started after her. They traipsed up short stairways and over lumpy, uneven ground strewn with loose rocks and strange red weeds. Ash and Fade ether obscured the way ahead for a time, but the path didn't fork and, just as Rosa predicted, they soon reached a small clearing. Jagged rock walls and gray stone pillars bordered the space. And, standing beneath a statue of a hooded man with a sword in his back and what looked like blood pouring out its obscured eyes in twin rivulets, were Kieran and an older woman with very strange, elaborate hair.

"No," Morrigan said breathlessly, rushing ahead. "It cannot be!"

Kieran and the old woman were interacting, with the boy passing a blue-white…_something_ to her. Rosa fell back as Morrigan charged forward. Her pace slowed, her body tense and stiff as she eyed the strange woman. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

The boy noticed Morrigan's approach and stopped whatever he'd been doing with the older woman. "Mother!"

Morrigan was silent a moment before muttering, "Mother." Her eyes narrowed at the old woman.

The old woman rose from her kneeling position and moved to stand behind Kieran. A smirk spread over her lips. "Now, isn't this a surprise?"

Seeing the older woman head on now, Rosa saw the unmistakable similarity between her and Morrigan. "What's going on here?" she asked, frowning. "Is this some kind of family reunion?"

The old woman chuckled. "Mother, daughter, grandson. It rather warms the heart, does it not?"

"Kieran is _not_ your grandson," Morrigan snarled. "Let him go!"

"As if I were holding the boy hostage," the old woman rejoined, full of snark. Her gaze shifted to Rosa. "She's always been ungrateful, you see."

Rosa fought down the desire to take a step backward at the old woman's golden-eyed gaze. Her inner senses registered a great weight pressing out from the old woman, a shadow that represented mana and power. The woman might be sarcastic and lighthearted right now, but she carried great unseen power that made her very menacing.

"Ungrateful! " Morrigan exploded, stabbing a finger at her mother. "I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone! You will not have me and you will not have my son!" The witch summoned mana, making Rosa flinch at the suddenness of the attack—but the old woman merely looked annoyed.

"That's quite enough." Her eyes flashed purple-white. "You'll endanger the boy."

Morrigan yelped as her mana dispelled. She stumbled in place but caught herself and then gawped at her mother, enraged all over again. "What have you done to me?"

Now the old woman was smirking again. "I have done nothing. You drank from the well of your own volition."

Morrigan gasped. _"You…_are Mythal?"

Now Rosa did withdraw back a few steps. The hair on her arms now stood up as her skin prickled. She shook her head, speechless and confused—but also aghast. She'd always known Mythal wasn't _completely_ dead. For most of her life she believed Felassan served Mythal and blamed the mother goddess for controlling her father's life so thoroughly. Now she knew Mythal hadn't been the one to rule Felassan's life. Yet that didn't erase a lifetime of simmering resentment and suspicion. Nor did it ease Rosa's mistrust gained from the tales her father told her of how the mother goddess operated politically in Arlathan's court. The way she took hostages, stole children, and manipulated others always rubbed Rosa the wrong way.

Her mind flashed to the memory of Felassan in the Void Mirror, of how he kept both his children naïve of the ongoing plots of the only remaining Evanuris—Mythal and Fen'Harel. Considering current events, Rosa hadn't taken much time lately to wonder if Felassan wanted to hide his children from Mythal as much as the Dread Wolf. What would Mythal do with a great-granddaughter and great-grandson? Had Solas been in communication with this old woman? Whoever she was, she apparently wielded Mythal's power.

She didn't know how to act in front of this woman, but she knew she needed to hide what she was. _Who _she truly was. If that was even possible, anyway. She could feel this other woman's presence in the Fade, and the old woman could feel hers in turn. By their senses in the Fade alone they'd both know the other was a powerful mage. If Solas had revealed everything about Rosa to this woman to get the information to Mythal it might already be too late.

Grasping at the first, simplest reaction she could find, Rosa blurted, "You can't be Mythal. You are not one of the People."

The old woman laughed gently. "Not many have thought of me as _human_ in a very long time." Her eyes narrowed slightly as her smirk went lopsided. "I would think _you_ would know better than most how deceptive and meaningless one's outward appearance is."

The rhythmic whooshing noise of Rosa's heart filled her ears as she struggled to reveal nothing, or to playact confusion despite her alarm. This woman definitely knew _something_ about her. Was that comment just regarding her power as a Dreamer? Or had she already gleaned everything about Rosa?

The woman tapped Kieran on the shoulder and the boy ran to embrace Morrigan. When they parted he apologized to her. "I'm sorry, Mother. I heard her calling to me. She said now was the time."

As Kieran withdrew from his mother to rejoin the old woman, despite the way Morrigan reached for him in a useless attempt to stop him, she said, "I do not understand."

Rosa bit her tongue, listening as the old woman explained that she carried Mythal inside her and had for ages. The voices of the well confirmed her story through Morrigan, much to the younger woman's dismay—and to Rosa's. At first she'd thought she spoke with a proxy for Mythal, a representative. Now she realized it was much more direct, which only heightened the danger.

And then the old woman—Mythal's avatar—pinned Rosa with a proud look. "So young and vibrant. You do the People proud and have come far." Her smile seemed genuine as she at last introduced herself. "As for me, I have had many names, but you may call me Flemeth."

Now Rosa's mouth hung open for a moment before she snapped it shut again. She _knew_ that name. The Dalish clans at the last Arlathvhen, when Rosa was just a child, had traded stories of her. They used another name: _Asha'bellanar._ The woman of many years.

_Mythal has been with the People for all this time and we never realized it. _

But the stories of Asha'bellanar only confirmed Rosa's apprehensions. Flemeth was not someone she should trust. The People knew of her as unpredictable and dangerous. She harmed as often as she helped supplicants, and usually exacted a price for her aid.

And you follow her whims?" Morrigan pressed. "Do you even know what she truly is?"

"You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end?" Flemeth asked. "It is because I taught you, girl. Because things happened that were never meant to happen. She was betrayed, as I was betrayed—as the world was betrayed!" Her voice built in volume, echoing off the rocks and the sky, the Black City high above.

Rosa recoiled as Flemeth advanced on them a little, aggressive and passionate. "Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me. And I will see her avenged!" She fell silent a moment, as though listening to her echo in the Fade. "Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance."

"What do you want, Mother?" Morrigan asked, snarling into the silence that followed.

Flemeth's smile was dark now. "I've come for the boy. He carries a piece of what once was, snatched from the jaws of darkness. You know this."

"He is _not_ your pawn, Mother! I will not let you use him!"

"Have you not _used_ him? Was that not the reason you agreed to his creation?" Flemeth challenged.

Rosa stared between them, cold all over. What in the great beyond were they talking about?

"That was then," Morrigan said, quiet now and with growing fear. "Now…he is my son." She looked to Rosa, desperate for support. "Flemeth extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters, Inquisitor. That was the fate she intended for me. I thwarted her, and now she intends to have Kieran instead."

_Fenedhis,_ that was bad. Very bad. But Rosa didn't know if she could stop it. With the power of Mythal inside her, an Evanuris, what hope could Rosa have against her? It seemed she could control the Fade with the same prowess and strength as Solas, and Rosa knew she wasn't a match for him.

Before Rosa could come to grips with the situation Flemeth said, "Let me take the lad, and you are free from me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again. Or keep the lad with you and you will never be safe from me. I will have my due."

It was an easy decision for Morrigan as she readily offered herself in exchange. "I am many things," Morrigan said, pain obvious in her voice. "But I will not be the mother you were to me."

This made Flemeth pause, tilting her head as a sorrowful expression crossed her face. She turned back to Kieran and again the blue-white energy—a spirit—appeared. It crossed from the boy to the old woman, sinking into her chest. The sight made Rosa's skin prickle, though she wasn't sure whether it was awe or fear she felt.

"No more dreams?" Kieran asked with a touch of sadness.

Flemeth smiled at him. "No more dreams." Then Flemeth motioned at the boy and he returned to Morrigan.

"A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan," Flemeth told her. "You were never in danger from me." She brightened then. "As for the magister, listen to the voices. They will teach you…as I never did."

Her eyes flashed again and she lifted one hand. "Go on," Flemeth commanded her daughter.

Morrigan jerked, reacting to the compulsion from the well. "Wait!" she protested, straining against the hold on her body, but to no avail. Soon she was walking away, Kieran beside her. Rosa warily started to turn her back on the old crone as well—only to hear Flemeth say, _"Venavis." _

Though the old woman's words held no command for Rosa, she stopped anyway. Her heart pounded like a fist against her ribs. She tried not to show her fear as Flemeth took a few steps closer to her. The crone's golden eyes glanced past Rosa a few times, checking how distant Morrigan was before she spoke.

"You have his eyes," the old woman said, smiling.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Frowning, Rosa looked at Solas and _tried_ not to glare. She wasn't sure she succeeded. "Are you actually here or are you dreaming?"

Solas' expression remained a neutral blank. "Does it truly matter?"

She sighed. "I guess not." Except, it did matter. More than she'd like to admit. If he had not taken the risk in coming here physically it showed he might still consider her and Tal a threat. He didn't trust them not to trick him or attack him somehow. Considering the nature of the Fade, it would be virtually impossible to tell if Solas was actually here or just dreaming—unless he altered his image or suddenly disappeared by waking up.

* * *


	70. The Fade Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flemeth/Mythal offer Rosa a lifeline. But at what cost? Later, at Tal's insistence, Rosa meets with Solas to try and find a willing and suitable spirit to bind with her to treat the red lyrium infection.

Rosa managed not to react to Flemeth's comment, but she did feign confusion. "I don't understand."

Flemeth chuckled. "Of course you do, child." She leaned closer, gold eyes sharp with hawk-like intelligence. "Did you truly believe she wouldn't know you?"

Rosa shook her head and withdrew a step backward, lifting her hands as if to ward off an attack even as she tried to affect bafflement rather than panic. "I'm sorry, I don't—"

"Enough of that now," Flemeth chided, more amused than annoyed. "You need my help—_her_ help. I felt the red lyrium as you reached out through the Fade. Impressive that you have withstood it as well as you have, but it will crush you in time all the same." Her eyes were sad as she frowned. "I would hate to see you brought low. Your father was like a son to Mythal."

"Thank you," Rosa finally murmured, stilted and strained with anxiety. "But I have help—and a plan. I thank you for your concern." She wanted to be formal and polite, but entering into some sticky contract with Mythal or Flemeth seemed like a bad idea.

Flemeth's smile was unnerving, making Rosa suppress a shudder. "Very well," the old woman said. "But it will be dangerous to rely so heavily on a spirit—even as Inquisitor—in a world that fears Fade creatures."

"Thank you for your concern," Rosa hedged. "But I believe I'll manage."

Flemeth cocked her head to one side, still wearing the amused smile that so creeped Rosa out. "Do you, now?" She let out a dry chuckle. "You may come to regret that overconfidence, child. I've been watching you and those around you for some time. Your foundations are not as solid as you believe."

A frisson of fear crawled slowly up Rosa's spine. "What do you mean?" she asked, not bothering to hide her reaction now. Damn the old crone, but she had Rosa's full attention now.

"My daughter knows who you are," Flemeth said, smirking. "And now she also knows she is bound to me through Mythal. I doubt she will let this information sit idly when she feels she and her son are in danger." She raised both brows in emphasis. "Do you understand?"

Rosa flinched, taking a step backward. Her stomach twisted, feeling queasy. She'd been so distracted she'd forgotten Morrigan's threat in the temple. The witch knew enough elven she'd understood an exchange Rosa shared with Abelas there when she named her heritage as a direct descendant of Mythal. And Abelas leveled numerous accusations at her, calling her a defiler and naming her as _Dirthamenelan,_ an agent of Dirthamen. Morrigan had never seen Rosa's vallaslin and would know of no way Abelas would connect her to Dirthamen that way. Considering the rest of their conversation had been about heritage she would likely puzzle out that Abelas somehow knew Rosa was also a direct descendant of Dirthamen. The voices of the well might even reveal that controlling red lyrium was a hallmark of that heritage.

Morrigan had gotten what she wanted in the temple, so technically Rosa let the witch blackmail her into drinking from the well. Except that now Morrigan might see it all as an elaborate ruse to trick her into drinking from the well. Why wouldn't Mythal's great-granddaughter be in league with her ancestor?

And, more than just Morrigan, Rosa knew her behavior in the Arbor Wilds had definitely worried her inner circle and advisors. What would Leliana do if she learned of Rosa's ancestry? And what if Rosa's personality made another bizarre shift when she bound a willing spirit to herself to treat the red lyrium poisoning? A suspicious mind like Leliana's was bound to start asking questions and making connections.

Flemeth's smile was grave. "Good. I can see you understand now." She lifted a hand and motioned, coiling Fade ether to produce a curved tooth in her fingers. It was too large to be a wolf's tooth. A dragon perhaps? She extended it out to Rosa and said, "Take this. Should you find yourself caught in that tangle of snares invoke my name and I will come."

Rosa didn't reach for it. "At what cost?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

Flemeth laughed now. "Evunial taught you well!" Her smile cooled slightly. "Or perhaps it was Fen'Harel."

Rosa said nothing and still didn't accept the proffered gift. Evunial was what Mythal called Felassan before the fall of Arlathan. Rosa typically used the shortened Ivun, and when she was angry with him, Eolas. It seemed everyone had a different name for her father.

Flemeth seemed unruffled by Rosa's suspicion and reluctance. "No matter. For this there is no cost. I am as much your ancestor as I am Morrigan's mother. Mythal has no wish to see her grandson's daughter killed." She extended the strange tooth out further. "Take it."

Hesitantly, Rosa accepted the tooth. It felt benign in her hands, slightly chilled and with a tiny serrated edge. When she probed it with her magical senses a tiny pulse of mana answered, but she couldn't feel anything nefarious. No blood magic spells. No runes or glyphs. Just a simple summoning spell with a bit of Flemeth's mana to strengthen its reach.

Rosa tucked it into her pants pocket and nodded. _"Ma serannas."_

Flemeth's smile was sly and amused. "A pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor," she said as she turned round and began striding confidently away. Only a few steps toward the gray stone of the Fade and she vanished in a puff of dark smoke.

Once the old woman was gone Rosa quickly caught up to Morrigan and Kieran just short of the eluvian leading back to Skyhold. With her mother gone now, and therefore her compulsion vanished as well, Morrigan was fast to pin Rosa with a glowering look. "What did my mother want with you? What did she say?"

The sharpness in her golden eyes made Rosa's guts churn, remembering Flemeth's warning. She had to gain Morrigan's trust—if that was possible—or the witch would surely use what she knew about Rosa's heritage against her. Glancing to Kieran nervously, she said, "I'd rather discuss this alone." Kieran seemed like a good boy, but children often had a way of repeating things they heard.

Morrigan's expression warped with horror, though she swiftly concealed it. "I see no reason he cannot hear what that hag is planning."

Too late Rosa saw she'd only burned herself with that request. _She thinks I might catch her once we're alone and turn her over to Flemeth._

Sighing, Rosa said, "She spoke to me regarding what you overheard at the temple, when the sentinel elves ambushed us." She cleared her throat, trying to be vague, then switched to elven. _"Ivun grandson of Mythal. My father." _

"Yes," Morrigan said. "I'd not forgotten that."

Rosa smiled tightly. "She warned me that you would use that against me." She quickly tried to turn Morrigan's thoughts in a different direction, to remind her they were on the same side. Neither trusted the old woman. "I honestly think she did that more as a means to try and manipulate me. She wants to play us off each other."

Morrigan scoffed. "That would be very much like her, yes." But then her eyes narrowed. "All things considered, however, I now wish _you_ or your brother had drunk from the well. How fortunate that you and your brother did not."

"If there's anything we can do for you to remove the compulsion you have my word I will help." Rosa let real sympathy show, quashing the fear that again Flemeth was right. Morrigan saw conspiracy where there was none—at least on Rosa and Tal's parts, anyway. She didn't know how to convince Morrigan that she and Tal weren't a threat at all. It was mere coincidence that Flemeth happened to be both Morrigan's mother _and_ Mythal's avatar.

"Rest assured," Morrigan said, "I will be looking for a way to unbind myself from Mother's grasp." She turned and ushered Kieran into the mirror, then passed through it as well.

After a brief moment steadying her nerves, Rosa followed.

* * *

"_Have you given any additional thought to what I said?"_ Tal asked from the enormous desk in the corner of Rosa's tower bedroom in Skyhold. It was morning, two days after the incident with Morrigan's eluvian. It was an emerging habit now for Tal to meet her before lunch because that was when Nola and Felanaste typically took naps. With Rosa's schedule full of free time with her advisors still returning from the Armor Wilds they'd managed to do it everyday since their trip to the Void Mirror with Solas.

And, to ensure true privacy as much as possible, they used elven.

"_Regarding?"_ she asked him. Sitting in her bed in a lounging position, Rosa had the enormous tome on lyrium splayed open across her lap. She had a flake of an artist's shading pencil, crudely sharpened with a knife, and used it to write notes in the margins. It was dull reading and she used it to aid her sleeplessness, with moderate success. The downside was she fell asleep with her head in the open pages more than once and drooled on the text.

Tal snorted, which made her look up at him to find his irritated expression. "Really, _asamalin?"_ he asked her, breaking out of elven.

"Really," she snapped and switched out of common again. _"Regarding what?"_

Irritation became worry. He frowned. _"Regarding He Who Hunts Alone. The wolf. Has the red lyrium started affecting you more physically?"_

Tal knew she had increasing difficulty sleeping, but now Rosa stopped, worry seizing her chest and cinching it tight. Was the red lyrium affecting her in other ways she'd not yet realized? But she pushed that fear aside as baseless. This issue had a far simpler and innocent explanation in that she'd done her best _not_ to think about Solas, as was her usual habit the past few months before the expedition to the Arbor Wilds. Thinking about him only hurt her, distracted her, and riled her emotions into a flurry.

She pinched her lips together and looked back at the book. _"It's not the red lyrium."_

"_You need to talk to him. You have to buy us—the whole fucking world, really—more time."_ Tal shifted in the chair, sitting up and leaning forward over her desk._ "Corypheus could show up here any day and it will be too late then. You-know-who will be there to take the Anchor and Corypheus' orb and we'll all be fucked." _

Rosa glared at him. _"I know that! I have a lot on my mind. I'm dying of red lyrium poisoning, I have not one but _two_ Evanuris breathing down my neck. Our demon great-uncle Imshael is up to something with his Freemen. Morrigan knows about our heritage and is probably going to use it against us…"_ She cut herself off, biting her tongue to stifle the frustrated curses building in her throat.

"_We'll take care of the red lyrium problem,"_ Tal said, softer now. _"But it's time we don't have. Let me broker a meeting between the three of us."_

"_I can't dream,"_ Rosa reminded him, bitterly.

"_I meant in person,"_ he explained.

"_Dorian will finish with the concentrated lyrium soon,"_ Rosa said, ignoring Tal's suggestion.

Tal let out a short, barking laugh. _"I went and visited Dorian early this morning when I was sneaking Nola some sweet cakes from the kitchen. I couldn't find him. So I kept looking and eventually found him in Dagna's undercroft. He's having trouble making the lyrium. The first two batches he made he thinks would have just killed us because they were too concentrated. We can't rely on him to do this quickly."_

That news fell on Rosa like a hammer blow. She let her eyes fall shut. Silence filled her bedroom, swallowing them up whole. The cold wind whistled outside off the glacier and the peaks of the Frostbacks. The sudden pain of loneliness stabbed at Rosa and her eyes stung. Sniffing, she swallowed hard and banished those weak feelings.

Finally she asked, _"If we cannot rely on Dorian, what do you propose?"_

Now Tal's face fell with something akin to grief as he said one word—a name. "Cole."

Horror made her feel sick immediately. "No. I'm not doing that. Absolutely not."

"I don't like it either," Tal murmured, averting his gaze. "But Cole has been following me around suggesting it for days, saying he wants to help."

"I haven't seen him," Rosa protested. Was Tal so desperate to cure her that he'd put the notion into Cole's head? Compassionate, gentle Cole would instantly agree to help her, regardless of the risk to himself. He would lose whatever identity he eked out of the physical world and cease to be Cole.

"I told him not to bring it up to you," Tal admitted. "I knew you wouldn't like it. I don't think So…" He cleared his throat and switched to elven. _"I don't think our wolf friend will like it either, but maybe there's a way to only do it temporarily. Some way Cole can help but won't lose himself in the process."_ Tal shifted again in the seat at her desk. _"And it gives me a good reason for us to meet with him in person so you can lay into him. I'll be there to back you up and if we take Cole too…"_

She shut her eyes again, grappling with her stubborn emotions. Tal was right that she needed to face Solas. It was cowardice when she tried escaping her own emotions. She didn't want to get hurt anymore and the best way to avoid that was to just _not_ deal with Solas. Not in her mind. Not in her heart. Not in her dreams. And _definitely_ not in person.

But Tal was right.

She heaved a sigh. _"Very well. Use it as an excuse to arrange a meeting."_ She shot Tal a meaningful glare. _"But I am _not_ going to seriously consider binding Cole to me. It's not an option. Dorian will get the concentrated lyrium for us and we will find a willing, suitable spirit in the Fade."_

Tal's eyes were somber. _"I hope you're right." _

* * *

The very next day, during the time Rosa usually reserved for her midmorning meetings with Tal, they set off for the eluvian hidden in the Elvhen ruins beneath Skyhold. So as not to appear as suspicious, Rosa went separately from Tal and Cole. She slipped out of Skyhold using the invisibility spell and tried not to feel the terrifying weight of a slowly growing magical fatigue. It wasn't that her mana was low, just that consistently drawing on her core and sustaining the spell made her weary and weak-limbed.

Once she was in the midst of the frozen landscape, strewn as it was with boulders and ice floes where the perpetually half frozen river meandered over the high glacial valley, she planned to drop her spell. But, when she saw Inquisition soldiers and scouts patrolling about Skyhold's base in unusually large numbers, obviously that was no longer an option. Now new dread made her shaky on top of the magical fatigue.

She hadn't ordered an increase in patrols here. Who had? And why?

She feared she knew the answers to both those questions and they suggested Flemeth was right. Morrigan used what she knew to buy Leliana's trust and undermine Rosa's position. The spymaster must have suspected the eluvian beneath Skyhold was not as idle as she'd believed.

Had Tal and Cole passed by undetected?

Making her way around boulders and hopping over cracks in long-frozen ice, Rosa tried to keep her footprints hidden as she evaded the patrols. The men and women of the Inquisition were easy to spot against the pale icy floe as dark shapes moving in trios and pairs. But they were keen-eyed and eared, noticing tufts of snow Rosa kicked up once or twice and searching with alarm when they heard ice crack when she hopped over gaps.

The primary entrance Rosa had used previously now had two stationary guards in front of it. The entrance was small and half-blocked by scattered bricks from when Zevanni blasted through it several months prior. No one had ordered it fixed. In fact, both Rosa and Leliana agreed they should pull their guards back from the entrance in case of similar incidents so the soldiers could flee and escape infection.

Someone had clearly rescinded that order. Even more alarming, Rosa saw wooden sledges sitting out on the ground a few meters out, brimming with fresh red bricks. Someone had ordered this breech to be bricked up.

Rosa didn't trust herself to pass undetected by these guards. Remembering when she, Leliana, and Cullen made a rough map of the Elvhen ruins, Rosa circled further around the base until she found a natural crack she could just slip through. She recalled seeing it from inside the ruins, in a half-collapsed room that drew her attention because she found ancient glyphs that still sparked with magic when she touched them.

Sliding through the grit and rubble, Rosa stifled a cough and let her invisibility spell fade. By feel she made her way out of the half-collapsed room and tiptoed past the hall that led to the main entrance, for fear of the guards hearing her steps. Once she was deeper in she had to lean on a wall and breathe deeply for a minute to dispel the deafening rush of blood in her ears and to regain some of her stamina. Her body was weak and shaky, coated in chilly sweat.

She couldn't deny the poison was spreading. Soon it would begin strangling her mana. Instinctively she knew once it began truly weakening her spellcasting abilities that the illness would progress faster and faster. She didn't let herself consider how this might already affect her in a fight.

Further into the bowels of the ruins she found Veilfire torches lit and let out a sigh of relief. Cole and Tal had passed by the guards after all. As if to doubly confirm that fact she found the eluvian already aglow and waiting for her, active.

As she stepped out on the other side, she shivered with visceral pleasure—then blinked in bafflement. She was in the raw Fade again. Her mana core was warm and her blood buzzed with joy. The chill from the cold mountain air was gone. Now each breath she took was humid.

The area immediately around the eluvian resembled the ruins she'd just left. White stones, dusty from long ages of disrepair, lay scattered around her. A few half-standing walls enclosed the eluvian. Bare gray wall rose behind those walls and peeked through the cracks where it had crumbled. Gold-white tile gleamed beneath Rosa's feet.

Gazing forward into the dreamscape, Rosa inhaled sharply.

It was beautiful.

A small stairway led down into a courtyard. Tall white columns and arches stood on ever side. Rainbow light glittered in the gaps between columns and arches, as though caught in stained glass. The sky held the same breathtaking, dazzling array of colors. Sunshine streamed in through a domed roof of…glass? Something about it did not seem to be mundane glass, though Rosa wasn't sure what.

Ahead and down the short staircase Rosa saw Tal, Cole, and Solas. Cole seemed dazed and hypnotized by the splendor and beauty. He stood near one of the arches, reaching out as if he hoped to touch the colors glittering in the air. Tal also seemed distracted by the spectacle of this place, but the tense set of his jaw and his stiff shoulders revealed he wasn't all that comfortable here.

As for Solas, his gaze was entirely focused on her. He might as well be blind to the dreamscape. And that made sense as he must have been the one to craft it. This place would hide no surprised for him.

Oddly, though he'd created a gorgeous setting for their meeting, Solas himself was demure. He had not worn his Elvhenan armor or any regalia to remind them who and what he truly was. He stood at attention, his body language that of a formal commander with his arms behind his back in a loose grasp. But after everything else, the most important thing Rosa noticed was that his blue eyes seemed dark with sorrow.

That observation tugged on Rosa with equal parts dread and pain. _He loves you,_ Tal repeated in her memory. _I see it every time he looks at you._

Pushing that aside, Rosa descended the short stairs and entered the courtyard. She spoke to Tal first. "You saw the guards?"

Tal nodded, his expression grim. "Yep. Cole helped me slip by."

Cole, still admiring the colors in the air, turned as he heard his name. "They don't like the cold. The darkness scares them."

"Are you talking about the colors or the soldiers?" Tal asked, smirking affectionately.

Cole blinked. "Yes."

Tal chuckled. "You gotta love him."

"Yes," Solas said, speaking now for the first time. The single word held an icy edge. "That is precisely why Cole is not a suitable subject for the red lyrium treatment."

Now Cole marched closer to them, coming to stand behind Solas. "But I can help. I _want_ to help." His blue eyes glazed over as he shifted slightly, partway looking at Rosa. "The shadow at the edge of my mind. Growing, always growing. Arms weak. Legs shaky. So tired, but can't sleep…"

Tal winced, staring at the gilded gold tile. Solas blanched and stared at Rosa, lips parted and brow furrowed with concern. "You cannot sleep?"

Rosa frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. She shrugged. "I get insomnia." She shook her head. "But it's not that bad." The words warbled as the memory of how she'd had to stop and breathe in the ruins hit her and closed her throat with fear. She took a moment again to steel her emotions and then added, "I already told Tal I won't consider Cole."

"But I want to help!" the boy protested. He wore a mildly frantic expression, wrenched with his very literal compassionate spirit. "Growing, growing," he repeated in his whispery voice. "Always growing."

"Binding you to me—inside me—would kill you, Cole," Rosa told him firmly. "I won't do that. There's plenty of other spirits who haven't crossed the Veil and taken on a physical form. They can help me." She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen up her taut muscles as she asked, "How are we in the Fade?"

"It was my idea," Tal said, sounding vaguely sheepish. "After Kieran did it, I thought why couldn't we?" He glanced at Solas. "And I knew who to ask for instruction." His smile was almost genuine. Only a sharpness in his eyes hinted that he wasn't happy. He hadn't forgiven Solas, but he could put it behind him.

Once, many months ago, Tal was a drunken wreck, blubbering to Rosa in an inn outside of Halamshiral. Once he asked her how she was coping so well with learning Solas had killed their father and lied to them for two years. And Rosa told him she wasn't coping with it better. She just buried it.

She was still burying it. Tal was the one handling it all better now, by _actually_ coping.

Frowning, Rosa looked at Solas and _tried_ not to glare. She wasn't sure she succeeded. "Are you actually here or are you dreaming?"

Solas' expression remained a neutral blank. "Does it truly matter?"

She sighed. "I guess not." Except, it did matter. More than she'd like to admit. If he had not taken the risk in coming here physically it showed he might still consider her and Tal a threat. He didn't trust them not to trick him or attack him somehow. Considering the nature of the Fade, it would be virtually impossible to tell if Solas was actually here or just dreaming—unless he altered his image or suddenly disappeared by waking up.

Solas inclined his head now to Tal. "Your idea to meet here was most fortuitous as it allows us to locate a willing spirit now, rather than waiting for Rosa to regain access to the Fade." His smile seemed entirely genuine as he complimented Tal. "Well done."

Tal shrugged. "I don't care about how clever it was or fortunate." He clenched his jaw. "Just…please help her."

A minor flash of annoyance crossed Solas' face, but he merely nodded. Tossing Rosa a brief glance, he turned toward one side wall of archways and columns, lifting a hand. Rosa felt the pull of the Fade as it shifted. The green-gray Fade ether just outside the courtyard dissipated, sinking to the ground. It was dark, nighttime on the other side of the arches. A meadow scene took shape of high grasses bordered by dark bushy pines. Silvered moonlight streamed in. Fireflies hovered over the tall grass, haunting and beautiful.

Recognition made Rosa's chest hurt. She'd shaped this place for Solas while they were in Hasmal. It was the Brecilian Forest, the place of her birth. She shaped it for him when he was too weak to alter the Fade at all. Before they became lovers. Before she dared trust him to help her with the Formless One.

He had not recreated it with perfect accuracy. This field was more open than her actual memories. He had embellished it with more fireflies. The sky and the moonlight also held the same dazzling fractal colors, as though everything passed through stained glass. But it was still the same place.

Had he chosen this to set her at ease? Or just to cause her pain at the memory? Or perhaps he had not given it any thought at all?

No, it was definitely _not_ an accident. Solas would never be so careless.

This was the dreamscape where they had shared their first kiss.

He was testing her, using the environment to probe her.

She averted her head, fixing Tal with a glare now. He caught her eye but seemed confused. This scene didn't hold the same emotion for him. It was just a meadow at nighttime.

"I have spent each night combing the Fade for spirits of the correct age and affinity," Solas said in his soft, melodic scholar's voice. Mercifully, he stood with his back to her and Tal and Cole, still motioning at the nightscape meadow beyond their brightly lit courtyard. He worked the Fade, blue-white magic glittering in his right palm, until Rosa saw figures appear in the meadow beyond, summoned to his call.

"Please pardon my presumption," he said, still facing the meadow and the assembled spirits. "But I do not believe you should bond with another spirit of bravery. Rogathe was a good friend, but I do not think it wise to pick a spirit so bold and fearless as a lifetime companion."

Rosa rolled her eyes as Tal chimed in, much less politely. "What he's trying to say is you get out of control with a spirit of bravery. And I totally agree." At her annoyed look Tal shrugged. "You know we're right."

"She knows," Cole said, nodding.

Rosa frowned at the spirit boy. "I don't need you helping him."

"But I like helping," Cole said, blinking.

Shaking her head, for a brief moment Rosa could almost…_almost_ chuckle—and then she faced the meadow again and saw Solas watching her. The sad blue eyes, melancholic and gloomy, echoed that piercing loneliness she'd felt yesterday when she talked with Tal in her bedroom. When she'd heard how little hope Tal had that Dorian would get the concentrated lyrium to them in time, she'd felt for a moment the dismal despair of the reality that she was very likely going to die soon and utterly alone. If the red lyrium took her magic and her mind, saving her body for last, she would become a husk incapable of recognizing even her brother.

She remembered Solas' greatest fear in the Fade at Adamant. _Dying Alone. _Her own was _Abandonment. _They were two sides of the same fear—loneliness. Rosa feared everyone around her would leave her, betray her. Solas feared he would reach the end of his long life alone, misunderstood and cast as a villain, forever unfulfilled with no one who could understand him. In a way, they'd both wound up fulfilling the other's greatest fear. Solas betrayed her, abandoned her. And she, in not confronting him and not coping with the truth, had proved his greatest fear was correct. He was irredeemable and would die alone, unloved and scorned by the People.

She looked away and quickly crossed her arms over her chest, physically shielding herself, though she couldn't protect herself from the impact those thoughts already had on her. _Pity_ wormed in her heart. The clear beginning of sympathy.

"Inquisitor," Solas said, facing the meadow. "May I introduce you to Purpose, Wisdom, Faith, Loyalty, and Joy."

Five shapes emerged from the meadow, in varying forms. Two of them were transparent and only vaguely humanoid, appearing more as disembodied torsos with a smaller circle atop what might be shoulders to suggest a head. The other three appeared solid, fully formed and bipedal, although one of them had the proportions of a child rather than an adult.

"Hello Joy," Cole said brightly from behind her.

The childlike spirit lifted its head and smiled at Cole. "Hello, Compassion. How good it is to see you again!"

Solas smiled at their exchange, his posture relaxed in a way Rosa hadn't seen since before the ball at Halamshiral. The unease returned slightly when he looked to her briefly, but faded again as he turned to the spirits he'd assembled. Striding forward to the first spirit—one of the two that had not taken a fully formed shape—Solas nodded to it in greeting.

"Faith's earliest memory is of watching Andraste change Thedas forever. It has seen the rise of the Chantry and joined with many Seekers in their purity ritual. Venturing so often across the Veil without losing itself is a rare accomplishment. I have spoken with Faith at length many times over the ages. It was one of the first to volunteer."

The amorphous spirit's head dipped in what Rosa sensed was respect. "It is an honor to meet you, Inquisitor." It spoke with a voice that was just as androgynous as its unclear shape, but it was pleasant sounding.

Rosa managed a smile. "Pleased to meet you." Despite Solas' glowing introduction of this spirit, Rosa was wary. Faith seemed enamored of the Chantry. It may be stable, unlikely to warp once it crossed the Veil, but its previous hosts had all been clergy by the sound of it. They all shared the Andrastian faith. Rosa did not.

"Faith has no single binding definition," the spirit said, having read her uncertainty. "I have watched the faith of humans, following the Chantry. But I have also communed with Avvar augurs and crossed the Veil to live in their holds as they willed."

"I am not religious," Rosa admitted, frowning slightly.

"Faith does not require religion," the spirit replied. "It takes heart only. You have this in abundance. Defining one's faith often comes secondarily."

It would, of course, be just like a spirit of faith never to admit Rosa might be a poor candidate.

Rosa smiled at this spirit and then, seeing Solas move d down the line, she followed. The next spirit was solid, appearing entirely as a person—a young human woman with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Yet, as Rosa moved closer with Solas the spirit changed until it was a mirror image of Rosa.

"Purpose took shape sometime before the time of Andraste, during the height of Tevinter expansion. It followed conquering magisters across the land and also watched the defenders fighting Tevinter's invasion. It has been observing you for some time, as well as many other powerful leaders." Solas met her eye then, meaningfully. "Including Corypheus. Most spirits of purpose do not judge the morality of the end goal, but take inspiration from the will behind it. Purpose is old enough that it prefers a righteous and moral path. For that reason it readily agreed to help you."

The spirit stared at her, a mirror image. It smiled solemnly. A grim determination shone in its violet eyes. Rosa acknowledged it with the same caution she showed Faith. Purpose seemed a good fit, technically, but Rosa wasn't sure how it would ultimately impact her personality. Would she become incapable of relaxation? Would she be restless whenever she wasn't able to progress to a goal?

Next she saw a humanoid shape, but the pointed ears told her this spirit had taken on an elven form just as Purpose had. Unlike Purpose, however, this spirit glowed brilliant white, making its features difficult to discern.

"Loyalty is the youngest spirit here," Solas explained. "From my conversations with it, I suspect it formed after the fall of the Dales. It favored the Avvar in its youth, much as Faith did. However, Loyalty eventually turned its focus to a Dalish clan in the far south of Ferelden." Now Rosa shot Solas a look, but he didn't return it and remained focused on the spirit. "It remembers a day when the clan it watched suffered a grievous attack by slavers and bandits. It mourned when the clan's Keeper banished the First, and rather than be forever marred by the despair there, Loyalty returned to the Avvar. Yet it remembered you and volunteered to aid you now."

"You were there that day?" Rosa asked, staring at the spirit.

"I was," Loyalty replied in a soft, calm voice. "You did what must be done to save your family. You would have died to protect them. I could no longer watch clan Naseral when Keeper Halesta broke the fidelity of family and banished you."

"A spirit that is wise enough to know when they risk irrevocable harm to their nature is rare and more valuable than any gold, Inquisitor," Solas added. "That is why, despite Loyalty's youth, I have brought it here to meet you." He dipped his head to the spirit. "I apologize, my friend, but I must warn her that you are young and your nature is fluid."

"I understand," Loyalty said. "Recognizing another's imperfections does not negate the greater aspects of their character. This is the lesson of family and fidelity above all."

Rosa stared at Loyalty, struggling to tamp down her own emotions. She couldn't be certain because the spirit was so bright and fuzzy, but it seemed to meet her gaze, even and calm. Of all the spirits she'd met so far, this one struck a cord within her above all. If Loyalty had guided her, would she have scorned Felassan just before he died? Would she have let some of her resentment toward her mother simmer as long as it had?

Solas moved on again and, reluctantly, Rosa did too.

The next spirit was a human woman, small and humble in appearance. She smiled, open and friendly, as the two elves stopped before her. Before Solas could speak she said, "I am Wisdom, the younger."

"A friend of my friend," Solas murmured. "And although it is younger, it is the oldest present. It can remember before the fall of Elvhenan and has gathered vast knowledge from around Thedas."

Wisdom was a good candidate, of course. What harm could there be in becoming more of an erudite?

Last in the line of assembled spirits was a golden glow that barely resembled a humanoid shape. It buzzed softly and chimed as they drew closer. The sound made Rosa think of wind chimes.

"This is Joy," Solas said. "Its kind is very rare. So often their contact with this world twists them into desire demons. Yet Joy has existed since before the time of Andraste. It was the last spirit I found, tucked away in an obscure corner of the Fade far from the Frostback Mountains and the breach, where it has spent its time watching a small village. When I learned it had once known Cole I decided to bring it here."

"A pleasure to meet you," Rosa said. "But I'm afraid my life hasn't been especially joyous. We might not be a good match for each other."

"Every life has joy within it," the spirit responded. "My place is only to bring out those moments, heighten them and make sure you never forget them. The village I have watched for an age now has seen much sadness, but they are a hardy people and always rebound. And when they do, their joy is all the sweeter knowing they have left behind their sorrow."

A very valid point. But could a spirit of joy, even one as old and experienced as this one, survive life bound inside of her?

That was the question for all of these spirits. They all needed to withstand the trials of existing within a physical being that embodied _every_ emotion at one time or another. Spirits were so much simpler in comparison, only embodying one major idea or emotion of the physical world. Any of these spirits might twist and lose sight of what they were, becoming demons. Joy might corrupt into desire. Wisdom into pride. Loyalty into doubt or blind servitude. Purpose into sloth. And Faith into despair or zealotry.

"Walk with me?" Solas asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Rosa nodded mutely and turned with him, walking along the edge of the beautiful courtyard. It was easy right now to forget, even though it was only momentary, about the weight of the betrayal and pain still laying between her and Solas. It was easy to forget that, in a time so long ago it might as well be a different life, Solas was the Dread Wolf. More difficult was the loss…the _murder_ of her father and the impending, looming doom of Thedas.

But right now, with this new and vitally important decision before her, Rosa could forget.

"The binding ritual is very simple," Solas murmured after about a minute of walking in silence. "The spirit will join with you, much as Rogathe did previously. I have prepared an amulet for the binding and I will show you and Tal how to construct the spell and activate it."

He'd let them do most of the work with only minor guidance. If he'd arrived with an amulet already fully spelled and active Rosa and Tal might be suspicious it was a trap somehow. Rosa withheld a sigh at how easily she could deconstruct his behavior now and cast it as stemming from their strange, ambiguous relationship as estranged allies and lovers.

"Which one would you choose?" Rosa asked, deadpan.

"I cannot answer that for you," he said. "It is not my decision to make."

"You would pick Wisdom," Rosa guessed.

"It is not my decision to make," Solas repeated, harder now. He shot her a hard look sidelong. "If you wish my advice, ask it. Do not ask me to choose for you."

"I'm not asking you to pick for me," Rosa muttered, frowning. "That was me asking for your advice. So spill, _please._" She couldn't quite keep the edge out of her voice at the last bit.

Solas was silent another long moment, his jaw muscles flexing. He stared at the line of columns ahead of them as they approached the corner. Pale Fade ether lingered in clouds just beyond the brightly lit courtyard. Rosa watched the mists rather than Solas and tried to keep her mind empty, her heart numb.

"You must choose the spirit that best matches who you are at the core. I chose these spirits as candidates for that reason and I did not bring any spirits of valor or courage or bravery using that same logic. While you and Rogathe were a harmonious union, I do not believe the blend is a safe one long term." His voice softened. "Rogathe made you reckless and I would prefer not to see you die in some foolhardy hopeless battle."

"I agree," Rosa murmured. She went over the spirits again, trying to view them through Solas' eyes and understand them as aspects of herself. Wisdom. Faith. Loyalty. Joy. Purpose. She'd always defined her core aspect as bravery. When she felt fear she pushed through it, remembering Rogathe. As a child she'd been ready to fight a bear to protect a little fennec fox her mother adopted as a pet. And later, as a teen, she leapt into a raging river to save a child swept away in its current. Those small acts of heroism were what drew Rogathe to her. But in both instances she could also see devotion—Loyalty—driving her. Selfless love of her clan, of the fennec fox, propelled her to fight, fearless.

It was that same devotion that made her accept it when her mother banished her from her birth clan. And then that loyalty to family drove her to walk across Thedas to join her little brother, Tal, and save him from his life of persecution within clan Ghilath. It was what made her dare to keep Da'Assan, despite the risk and conflict of carrying and bearing a bastard child.

And she broke that devotion when she scorned Felassan, out of fear of the constant disappointment and pain of him failing her. Abandoning her. It was one of her greatest regrets.

"It is a difficult decision," Solas said, contemplative. "And although it must be made soon, it does not need to be made this instant."

"Loyalty," Rosa said.

Solas turned and looked at her, clearly taken aback at how quickly she made up her mind. "Loyalty?"

She nodded, confident, and then deliberately looked away from him. "I think most of my life devotion to family has shaped me and what I've done. That was why I chose Dirthamen's vallaslin—not that he was my grandfather, though that was part of it. But he stands for devotion to family."

"The Dalish truly do have a penchant for romanticizing monsters," Solas muttered and there was no mistaking his bitterness. "Dirthamen was _far_ from devoted to his kin. He was instrumental in his own mother's _murder_ and—"

"I don't want to hear it," Rosa interrupted him, growling. She glared at him. "I don't care about the truth." She sucked in a deep breath. "I've made my decision. Unless you have a _valid_ reason for disagreeing with it—"

"I do not disagree with your choice," Solas told her sharply. Although his blue eyes were dark and irritation still flashed across his face, it eased quickly. "But I am concerned your selection may have been swayed by this spirit's personal connection to you and your family. You may find Joy a better option for your long-term happiness. And Wisdom will undoubtedly have great knowledge to share that may benefit—"

"I don't expect anything long term," Rosa said, her tone grave. "I have a Darkspawn Magister coming to kill me if he can. And if I succeed against him I'll still have _you_ trying to destroy the world and kill yourself in the process."

He bristled. "We are not here to—"

"I'm not trying to challenge you," Rosa interjected quickly, seeing his ire rise. "I'm not going to try to stop you. I just want _time._ To think. To come to grips with all this. To just…_understand._" She lifted both brows. "Can you at least consider giving me that?"

His eyes had narrowed, searching over her with a suspicious bent. Of course the king of tricksters would suspect a trap. Yet what he said was, "And how long would you propose?"

Rosa shook her head. "If I could name a timeframe I would, but how can I? You're asking me to set an execution date for _Thedas._ And for you." She paused as her words impacted him and she saw something else aside from suspicion and wariness—a spark of hope. He was far too socially savvy to miss the whiff of emotion she let out, the hint of reconnection in that she didn't want him to die.

The possibility of forgiveness.

She didn't dare let that linger too long. Just enough that he would notice, but not enough that she risked breaking out of the icy numbness shielding her from the pain of his betrayal, and the awful fact she still loved him despite it.

"Make me understand _why_ you have to do it," Rosa said. "Explain to me exactly what will happen when you tear the Veil down."

Grief cut into his features now. "I have promised to protect you and your brother. Felassan did not wish either of you involved in my plans." But underlying the pain, Rosa saw the glimmer of interest again—the temptation. She knew he'd been grooming her and Tal at one time, hoping to gradually turn them into valuable agents and assets for his plans. This _must_ be tickling those same interests now. She only needed to apply the right pressure and he would cave.

"We are already involved," Rosa reminded him somberly. "I want to know what's coming so I can protect my friends, Tal and his family—if that's even possible…" She was fishing now, openly, for details. What did Solas know about how his plans would affect the world? How _thoroughly_ would he destroy this world? Did he even know?

"Another time, perhaps," Solas said. The dismissal was firm, but his blue eyes were miserable. "We should focus first on returning you to health." He inclined his head, indicating the line of waiting spirits some distance back behind them. They'd stopped at the corner of the dreamscape courtyard. "I would advise you speak with Loyalty. The spirit must evaluate you and you, in turn, must determine how joining with it will affect you. There will inevitably be unforeseen consequences. Loyalty is younger than I'd like, which will make joining with it a greater risk, but I believe it can be done if managed correctly."

Clenching her jaw, Rosa turned to walk back to the spirits. "Then let's do this."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Breathing hard, she grimaced. "I…I can't think. Loyalty is warping my judgment…"

Solas nodded. "I feared as much, but I expect you knew when you chose to bind with it that this complication would arise."

* * *

A/N: I am coming to the endgame now! Two more chapters and then things are going to EXPLODE! :D


	71. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa binds with Loyalty, but with some rather hefty and unexpected consequences. A confrontation with Solas also reveals a threat much closer to home that Rosa has been trying to deny for a long time.

The more Rosa interacted with the spirit Solas named Loyalty, the more she realized that was not the most accurate name for it. This spirit almost certainly began as one of Faith, but as it aged and continued watching physical beings through the Veil, it narrowed its focus from faith into _fidelity._ It was most invested in the bonds between family and small groups of people—like Dalish clans.

And its personal connection to Rosa and her birth clan made it hard for her to dismiss it in favor of one of the other spirits, though Rosa could certainly imagine negatives to binding with Loyalty. What would she do when she found her loyalties conflicted? What of when the Inquisition found itself facing Solas? The conflict of interest might tear Loyalty asunder and twist it into a demon.

But Loyalty seemed unafraid of that prospect. It clearly read Rosa's thoughts about it and reacted as though she'd spoken them aloud. "When families divide only one thing can be done," it said, its voice sad. "The other must be forgotten to cleave to a new family."

_That's not how physical beings work,_ she thought, frowning.

"When those around you break fidelity and do harm," the spirit said, "they are not cast out of the heart at once. It is only through repeated wounds that loyalties change."

Now Rosa wondered if Loyalty actually would have prevented her from scorning her father after all. Perhaps it would have judged him as undeserving of her devotion much earlier than she actually had. But it did seem clear that Loyalty was capable of accepting that others would break devotion and conflicts would occur. It could cope with that challenge.

She wasn't certain how long she spent talking to the spirit, but eventually Tal came to her side, a worried expression on his face. "We should get back. It must be nearly nightfall by now. Someone's bound to have noticed your absence."

Rosa nodded, murmuring her thanks as Tal walked back to keep Cole company. Now she looked to Solas, who had not strayed from her side, just beyond arm's length. "It's time."

Solas reached into a small pouch at his side and pulled out a shiny black raven feather mounted on a leather band. He extended it out to her and now, with a jolt, Rosa realized he truly was here in the flesh. She took the talisman, admiring it for a moment and then clutched it in her palm. "Thank you."

He nodded to her. "I will speak with Tal and ensure he knows how to activate it for the binding." Looking to the spirit now, Solas smiled bittersweet. "You are still willing to aid us in this, _falon?"_

"I am," Loyalty replied. "I will take the weight of the Blight taint and serve her well."

"The cost to yourself may be dire," Solas cautioned and then turned his gaze to Rosa as well. "To both of you."

"The cost for the Inquisitor is far worse without my help," Loyalty said, stern. "Because I did not follow her as she walked across Thedas, in fidelity to her brother, this is the least I can do now."

The spirit was most definitely correct the cost Rosa would face if she refused any spirit's help. Rosa tried to sit on her trepidation with Loyalty's confidence. This would be a harmonious union, matching a part of herself she had always valued. It would also save her life. Warm gratitude spread through her as she regarded Loyalty again. It was as if the spirit was already within her, shaping and guiding her.

Solas nodded again. "Very well." He turned to Rosa and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I will await you in the dreaming."

She glanced at his hand on her shoulder, perturbed at this small and intimate gesture. Solas pulled back as if her clothing had burned him. "Apologies," he muttered, the muscles in his temples moving as his jaw clenched. He quickly strode away, heading to speak with Tal.

Rosa gradually turned back to Loyalty. The other spirits had dispersed into the nighttime meadow Solas shaped beyond the brightly lit courtyard. They did not begrudge her choice, but they did not linger where they weren't needed. It was just her and Loyalty now.

Her hand was sweaty around the base of the raven feather, where a bit of glass beads joined it to the leather band. She drew in a breath. "I'm ready, Loyalty. Join with me, please." She tried to relax herself, to open to the spirit so it could enter without resistance or fear to taint it.

The brilliant white of the spirit dimmed slightly, letting Rosa see that it wore the face of an elven woman she didn't know but seemed oddly familiar. It moved closer, as though to embrace her. Rosa spread her arms to meet it. Her hands tingled and felt warm as they passed through the spirit. The brightness swelled as the spirit drew closer until Rosa shut her eyes to shield them.

Then Loyalty merged with her.

A wave of dizziness filled her. Rosa swayed in place, stumbling to the nearest pale stone pillar of the Elvhen courtyard. She felt Loyalty moving within her, warm and bright, caressing her. Memories flitted through her mind—half-caught glimpses of her life and what Loyalty had seen while watching through the Veil. The spirit showed her a memory image of her mother, Halesta, sobbing into her hands in the privacy of her aravel after she banished Rosa for possession. She saw other members of her birth clan grieving her absence in their own way. Sometimes with tears, sometimes with a whispered prayer pleading for Mythal's protection over their banished First as she crossed Thedas alone.

And she felt the spirit absorbing her experiences in turn. Her choice to cleave to her brother when she was clan-less, and her desperation to stay with him while they were trapped in the Hasmal Circle together. The bittersweet pain of accepting, embracing, and then losing the child she conceived, Da'assan. The sacrifice she made when Imshael captured both siblings, giving her blood to the demon to save Tal. And it felt over the tightrope she walked now as she struggled to balance between Solas, the Inquisition, and her family heritage with all its heavy secrets.

The aching despair of the inevitable choice cut at her heart as Loyalty saw it with the clear simplicity of a spirit. These three groups she loved would come into conflict. Eventually one of them would break faith with her, or she to them in service to another she loved. But perhaps, if she tread very carefully, she might walk the tightrope to the far side with all three loyalties intact…

Breathing deeply, she came out of the melding to see Tal and Cole in front of her, their expressions worried. _"Asamalin?"_ Tal asked.

With shaking arms, Rosa lurched for her brother, embracing him. Tal wrapped his arms around her, patting her back. "Are you okay?"

She pulled back from him, smiling as she squeezed his shoulder with her empty hand. "I'm fine, I think." She opened her palm to reveal the raven pendant. "Will you help me bind Loyalty?"

Tal's smile was warm and lopsided. "You got it." He took the raven feather on its leather band from her and drew out his small utility knife to begin work on it right that instant.

"You're so bright," Cole murmured in awe. "White and shining."

"But has it worked on the red lyrium?" Rosa asked, more of herself than anyone else.

From across the courtyard space, though he should have been out of earshot, Solas answered, "We cannot ascertain that until you encounter red lyrium once more." He smiled slightly. "Or, alternatively, when you sleep and are able to access the Fade."

She nodded to him in acknowledgment. "If it works then I will see you in the Fade tonight." Just the thought that she might dream again, or simply _sleep_, suffused her with joy.

After a few murmured words, Tal gripped the pendant with a bloodied hand. A disturbing red glow emanated from his palm for a few seconds and then dissipated. He held it aloft with his unwounded hand, smirking. "All done…once the blood dries."

Rosa took it from him by the band. Her fingers tingled with the magic of the binding. "Thank you." Hopefully she wouldn't have to stay melded with Loyalty for long, but she at least had a _lot_ of experience with sharing her body with a spirit.

They returned to the eluvian, passing Solas where he stood stoic, watching them. Rosa felt Loyalty twist inside her, pressing on her, trying to nudge her into speaking with him more. The spirit wanted to mend the connection. It wanted to save him.

The spirit had read him before joining with her, empathizing with him as much as it did Rosa. That would likely change over time as the spirit acclimatized and took on Rosa's loyalties and emotions, but at present it appreciated them both. It shared her the glimpse it had of Solas' spirit—lonely, tormented, ashamed, and longing for redemption. With her. With the People. With the Fade and the spirits within it.

He had chosen to recreate the meadow beyond this courtyard for the purpose of reminding her of what they shared—to tell her that if he could change how their story played out, he would. That he regretted losing her, regretted his choices. Tal was right. He still loved her.

And she loved him.

_Forgive him,_ Loyalty pressed her.

_I can't,_ she cried inside, where only Loyalty could hear her. _Not yet. _She let the spirit feel her pain, her aggrieved rage at the murder of her father and then the way Solas lied for so long.

Pushing the spirit down, Rosa walked through the eluvian.

* * *

That night Rosa fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. And she dreamed.

And, as promised, she found Solas there waiting for her in a dreamscape version of Skyhold at night. The castle was quiet except for the whistle of the ever-cold wind off the mountain glacier and its river. Half-formed guards went about their nighttime rotations. Warm orange lights glowed from the tavern and, distantly, Rosa heard a drinking song.

Solas stood at the base of the stairs leading up to the main hall of the keep and smiled slightly when he saw her. "Welcome, Inquisitor. I am pleased to see Loyalty has restored you so quickly."

The spirit was awake and alert within her, even now. It observed Solas impassively for the present, but Rosa could feel it itching to speak up. She might not be ready to forgive him, but she _did_ need to talk to him.

Drawing in a breath of the chilly mountain air, so realistically and faithfully recreated by the Fade, Rosa started walking closer to him. "It's good to be back," she murmured, struggling to keep more emotion from entering her voice. Because it truly _was_ a huge relief. If she could dream again Loyalty must have contained the Blight taint. She could be herself again…well, mostly. Loyalty would inevitably affect her personality, just as Rogathe had.

She tried to think about that rather than _feel_ anything else.

"Maybe you can tell me now about your plans," Rosa said, forcing herself to smile at him, though she knew it was a tight expression that would look more like a grimace.

Solas looked away, crestfallen. "I have given your proposal some consideration."

That surprised Rosa, making her halt in place, well out of arm's reach of him. "And?"

Now he turned his sad blue eyes to her. "I do not believe it feasible to wait."

Now anger lashed Rosa. Her hands curled into fists. "And why not? You aren't going to die of old age any time soon, Solas. You can wait _years_ before—"

"It is not myself I believe to be the limiting factor," Solas told her sharply. His stare on her was hard and grim, making his meaning clear.

Rosa scowled. "What are you saying?" Her heart pounded in her ears and Loyalty squirmed, immensely uncomfortable at the discordance between them. "I'm not dying of red lyrium anymore. You said it yourself a moment ago. Is it the Anchor?"

Solas' jaw clenched, flaring a muscle in his temple. "One day, yes, but that is not my present concern." His voice dropped until it was barely above a whisper. "I do not trust the Inquisition."

"You mean you don't trust _me,"_ Rosa growled in challenge. "Do you really think I'm going get your damned orb and try to keep it from you?"

Solas frowned. "That possibility has crossed my mind, but no. That is not the eventuality I fear." His lips thinned as he pressed them together tightly. "I took the liberty of exploring your advisors' dreams after I learned of the increase in guards around the Skyhold eluvian. Guards you did not command to patrol the area."

Flinching at the reminder, Rosa looked away. She swallowed, her throat thick. She'd guessed Morrigan sold her out to Leliana, but there was nothing she could do about it until her spymaster returned. Then she could set the record straight. She could…she _would_ tell Leliana as much of the truth as she could. She didn't have any other choice at this point.

But…telling Leliana about her heritage would be much like when she aimed the trebuchets at the mountains around Haven. In trying to save herself and do right by Leliana, it was likely she'd trigger an avalanche. Would Leliana understand her secrecy? Or would the spymaster see a grand deception that had played her for a fool?

Loyalty wormed inside her, adamant that it did not matter. She _owed_ Leliana the truth. To do anything else would be to break faith with her spymaster and the Inquisition. The lie of omission had gone on far too long. She was no better than Solas in that regard.

Without meeting his gaze as she continued struggling internally, Rosa asked, "What did you find?"

"Leliana has begun investigating you and your brother," Solas told her in a solemn tone. "She knows you have a connection to Mythal. She knows you have displayed unusual and uncharacteristic behavior in recent weeks." His eyes narrowed critically. "I suspect you know all this, but it would seem your spymaster also knows of my connection to the orb Corypheus carries."

A lance of dull shame and horror cut through Rosa. She couldn't hide the wince in reaction to his comment. "I had to tell her _something_ when you disappeared," she muttered. "She already suspected it. If I lied to her—"

"You would risk your position," Solas interrupted her, calm and even, though his eyes remained hard. "And you would risk losing her loyalty. I understand." He was silent a beat and then sniffed, straightening with tension. "It is not _my_ reaction you should fear…"

Now she did lift her eyes to look at him, realizing he wasn't angry about what he _could_ have seen as a betrayal. While relief made her shoulders relax, Rosa's mind spun in a different direction as she read Solas' unrelenting grimness. With the things she'd told Leliana, and with what her spymaster now knew from Morrigan—along with the unfortunate timing of her possession by the Formless One and the resulting abrupt personality changes…

With how preoccupied she was with Corypheus bearing down on her, the Formless One's possession, the red lyrium poisoning, and juggling the whole Solas problem, she hadn't taken time to consider what this must look like to Leliana. To her friends. She remembered Varric's ribbing about her giving him "whiplash" and Dorian's apprehensive side-eye. Were they worried? Suspicious? Both? On top of Morrigan's report, Leliana might have another handful of others from her inner circle sending ravens with anxious messages about her mental wellbeing.

…Or questioning her motivations.

…Or her sanity.

She laid a hand over her stomach, suddenly feeling ill. Shutting her eyes, she swallowed bile and forced herself to speak. "How bad is it?"

"That I cannot be certain of," Solas said. "With time I will learn more from Leliana's dreams, but were I in your position I would lay contingency plans. The Inquisition may soon become a prison much as the Hasmal tower was."

Loyalty railed against this idea. Solas was wrong. Leliana and the Inquisition wouldn't turn on her like that. They wouldn't break faith. She would have a chance to redeem herself, to prove she was of sound mind and on their side.

Yet the suspicious, paranoid survivor inside Rosa, the woman long since scarred when she was banished by her birth clan, pushed back against Loyalty's faith. Solas was right. She had to assume the worst and prepare for it. And when she did talk to Leliana, when she confessed the truth…

She shook her head, dizzy and nauseous with Loyalty still pushing for an unequivocal movement of trust. Stamping down on the spirit, she asked, "Do you think Leliana can be trusted with the truth of who I am?"

Solas stared at her, deadpan. "I would advise against it. She is a remarkable woman, of great intelligence, but she does not handle crises of faith particularly well." He thrust out his chin. "What will she believe when she has confirmed you are the granddaughter and great-granddaughter of mages once heralded as gods? What will she feel when she learns she has been deceived by Elvhen magic and that her Maker was never involved? How will she react when she realizes she has elevated and served a woman who represents heathen gods?"

Rosa bared her teeth, shaking her head. "I never claimed to be divine!"

"But you did," Solas reminded her in a maddeningly calm, stolid voice. "When the Formeless One possessed you in the Arbor Wilds."

"That wasn't me," Rosa snarled.

Solas arched a brow. "Do you intend to reveal that to her? That you were possessed by an ancient and powerful demon that hunts you because of your connection to the Elvhen pantheon?" His brow furrowed as he shook his head. "You cannot be foolish enough to believe admitting this will instill her with confidence in you as her leader."

Loyalty still protested this. It was sure Leliana would understand. She would see Rosa was back to normal. She couldn't begrudge Rosa for the accident of birth and blood that had made her into demon bait all her life. Rosa just needed to explain everything and it would all be okay…

Breathing hard, she grimaced. "I…I can't think. Loyalty is warping my judgment…"

Solas nodded. "I feared as much, but I expect you knew when you chose to bind with it that this complication would arise."

Puffing out a frustrated breath, Rosa asked, "How does this mean _you_ can't afford to wait to tear down the Veil?"

He frowned at her, but his eyes were soft and somber. "I have promised I will protect you and Tal as best I can. If Leliana and the Inquisition turn on you, I may no longer have access to the orb or you and the Anchor. Therefore, I will not be in a position to fulfill my promise or complete my goals."

While part of her was reassured to hear him mention his promise to Felassan to protect her and Tal, the rest of her bristled with wariness. He had a wealth of spies in the Inquisition and a lot of hidden personal power. Even if Rosa and Tal did find themselves imprisoned by the Inquisition, a prospect Rosa considered unlikely, Solas had plenty of means to break them out.

And as for the orb…

She scoffed. "You and I both know you will find a way to be there whenever Corypheus attacks. You aren't going to let me touch that orb." She edged closer to him. "What's the real reason? What harm is there in waiting?"

Now Solas scowled and—for an instant—Rosa glimpsed something else through the Fade that didn't jive with the conversation at hand. _Exhilaration. Hope. Fear. _The realization struck her like a stiff wind. Solas was manipulating her.

Before she could wonder what his goal was, the trickster revealed it.

"There is no harm in waiting—if you, Tal, and his family leave the Inquisition. Quickly. Before Corypheus makes his final stand and before Leliana can take action against you." He spoke earnestly, leaning toward her, though they were still well out of arm's reach of each other. His blue eyes were dark and pleading. "We can waylay Corypheus before he reaches Skyhold, take the orb, and—"

Loyalty recoiled inside her and Rosa followed suit, lifting a palm as if to ward Solas off. "Nugshit. You just want me with you to control the Anchor and…" Her throat spasmed, closing before she could force out anymore. Loyalty disapproved and disagreed. Solas would certainly want to keep the Anchor close, but his motivation was not all coldhearted strategy. He wanted to honor his promise. He wanted to keep her safe. He _wanted_ to wait. He wanted…

"You want to recruit us," she blurted, breathing too fast. "You've _always_ wanted that." She tried to dredge up her truthsaying talent, but knew it would be fickle and unreliable with how scattered her emotions were.

Solas snapped his mouth shut and frowned, but again his eyes were soft. "I cannot deny that, but considering how deeply I have wronged you—"

"Yes," she snapped. "You did wrong me. And Tal. And little Felanaste, who will never know his grandfather. Thanks to _you."_

A mixture of grief and shame and irritation twisted Solas' features. "You are correct." He drew in a deep breath, eyes narrowing. "But, thanks to me, you will all be restored. Immortal. Eternal. _Whole._" He turned his head, looking away as his eyes darkened. "I walk the _din'anshiral_ willingly. It is what I deserve for my many crimes against the People. Against you." He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "I ask only that you give me peace of mind in knowing that I have indeed safeguarded you, Tal, and his family."

Loyalty flushed warm inside her. It believed him, wholeheartedly. Not every trick was done in cruelty. Not every lie was bad. Some were to reassure. To save. To soothe. Solas had accepted wrongdoing and was trying to make it right.

But Rosa frowned, focusing in on the manipulation, unable to leave it. "If you wanted to offer us protection then you should have just said that. There was no reason to spin a story about Leliana and—"

He jerked his head toward her, letting out a short, startled laugh that sounded more like a choke. "I did not _spin a story_ for you," he said quickly, his voice sharp and clipped. "Loyalty has clouded your judgment. Everything I've told you about Leliana is true. You know this, but choose not to see it. It may have begun as distraction, but now it has become denial."

"Don't insult me," Rosa snapped, but her face was hot with dismay and humiliation as she realized he was right. Loyalty _was_ clouding her thoughts. Rogathe was always fairly mum within her. It only reacted when fear gripped her, or she repeatedly avoided something out of apprehension. But Loyalty was awake whenever she interacted with another person, watching and observing.

As the silence drew on, Rosa eventually let out a long exhalation and blurted, "You're right. I haven't gotten used to Loyalty yet and it hasn't gotten used to me." She shut her eyes tightly and then rubbed at them, gritting her teeth. "I…I can't talk about this now."

Dropping her arms to her sides, she forced herself to look up at him and meet his stare. "Please, tell me what you know about your plans. Tell me how it will impact the world." She blinked back the stinging in her eyes as Loyalty plucked the string of her heart, reminding her that Solas' plans would endanger _everyone_ she loved. "Convince me it's what _must_ be done."

Solas said nothing for a long moment, but then, slow and deliberate, he nodded. "Very well."

And so, for the remainder of the night, he told her. And Rosa listened with varying levels of dull horror until a dark foreboding and dread pressed on her chest so much it hurt. Loyalty squirmed, writhing with her, and together they tried to puzzle out how much of what Solas told was utter, unflinching truth, and how much was educated guesswork.

Regardless, it came down to a terrible choice between loyalties. Between people. Between a world long since destroyed and the current one poised on a knife's edge.

After Solas and Corypheus, that world-ending knife was in Rosa's hands. And whatever she chose, she would betray someone.

* * *

The next morning, awake and refreshed after her first proper night's sleep in what felt like forever, Rosa should have been calm and clearheaded. Instead she woke, dressed, and rushed from her tower to the library as fast as she could. Solas' explanations and theories swirled in her head like dust caught in a harsh wind. She couldn't sit still until she at least _tried_ to pin them down as fact, fiction, and conjecture—because she was certain Solas fed her all three things.

_The Evanuris power the Veil from inside the Black City,_ Solas told her._ They sleep, dreamless, trapped in the agony of mana-burnout for eternity. Immortal within the Fade, as all elves, they are irrevocably linked with the Veil. Destroying the Veil will free them. Alternatively, killing them will destroy the Veil. _

Rosa tore through a copy of the Chant first, looking for descriptions of the Black City before it was tarnished. She knew by word of mouth what her father told her as a child when they shared dreams as he mentored her. The Black City was once the realm of the Creators. But beyond that she knew little of its architecture. Countless sleepers and Dreamers tried to reach it, but only the Magisters had, according to the Chant.

Now Solas planned to do the same, though he offered her no explanation how he'd get inside. And no idea how he planned to avoid the Blight inside it—assuming that was where and how the Magisters truly were exposed to it.

What she did know, however, was that Solas needed the Anchor to cut a hole through the Veil, to walk physically in the Fade again with the foci in his possession. Only then might he have the power and control he needed to kill all seven sleeping Evanuris. But after the first few died, the Veil would weaken and then fail, freeing the remaining Evanuris. Then the odds changed. Solas might not kill them all before they recovered their wits and mana enough to attack him in turn.

But, alternatively, the entire lot of the Evanuris might be as weak as Solas was when he awoke from uthenera. Solas suspected that his brush with the Evanuris-draining Veil, just after he erected it, was what left him virtually Tranquil in the Hasmal Circle. Yet there was no way to know for certain.

But, ideally, Solas would survive and kill all seven Evanuris. Then, with the Veil gone at last, he would be able to reshape reality out of the chaos that followed. Humans would likely be driven mad by the sudden appearance of demons and spirits in their midst. Elves would become mages. Every. Last. One. Solas assumed the dwarves would be unaffected and he could not predict how the Qunari would react.

It was restoring the world through reshaping it in one huge action that Solas believed would kill him—or at least send him into a prolonged uthenera. Exactly how it would kill him, Rosa didn't know and Solas didn't reveal.

Rosa's eyes caught on a strange prophetic verse as she flipped through the pages. _The air itself rent asunder, spilling light unearthly from the waters of the Fade, opening as an eye to look upon the Realm of Opposition in dire judgment_.

That…that sounded like a description of the breach. Or was she just reading into it?

_And in that baleful eye I saw the Lady of Sorrow, armored in Light, holding in her left hand the scepter of Redemption._ She stared down at the verse, frowning. The Anchor in her left hand burned as it always did when she thought about it.

No wonder the humans had wanted so desperately for her to be divine. None of them mistook her for Andraste outright, of course, but…_in her left hand the scepter of redemption. _The Anchor wasn't exactly a scepter to deliver forgiveness of sins, but it _did_ offer redemption. It let her heal the rifts in the Veil. And it was Solas' key to personal redemption. The Anchor even redeemed Rosa, saving her from suspicion when she was the sole survivor of the Conclave.

Skimming above these lines, Rosa saw this verse was supposedly a vision. A prophecy. What if this man actually recorded a dream that prophesied the future? True, Rosa had no intention of claiming to be Andraste, nor of walking up to the gates of Minrathous hand in hand with the _shemlen_ Maker, but prophesies could be fluid and open to interpretation.

That thought jogged her memory to a distant day, long ago when she was a child attending her first Arlathvhen. An old woman, who claimed to have the gift of foresight, gave Rosa a prophecy of her own that now, she realized, could be interpreted at least three different ways.

_You will leave the People to save them and travel far and wide across Thedas. You will stand tall against a monster that seeks to destroy our world and you will give your heart to one you can never keep. _She always took the first part to refer to when she was banished from her birth clan, but now she realized it was a better match for joining the Inquisition. And the part about the monster she first believed meant one of the powerful demons that hunted her because of her heritage. But now, obviously, it meant Corypheus.

Or Solas.

And as for the last part, she'd assumed it meant her first lover, who was killed in a bandit attack on her clan. Now, of course, she thought of Solas again.

_The future is what we make it,_ Loyalty insisted. _We choose fealty. We choose love. Prophecies are only words to salve the wound left when another hurts us. But it is a lie that there is no choice. _

The tension left her at the spirit's soft reminder.

She thought of the Anchor again. The "scepter of redemption in her left hand." What if the Anchor was also redemption for modern Thedas? Or was it Elvhenan?

Could it be _both? _

Suddenly she registered the gentle scuff of feet and looked up in time to see Dorian marching up the stairs from the rotunda. He broke out into a smile as he saw her. "Ah, there you are! Do you know, I've walked all over this blasted, drafty castle this morning looking for you, Inquisitor?"

Rosa shut the Chant and cocked her head slightly. "How can I help you, Dorian?"

Dorian stopped just at the top of the stairs and leaned his hip against the railing there. He let out a short titter of a laugh. "Are you _really_ going with that question, love?" At her frown Dorian shook his head and let out a sigh. "I know you aren't truly after the concentrated lyrium you asked me to make for some quaint baby blessing ceremony, so I'm sure we can dispense with that. But at the very least you can at least _pretend_ to be eager to receive it, yes?"

Rosa scowled and unconsciously gripped the Chant in her lap in a hard, sweaty grip. She wanted to react with offense, to be outraged that he thought she was lying, but Loyalty jerked inside her, repulsed. Fighting the spirit made her dizzy and only earned her a buzz of protest Loyalty reminded her this man had kept her secret as a Dreamer for over a year now, since Adamant. She trusted him with the request for concentrated lyrium. Why not tell him the truth?

_You need the practice,_ the spirit encouraged her. _Open to him. _

Flushing hot, Rosa let out a long puffing breath and dropped her eyes to the floor. "I'm…sorry, Dorian. I haven't really been myself the last few weeks."

The other mage strode closer to her, swift but controlled and quiet. He stood with his back to the railing and stooped slightly, squinting at her lap. "Is that…the Chant of Light?"

Rosa flinched, quickly moving the book off her lap and dropping it with a clatter to the floor beside the overstuffed chair. "I was…checking something."

Dorian made another tittering laugh. "You don't expect me to believe that old clucking hen Mother Giselle has converted you?" His look was both amused and incredulous.

"No," Rosa said. "Not at all. Like I said, I was checking for something."

Dorian was silent for a few moments, avoiding her eye and shifting in his spot leaning on the railing. Finally he grabbed at a flask on his belt, unlatching it from a protective pouch. As soon as the flask was out of the leather casing, Rosa drew a sharp breath inward. It was a thick, congealed mass of lyrium, blue and shining.

"So you did manage to make it," she commented after a second.

"Yes," Dorian said, frowning mildly. "You needn't sound so surprised."

"Well," Rosa said, stiff with the awkwardness of lying. "I…didn't want to tell you this, but the clan performed the ritual without it and—"

Dorian snorted, interrupting her. "Come now, Inquisitor. You and I both know this busywork you assigned me wasn't for Tal's clan. I was for you, though I cannot _fathom_ why."

The pressure of Loyalty inside her, pressing on her ribs and squishing her lungs, made Rosa swallow and grimace. She wanted to deny it, to keep lying to protect herself. But Loyalty looked out at Dorian and saw a man trying to connect with her. A friend trying to help her and being stymied, frustrated when he sensed she was in dire need but refused to trust him.

_You need the practice,_ Loyalty pushed her. _For when you must face Leliana to reconnect with her. _

Drawing in a deep breath, Rosa rose from the chair and moved closer to Dorian. She tried to keep her discomfort from showing, but she knew she wore a pinched expression as if in pain. The secret of her heritage and her possession by _two_ spirits and then a _demon_ were some of her most precious secrets. She hadn't trusted Solas with them, even when they became lovers in Hasmal. It was always in pieces, with numerous lies to break it up and hide important details.

But Loyalty was right. Dorian had been a trustworthy companion. He was also thoroughly capable of thinking outside the confines of human religion. He accepted shattering revelations about his people when they reared their ugly heads—Corypheus' nature as a Darkspawn was stark evidence of that.

It was time to tell the truth and see if she could gain him as an ally, in case Leliana reacted badly.

Clenching her jaw, she nodded once. "You're right." She dropped her eyes to the floor, seeing the handful of other mages nearby, all of them absorbed by their work. She needed to get Dorian somewhere else, where they could speak in true privacy.

"Of course I am," Dorian said with his usual playful smugness. But then his brown eyes softened. "So, perhaps you can tell me the real reason you had me go to all this trouble?" he asked as he lifted the flask of concentrated lyrium again.

She met his gaze and nodded. "Yes…but not here." She motioned at the flask, as if pushing it away. "You can put that back. I'm…I'm sorry I asked you to make it." She chuckled tightly. "Especially because it turned out I don't need it after all."

Dorian slipped the flask back into the protected leather pouch at his waist. "All right. I sense a story here." He smiled, closed-lipped. "Lead the way, Inquisitor."

* * *

**Next chapter:**

"You haven't explained what happened in the temple," Dorian said. "I mean, clearly you mentioned how you are able to control red lyrium—though I'm still taking that in, thank you very much—but why suddenly call yourself divine?" He let out a short laugh. "I mean, it _is_ more palatable than what you just told me. But at this point, none of us believed it. You've always been downright hostile to the Chant, before."

This was possibly the hardest truth. The most incriminating, particularly to a fellow mage.

She turned away from him, staring out to the cold valley far below. "I was possessed."

Now Dorian flinched. _"Excuse me?"_

* * *


	72. The Price of Fidelity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Loyalty urging her to come clean, Rosa shares some hard truths with Dorian. But confessing to Leliana is much harder and with no small edge of danger. Can Rosa convince the spymaster she's still on her side? And how much has Lady Nightingale figured out?

Rosa led Dorian out onto the castle walls, to the ramparts overlooking the glacial river that flowed around and through Skyhold's bowels. The wind was cold and harsh, even now when it was summer elsewhere across Thedas. Dorian quickly wrapped his arms over himself and shuddered with cold.

"You couldn't have chosen a warmer spot to have our little talk?" he asked her.

Rosa snorted, smirking. "You pampered Tevinter princeling," she teased, trying for levity despite the frantic pounding of her heart. At Dorian's sour look she sobered and moved to lean her elbows on the stone parapet nearest her. "No, I don't think I can. I don't know if you've noticed, but I think Leliana has me and Tal under investigation."

Dorian walked over to join her, resting one elbow on the stone and turning toward her. It was a good position, going sideways against the harsh wind. The wind mussed with his short hair, tousling it. It even plucked at his mustache. If Rosa weren't so anxious she would have laughed at the sight of it waggling in the breeze.

"You only _just_ realized that?" Dorian asked her, his eyes dark. "My, my."

"I've been a bit distracted," she shot back, feeling her cheeks go hot despite the glacial wind.

"I guessed as much," Dorian said. His lips pinched into a hard, thin line. "It's Solas, isn't it?"

She shot him a look, immediately tense and wary. "Not really," she half-lied. She wasn't here to tell Dorian about Solas' identity. Just her own. But this was a good chance to pick Dorian's brain to see what her human friends thought of her strange behavior. "Is that what Leliana thinks?"

Dorian's arched brow clearly told her he didn't believe she was telling the truth. "I thought you brought me up here to tell me the truth, not to freeze my ears and nose off for a bit of fun." Before she could protest he added, "And yes, that is what Leliana believes. It's clear he has some undue influence on you." He let out a sigh. "I've argued it is merely some affair of the heart, but I'm sure Leliana fears far more nefarious possibilities."

"Like what?" Rosa asked, her mouth open with shock. She'd not considered that her companions thought it was _Solas_ somehow controlling or manipulating her into her recent strange behavior. But, in hindsight, it was obvious. She'd done everything she could _not_ to antagonize him, despite the "attack" from Zevanni. And even that encounter Leliana might see as a veiled sign of Rosa's loyalty to Solas. She'd executed Zevanni rather than allow Leliana to interrogate her. It was as if she was trying to _protect_ Solas' secrets…

But in reality, it was her own secrets that motivated her.

Dorian's smirk was hard and humorless. "Blood magic, namely. That _is_ the best method to control another person." Something like hate glittered in his eyes. "_Change_ them, as it were."

Rosa let out a breathless laugh, appalled. "Solas would _never_ do such a thing."

"That's what I told her," Dorian said, expression still sour. "It interferes with dreaming." Rosa tried and failed to smother her surprise at how knowledgeable he was regarding Dreamers. Dorian's smugness returned as he registered her reaction. "I'm from Tevinter, remember? My people were _obsessed_ with Somniari for a thousand years. Did you truly not realize that bald bastard and I would discuss this? At _length?_ I had many questions and our so-called Fade-expert was far more forthcoming about his fondness for dream-walking than _you._"

She recalled overhearing Solas and Dorian jabbering about the technicalities of magic many times as they slogged through the wilds. Or rode on the Imperial Highway for weeks at a time, bored out of their skulls. Of course Dorian would probe Solas to satisfy his curiosity and pass the time. Rosa had made it clear she didn't want Dorian to _ever_ mention it around her, but she recalled all too-well how fascinated and excited he was when he realized she was a "somniari" during their walk through the Fade at Adamant.

"I do find it bizarre that the Inquisition housed _two_ Somniari," Dorian went on. "And that you both happened to be elves. Is there a club, perhaps? A sort of matchmaking organization to breed more elven Somniari?"

She glared at him, lips pressed tight together as she realized chances were high that when she revealed the truth of her ancestry that Dorian would quickly realize there _was_ a club. It wasn't a matchmaking service, but a brand of recent Elvhen ancestry. And as soon as he made that connection he would know Solas was either a descendant of an Elvhen survivor as she was, or…

_I can't do this,_ she thought. _I will expose Solas. _

Loyalty twisted inside her, conflicted. It wanted to share the truth despite her fear. It wanted to ally with Dorian. Yet, it also knew this _could_ be a betrayal of Solas. It needed to choose between them and forget the conflict or risk warping its nature. In the end it chose Dorian because he was in front of her _right now._ It pushed the fear of breaking fidelity with Solas aside, comforting itself that Dorian _might_ not make the connection. Rosa went with the spirit's decision rather than fight it.

Sucking in a quavering breath, Rosa edged closer to him, speaking as quietly as she could in spite of the whipping wail of the wind. "You wanted to know why I needed the concentrated lyrium despite being a Dreamer," she reminded him and swallowed, trying to push down her heart in her throat. "I needed it because I couldn't dream anymore. I could barely sleep."

Dorian cocked his head, intrigued. He said nothing, waiting for her to go on.

"I was slowly dying of red lyrium poisoning," she explained and winced as he recoiled, alarm and self-preservation both making him tense. "That was why I could control it in the Arbor Wilds."

"_Vishante kaffas,"_ Dorian spat, eyes searching over her now with concern. "You don't look ill." Understanding dawned then. "You said you _were_ poisoned, not that you _are._"

She nodded. "I did. I found a trick to stop it."

"And…Andraste, how were you _controlling_ it?" His eyes were still wide as he stared at her, trying to puzzle it out.

Now Rosa clenched her hand into a fist on the parapet and tried to still the anxious shaking threatening to take over. Her mouth and throat were dry as the Western Approach. "I can control it because I'm…I'm not just a Dalish First. I'm not just Dalish."

Dorian frowned, shaking his head in confusion. "I'm afraid you're going to have to explain that, love. What _else_ can you be?"

She forced herself to stare him in the eye as she said, "I am half _Elvhen._ My father was a survivor of Arlathan." She swallowed again to wet her throat as Dorian's eyes bugged out. "He had a lot of names, but his birth name was Eolas, son of Dirthamen." Her voice cracked as she saw the shock mounting on Dorian's face. "Dirthamen could control one type of Blight and the ability passed on…to me."

Dorian withdrew from her a step, still shaking his head. "I'm…I'm a little fuzzy on the elven pantheon, but…is that…?"

"The Dalish call Dirthamen the god of secrets," she supplied. "But he wasn't a god. Just a very, _very_ powerful mage. A Dreamer."

"_Vishante kaffas,"_ Dorian cursed again. He stared at her, unblinking and suddenly white as Josephine's fanciest tablecloths.

"Please," Rosa said, wincing as she averted her gaze. "Don't freak out. I'm still me. This doesn't change anything. I was just scared to tell any of you, because—"

"Oh, I'm sure I understand why," Dorian interrupted her with a tight, breathy laugh. "That is…rather unbelievable."

"It's true," she replied, heatedly.

"I know," Dorian said, his lips twitching with a hint of amusement. "It's so insane that it _must_ be the truth. Or, at least, it's what you believe."

"It's true," Rosa said. "Not just something I believe. And I have more reasons to hide it than you know." She scowled and forced herself to go on. "Demons have hunted me my whole life. Not just the average demon interested in mages or Dreamers. I'm talking about the fucking _nastiest_ demons—the Forbidden Ones. Like the one in Suledin Keep, Imshael." She let out a sigh, shaking now despite her efforts to stop it. "They want me because of my heritage. Because of my ties to Dirthamen."

Dorian let out a laugh, though it was strained. "Well, I think we all knew you had secrets—but this is hardly what we expected. More along the lines of personal female tragedy and—"

"What?" Rosa interrupted him, barking. _Personal female tragedy?_ Her cheeks burned as the suspicion rose again that somehow Dorian knew about Da'Assan.

Dorian spluttered a second and soon his cheeks reddened, too. Finally he let out a breath and said, "I apologize, Inquisitor."

"For what?" she asked, pressing closer.

"For my rudeness in mentioning something so personal," Dorian said, slipping into a clipped, formal tone despite the obvious awkwardness he struggled with. He fidgeted, still blushing. Apparently unable to meet her gaze, Dorian stared off at the glacial river. "Tal mentioned something right when Solas left. He was quite intoxicated. I'm sure he has no memory of—"

"What did he mention?" Rosa pressed, her words as icy as the wind.

Dorian winced, still not looking at her. "Maker take my damnable wagging tongue. I'm sorry, I—"

"What did Tal mention?" Rosa repeated. Loyalty was cold with shock and then, alternatively, warm with affection at the sympathy it saw twisting Dorian's features. Sure, he had gained hidden knowledge about her through Tal's indiscretion—which was a betrayal of sorts, yet only an accident—but he was _sorry_ for it. He was sympathizing with her for her pain, her loss. And it had colored his view of her recent behavior. Instead of conspiracy or blood magic, Dorian saw love gone wrong. He saw heartache and loss, nothing nefarious.

Finally Dorian sighed and looked at her, his brown eyes dark with sadness. "That you and Solas lost a child." He winced. "And I'm _especially_ sorry I allowed that ill-gotten knowledge to color my impression of the last few weeks. I believed you were…weak, for lack of a better term, when it came to Solas because of this history. And _that_ was why you had behaved so bizarrely around him." He smiled grimly. "I have to admit, that didn't explain your sudden and brief embrace of Andraste, or the miraculous ability to cure red lyrium…"

The anger and humiliation faded as Rosa listened to him until she relaxed—as much as that was possible to do up on the parapets like this. "You weren't wrong," she murmured, frowning with pain. "Not really."

"Yes," Dorian said, clearing his throat with lingering awkwardness. "Well. Enough of that." He rested his arm over the parapet, partly bridging the gap of stone, as if he wanted to hold her hand. He didn't of course, but Loyalty read the action as a motion of trust. She had succeeded. She told him the truth and he believed her.

"You haven't explained what happened in the temple," Dorian said. "I mean, clearly you mentioned how you are able to control red lyrium—though I'm still taking that in, thank you very much—but why suddenly call yourself divine?" He let out a short laugh. "I mean, it _is_ more palatable than what you just told me. But at this point, none of us believed you. You've always been downright hostile to the Chant, before."

This was possibly the hardest truth. The most incriminating, particularly to a fellow mage.

She turned away from him, staring out to the cold valley far below. "I was possessed."

Now Dorian flinched. _"Excuse me?"_

Rosa shut her eyes, her head drooping. "One of the demons that's hunted me all my life finally caught me. It's a shape shifter. It came to me shaped like Tal. In the physical world."

"Someone summoned _another_ of the Forbidden Ones?" Dorian asked, his words strained with disbelief.

"I think it was Imshael," she muttered, staring down at her hands on the parapet. "He sent the demon to infiltrate the camp. I was weak from controlling the red lyrium. I couldn't dream, because it had poisoned me. So when 'Tal' came to me offering a pendant that he promised would help…I took it." She covered her face with her hands. "How was I supposed to know it was a demon?"

"By the tales I've heard," Dorian said, his voice deep now with something akin to suspicion. "The Herald of Andraste can identify demons masquerading here in the physical world. And, from what I've read of Somniari, you _feel_ the demons for what they are. They _literally _cause you _pain._" He snorted. "You cannot expect me to—"

"The red lyrium blocked me from the Fade," Rosa reminded him, turning to glare at him sharply. "Demons make me physically ill, yes. But I was already sick from the red lyrium." She frowned at him, challenging him. "Do you remember last year when we were in the Dales on our way to the Western Approach and those Freemen thugs attacked you and Tal? Do you remember that your hand was almost cut clean off? Or were you just senseless because you were too busy bleeding to death to notice that?"

Dorian blanched. Silence dragged out as the wind moaned forlornly. Finally Dorian dipped his chin to her. "I see your point, Inquisitor."

Letting out a shuddering breath of relief, though she wasn't certain it was warranted yet, she leaned more heavily on the parapet. "You asked why I did what I did in the Arbor Wilds. That was why. I wasn't myself. Literally."

"And you managed to _remove_ the demon…how exactly?" Dorian asked, sounding as though he scarcely believed the words passing over his lips.

"Solas came to help," she admitted. "It wasn't a complete possession. The demon was tied to a pendant. Tal recognized what happened with Cole's help. That was why they disappeared right before we marched on the temple."

Dorian said nothing again for a long time. Then he grunted. "That…" He screwed up his face. "That makes a frightening amount of sense. I remember that strange standoff in the temple. You passed something to Cole. That was the pendant?"

She nodded without looking at him. "Yeah. After we got back to Skyhold I sent the demon back to the Fade." She sighed. "But the demon warned me about the red lyrium poisoning. I didn't know until then that it would kill me eventually. Even Dirthamen had to bind spirits or demons to himself to keep it from killing him."

She sensed Dorian tensing beside her as he grasped her meaning immediately. "You're possessed _now,_ aren't you?"

She nodded sullenly. "A spirit this time. Loyalty."

Unexpectedly, Dorian edged closer to her and extended a hand, reaching tentatively to her neck. He fingered the new pendant there. "I noticed this was new," he murmured, almost casually, but Rosa heard a note of fascination rather than fear. She felt him brush the raven feather pendant, which carried the blood magic binding Tal cast on it when she first joined with Loyalty. "You've never been especially fond of jewelry that I've seen," Dorian said. "And I know a thing or two about binding spells and blood magic, sadly."

"It's to keep Loyalty from visibly revealing itself," Rosa said, shifting as she turned her head, moving the leather band away from Dorian's questing fingers. "Tal cast the binding with his blood. That's all."

"Yes," Dorian said, letting his hand fall back to his side. "No sense letting anyone start shouting _maleficar _at you_."_ His smile was grim. "Honestly, I'm surprised you've told me this. You could have stopped at the part where you're actually divine through the _elven_ pantheon." But the intelligence in his brown eyes was dark and too keen, so Rosa wasn't the least bit surprised as he added, "I expect there's even _more_ you've not told me, of course."

She shrugged, averting her eyes to gaze out at the cold river far below, sluggish and ever-frozen. "There's always more. But it's not all mine to share."

Dorian hummed. "I presume you chose to tell me this now because of Leliana?"

"I know I'm under investigation," she said, nodding more to herself than to him. "I had to tell someone." She turned her head, offering a wan smile. "You're easier to talk to than Leliana. I saw how you handled learning about Corypheus." She let her real admiration show, brightening her smile. "I admire anyone who can take a revelation like that and adjust. I…I haven't always been forthcoming. With you, or with anyone. And I know I wasn't very friendly with you, sometimes. Particularly when you and Tal were…"

"Flirting," Dorian told her, taking his turn now to stare out over the glacial river. "To be honest that was as far as it ever went. I won't lie, I wish there was _more,_ but he seems happy and I would never begrudge him or anyone for that." His smile was warm but melancholy. "I know you did not approve, but I'm used to being a pariah."

Rosa quickly looked to him, pierced with regret for her past behavior. Following impulse, she reached out and gripped his hand. "Dorian, I never disapproved of _you_, really. I was wary because you're from Tevinter, but I didn't want my brother to fall in love with you and abandon his clan and his responsibility to the People."

Dorian smirked dryly at her and it wasn't hard to see the hint of lingering hurt there—and perhaps even mild resentment. "That _responsibility,_ as I understood it from Tal, was to make more elves. Something he could hardly do with _me._"

Rosa winced. "That's…some of it, yes." She hated to realize that was far too true. She was a purist. She'd absorbed those lessons from the Dalish well enough, and from her father, too.

Before either of them could speak again the thump of footsteps over the stone interrupted them. Rosa turned until she saw a scout approaching, huddled against the wind. "Inquisitor!"

"Duty calls," Dorian told her. "But…thank you for telling me this." He frowned. "Of course, I'm going to have to ruminate on it a while and—"

"Your worship," the scout called, cutting him off as she jogged the last few feet. She ducked at the waist in a little bow and then blurted, "Spymaster Leliana has just returned to the Keep. She's called a meeting. You must come with me to the war room."

Rosa's body flushed cold with sweat. She glanced at Dorian and swallowed, trying to wet her mouth and throat. "I'll see you later," she said, managing a smile. "And thank you. For listening to me. Believing in me, even though I know it sounds crazy."

"No more crazy than us fighting a Darkspawn Magister who unleashed the Blight," Dorian quipped, returning her smile.

"Your worship," the scout pressed. "The summons was urgent…"

Rosa huffed, hands opening and closing at her sides. "All right." She marched past both the Tevinter mage and the scout, heading into the castle. "But we have to stop by my tower first. I need to get something."

_A good luck charm, hopefully,_ she thought. She didn't like to think about what it _truly_ was: a dubious gift from a goddess who'd seemingly abandoned the People.

Her great-grandmother.

* * *

"The attack on Skyhold is imminent, _hahren,"_ reported a breathless Var through the messenger crystal in Mathrel's hand. The arcane warrior usually kept it in a carefully warded leather pouch that prevented the crystal from being used as listening device or a scry focal point. They very rarely used such tools, for fear of them being used against them.

But this present moment was a notable and unavoidable exception. They needed instantaneous updates about Corypheus now that the Darkspawn Magister was deep in the frigid wilds of the Frostbacks. Although dozens of Solas' agents trailed the monster, they still frequently lost track of him due to the difficult terrain. Or they had to retreat when the Magister caught sight of them.

More than a few of his agents hadn't returned. Most of them fell to Corypheus when they drew too close or grew sloppy in concealing themselves. Solas and his rearguard, advancing days after the Magister and their agents tracking him, found their bodies coated in frost in the snow or against barren rocks. Some were run through by claws, others scorched with the sickly crimson glow of red lyrium. Crystals often grew from their corpses.

There were a few agents, however, who just vanished without a body. Solas knew they suffered a very different fate—hopefully a kinder one as well—when he found them in the Fade nightly. These men and women reported running afoul of Inquisition soldiers and scouts. Leliana and much of Rosa's inner circle were traveling through the mountains, too. Run-ins were not altogether rare. Both groups had to track Corypheus, after all.

What he did know, however, was that his captured agents reported being tortured. They weren't kept from the Fade, which suggested Leliana either _wanted_ him to know or merely lacked the full suite of herbs needed to block her captives from the dreaming. Perhaps both.

Unfortunately for Leliana, Solas' agents largely knew little of his plans, or who he was. They were Dalish recruited by Zevanni in the north, or city elves that his arcane warriors brought onboard. None of them knew they worked for the _actual_ Dread Wolf. Solas tested their mettle individually in dreams wearing the shape of the Wolf, but beyond the barest suggestion of Elvhen legend, they had little to offer Leliana under duress. Most of them didn't even know their leader was the Inquisition's former Fade-expert.

The only thing they did know was that they served a secretive all-elven organization. A rebellion whose goal was to return Thedas to the People, to save elves from extinction. This was something these common, modern elf recruits welcomed and served wholeheartedly, even though they knew very little.

But Var was a notable exception. As an Elvhen survivor, he knew Solas personally. Sending Var out was an act of desperation—a great risk. If Leliana caught Var and he cracked under torture and interrogation, she would learn almost everything.

It was an enormous risk, but not without terrible need. Var remembered being a mage before the Fall and he knew how to evade Corypheus' magical senses better than the other recruits as a result. Sending Var with the scouts starkly reduced their losses.

And now it did not matter if Leliana or any other _shemlen_ learned the truth. Once Corypheus launched his attack, drawing Rosa out to confront him with the Anchor, everyone would know Solas was no harmless wandering apostate. And it would not matter what any of them thought of him, because their world would vanish.

And he would be dead.

Clenching his jaw, Solas nodded even though the crystal only carried sound. "Very good," he said. "Take those with you and retreat to the nearest eluvian." The nearest eluvian might well be Skyhold. He hoped Var and his people could manage to reach it safely, or hurry back down the glacial valleys to one of the other scattered eluvians in this area.

"Where are we going?" Var asked, still breathless. It was clear by the rustling and the occasional puff of air that he and his people were moving. Quickly.

Solas hesitated only a beat before he answered. _"Shala'un Anoren."_

A long silence stretched out from the crystal and Solas sensed Mathrel and Lyris stiffen as well. He heard their breathing hitch up with trepidation. The rustles and huffs of air continued from the crystal, reassuring everyone that the connection was unbroken. Var just didn't know what to say.

Finally he said, "Which one, _hahren?"_ Now Solas thought he heard anguish in the rogue's voice.

"That choice is yours to make," Solas said. Var would have gone wherever Zevanni went, but now that she was dead…

He cut off that thought before it could make his heart ache with regret.

"It will be done, _hahren,"_ Var said. _"Dareth'shiral."_

"_Dareth'shiral,"_ Solas said, closing his eyes and wishing the rogue and the agents with him luck.

The crystal let out a shrill ring as Var severed the connection on his end. Mathrel quickly tucked it back into his protective pouch as Lyris stepped close, dropping into a crouch. _"Are you sure, _hahren?" she asked.

Solas smiled at her, wan but determined. _"I am,"_ he replied, also using elven. _"Go now, both of you, to _Shala'un Anoren. _Choose as you will."_ He felt his smile warming now. _"You have served me well. You have my thanks."_

"_It has been our honor, Dread Wolf,"_ Mathrel said, gruff with emotion. His eyes were bright but he did not cry. He was far too stoic for such a show of emotion.

Lyris, however, was not. Tears beaded in her blue eyes as she shook her head. _"Our work is not finished. You may yet need us."_

He gripped her hand and squeezed. _"I will not suffer another to walk the death path with me."_ Standing up from the rock he'd been seated on while they talked with Var, Solas brought their joined hands to Mathrel and the other arcane warrior reached out and took them. For a brief moment the three of them stood together, hands bound as one, then Solas released Lyris and stepped back. The motion deliberately left the arcane warriors holding one another's hands.

"_Go,"_ he told them. _"Walk the path of life. I ask only that you remember me and repeat the truth to the People." _He struggled to keep his voice even as he added, _"And to your children, one day. May they be many and may they be free."_

"_What of the Inquisitor?"_ Lyris blurted, tears now running down her cheeks.

Solas stooped to pick up his stave to avoid meeting her eye. "I have done all I can to convince her," he said. "Should I succeed today, I will send her and her brother through the Skyhold eluvian and instruct them to go to Revasan." He'd always wanted to show Rosa and Tal the freed slaves' sanctuary. Sadly, he never had the chance. But it was his largest safe haven, with an abundance of Elvhen survivors and modern elves tucked away with supplies he and his people secured in a hurried frenzy over the last six months.

"Then that is where we will go," Mathrel said, his voice still gruff.

"And if the Inquisitor reaches us," Lyris added, "we will watch over her. And her brother."

"Fenesvir would have wanted that," Mathrel said, nodding. His lips thinned, bittersweet. His emotions regarding Felassan were complex, caught between still considering him a traitor and also mourning him. Lyris meanwhile, just looked grief-stricken at the reminder.

Solas dipped his chin to her in a solemn nod. "Thank you for that." He swallowed hard on the lump of emotion gathering in his throat. "It has been a pleasure knowing you both, my friends." He started walking uphill, using his stave as a walking stick. _"Dareth'shiral,"_ he said again as he passed.

Before either arcane warrior could protest or utter another goodbye that threatened to unravel him, Solas summoned the invisibility spell. He heard Lyris make a choking noise and heard Mathrel hush her. Then, a few moments later, he heard their footfalls as they began making their way downhill to where the rest of their small group of agents waited, well out of earshot, for instruction. The arcane warriors would lead his other agents away to the nearest eluvian, hurrying for Revasan to wait for this world to end.

And see whatever came next.

Solas drew in a deep breath and then continued hiking up the hill. He kept the invisibility spell burning, ensuring he remained undetectable to both Corpyheus and any scattered Inquisition scouts. It was about an hour of quick but unhurried walking before he reached a boulder at the edge of a stand of dark pines. This was the place where Var had shown him via the Fade he would leave Veilfire rune coordinates for where he planned to scout today.

Touching the cold stone let Solas pick out Var's message with a shudder. _North,_ Var's voice whispered. An image of the granite peaks flashed in his mind. There was a glacial valley ahead that he suspected eventually intersected with the Valley of Sacred Ashes. If they were right then Corypheus was only hours out from his inevitable, headlong attack on the Inquisition.

Now, after Var's call through the messenger crystal, Solas knew they were right. Corypheus surely intended to crack open the Veil right where it was weakest, in the ruins of the Temple. He must know he'd reached this place before the bulk of the Inquisition's forces, too. They would not have the sheer numbers to counter him and it would take some time for them to march down from Skyhold with what soldiers they did have now at their disposal.

That would not matter in the end, because Solas was there to ensure things played out how he needed them. Corypheus would soon be dead and this world would follow.

And then Solas would die as well.

* * *

The scout brought Rosa to the war room and scurried away as soon as she pushed open the creaking wood and metal door. Rosa's heart was in her throat, beating at her breastbone like a halla's galloping hooves as she saw Leliana inside the drafty war room. The spymaster stood beside one of the high, narrow windows, eyes squinting as she stared out into the afternoon sunlight. Her purple hood and chainmail tunic were dusty, dirtied from travel.

"Leliana." Rosa spoke first, clearing her throat. "Welcome back to Skyhold." She forced herself to smile but knew it wouldn't look very convincing. Loyalty spun in frantic circles inside her chest, winding tighter and tighter on the knot building in her stomach.

"Inquisitor," Leliana said, her voice soft and melodic as always. She didn't look at Rosa, merely continued staring outside. "Morrigan tells me she's confident she can counter Corypheus with the knowledge she gained from the well in the Temple."

Striding closer to the enormous table in the war room, Rosa stared down at the map. It was gathering dust now, waiting for when she and all of her advisors could reconvene their routinely scheduled meetings. Would that ever happen now? Was Solas right and Leliana would turn against her—and with her, the entire Inquisition?

_No,_ Loyalty whispered. _We will not break faith. She has earned the truth. She has earned your trust. _

The spirit flooded her senses with the moment many months ago when she was in the winter palace, a harried and anguished mess right after learning Solas was the Dread Wolf and had killed her father. She told a pseudo-truth to Leliana and Josephine then. The two women's worried and sympathetic faces swam before her eyes again. Why wouldn't they react as Dorian had? If she was just honest with them and _explained_ everything, Leliana and all her advisors would understand she had never held secrets out of a nefarious desire to use the Inquisition. She wasn't like the Dread Wolf. She hadn't orchestrated the Conclave, hadn't given Corypheus a weapon of mass destruction. Her deception was innocent and hadn't _actually_ harmed them.

Leliana had pleaded with her before, begging her to open up when they held Zevanni captive. She'd known for months that Rosa had a secret.

"Inquisitor?" Leliana called then and Rosa flinched, lifting her head and realizing the spymaster had apparently called her name once before.

"Hmm?"

Leliana stared at her, blue eyes dark. Her mouth was a straight line, revealing neither amusement or irritation or any other obvious emotion. Turning slightly, she leaned her shoulder against the window frame and crossed her gloved hands over her chest. "The bulk of our forces are still marching from the Arbor Wilds," she said, frowning mildly. "And my scouts say they believe Corypheus is on the move."

Rosa nodded, unsurprised by this news. "Then it's great to hear Morrigan is confident she can take him when he attacks us."

Now Leliana cocked her head. Her arms uncrossed and moved behind her back. "And where did you hear that he plans to attack? It would be foolish, no? Attacking Skyhold by himself now that we have defeated and scattered his Venatori and the red Templars." She paused a moment, her features rippling with something like hurt. "You have been in communication with Solas."

Whether that was a guess or something Leliana knew with certainty—perhaps one of her soldiers had noticed tracks leading to the eluvian under Skyhold, or Tal had let something slip in conversation somewhere—Rosa didn't know. Either way, there wasn't any point to denying it.

"I have, yes." She lifted her chin and squared her jaw. "He's not our enemy. As I told you, his people have the same goal we do—to kill Corypheus."

"That is far from their only goal," Leliana said, her voice deep and dangerous now. "Do not take me for a fool, Inquisitor."

Rosa's spine stiffened. Her heart thundered in her ears, blood rushing. She tried to squash Loyalty, who wanted only to blurt everything out as swiftly as possible.

At the ongoing silence, Leliana heaved a heavy sigh. Anger now clouded her blue eyes. The sight of it stabbed at Rosa with shame and loss. "How long have you worked for Solas?"

Now Rosa bristled. "I do _not_ work for him. I have _never_ worked for him."

Too late she realized Leliana was probing her. The flash of outrage was what the spymaster wanted to see. She nodded, her posture easing slightly. "Good."

The redhead stepped closer until she stood directly across from Rosa at the war table. Thedas lied between them. The symbolism of it was a little much for Rosa. She withdrew from the table, averting her eyes from it and the spymaster. She didn't want to think about saving or damning Thedas right now. Because although what she told Leliana was true…maybe she would be working for Solas soon. Sort of. Was sharing the Anchor with him so he could walk into the Fade _working for him?_

Or was it just betraying all her non-elven friends? Betraying this whole world?

"Because you don't work for him," Leliana went on, "I'm sure you won't mind telling me more about his spy network. More about _him._"

A test of her loyalty by demanding she betray another. Loyalty sank inside her like a stone, writhing. Rosa felt nauseous as she met Leliana's cold blue eye. "You don't trust me," she murmured. "I understand that. I don't even blame you. But—"

"I've spent months investigating Solas," Leliana interrupted her, voice sharp and eyes narrowed. "He has no background. The village he mentioned—where he supposedly grew up—is a ruin thousands of years old. He claimed to have kin in a Dalish clan to the north but never supplied a name. His only verifiable history comes from the Hasmal Circle, where he was found near-death, just outside ancient elven ruins."

Her eyes drilled into Rosa, daring her to challenge this. Rosa just stared into a dark corner of the war room and shut her eyes, waiting for the spymaster to go on.

"I tracked down everything I could from the Hasmal Circle," Leliana said, almost hissing. "And do you know what I found, Inquisitor?" She didn't wait for Rosa to speak before going on. "Apparently, our so-called Fade-expert was found wearing tattered, filthy nightclothes and clutching the same orb Corypheus now carries."

"It's me you doubt," Rosa muttered, forcing herself to glare at Leliana. "And for good reason. I haven't told you the full truth about myself, but not out of malice. I was just trying to protect myself and Tal." She shook her head, her eyes suddenly stinging. She blinked, struggling to maintain composure as Loyalty pressed against her chest from the inside. "Solas has nothing to do with it."

Leliana recoiled slightly, letting out a bitter, humorless laugh. "You cannot seriously hope I'll believe that."

"It's the truth," Rosa spat, breathing hard now. "I met Solas by accident at Hasmal. I do _not_ work for him."

Leliana glowered at her a moment and then said, "It was the detail of the filthy nightclothes that made me realize what I was missing."

Rosa shook her head and looked away again, swallowing the gorge in her throat to keep from puking at the dread inside. Leliana was like a seamstress who'd just found a single string loose in a tapestry and now she was pulling on it, watching as it unraveled. How much did she know?

_Everything,_ the fearful voice inside whispered. Loyalty stamped on it. So did Rosa.

"And then, I saw how this explained everything that had troubled me," Leliana went on. "The dead language you, Solas, and Tal speak so fluently. The strange spells the three of you employ. How desperate you were to keep that elven spy that attacked us from talking to me." She shook her head. "That spy knew the truth about you."

Rosa huffed, her cheeks burning and her heart racing as sweat broke out over her, body wide. "Just…stop. Wait. _Listen_ to me and I—"

But Leliana wasn't interested in listening, apparently. "Solas is an ancient elf," she said. "The Templars took him from an _uthenera_ chamber. The orb he was found with did not come from those ruins. It's _his._" She pinched her lips together, the look on her face savage. "I researched the orb, as well. They're rare, but somehow linked to the elven pantheon."

"Leliana…" Rosa said, the spymaster's name strangled on her lips. "Please. You don't want to do this. You don't want to know." She clamped her mouth shut as Loyalty pushed her to warn the other woman. If she had connected all the pieces. If she knew who and what Solas was and tried to stop him…he would not hesitate to kill her.

"You have a connection with that same pantheon, do you not?" Leliana said, still ignoring her. "Morrigan overheard some rather interesting things in the Temple of Mythal."

"My father was the son of Dirthamen," Rosa supplied, confirming it. "That was why I can control red lyrium. There's a strain of Blight in it and the talent is inheritable. My great-grandmother was Mythal. My great-grandfather was Elgar'nan. So yes," she growled. "I have _many_ connections to the pantheon. But I wasn't trying to hurt you by hiding it, I just wanted to protect myself. They weren't gods, just powerful mages."

Leliana stared at her, silent and unreadable. Eventually Rosa went on, filling the silence with blustered explanation. "There's no conspiracy here. I don't work for Solas. I never have. Our main connection is that I stupidly fell in love with him and he with me. Yes, we share a lot in common. The dead language. The culture. Our race. The arcane."

Now Leliana added, "Somniari."

Rosa glared at her. "What?"

Leliana's smile was dry and humorless. "You are both Somniari. Dreamers."

Silence reigned for a long moment before Rosa sighed. "Fine. Yes. We are both Dreamers, too." Had Dorian betrayed her after all? _No,_ Loyalty chimed in. It was entirely possible Leliana figured it out in some other way. Perhaps in the way Rosa always insisted they use certain herbs to keep prisoners connected to Solas out of the Fade. That kind of insight would only come from one Dreamer understanding the power of another. 

"You truly are Dalish," Leliana said. "Yes?" The spymaster's blue eyes skittered over her face, searching and reading.

"_Duh,"_ Rosa said, dragging out the single word in frustration. Her body was clammy and sticky. It felt as if the room had too little air, like she was desperately treading water and feeling herself drown despite it. Leliana hadn't really reacted when she confirmed her pantheon connection. Was the spymaster having a crisis of faith? Was she contemplating puling out a dagger to slice Rosa's throat?

As if she could prove her innocence by continuing to talk, Rosa said, "I was born to clan Naseral in the Brecilian. They sent me away. Too many mages." She winced at that lie as Loyalty stabbed at her from within. "I walked across Thedas for a year to clan Ghilath in the Dales, where I met up with Tal. Then I walked to the Free Marches, wound up in mage prison at Hasmal. And finally I joined clan Lavellan and eventually came to the Conclave. All of that's _completely_ true."

The spymaster still appeared nonplussed. "And Solas survived from the Fall of Arlathan in the elvish long sleep?"

Rosa stared at her and said nothing.

Leliana's lips quirked up and then down as she frowned. "You just told me you are the granddaughter of elven gods. If you expect me to believe you are _not_ in league with Solas somehow—_despite_ being in active communication with him—you need to start telling the truth."

"Yes," Rosa muttered, grimacing as she gave in. "Solas is Elvhen, a survivor of the Fall."

"And how is he connected to the pantheon?" Leliana pushed, edging closer, leaning over the map of Thedas.

Rosa recoiled before she could stop herself. Scoffing, she tried to bluff. "Don't be ridiculous. He has no connection to—"

"I already know he has a connection," the spymaster murmured, eyes narrowing. Before Rosa could dispute or challenge this, Leliana said, "The orb proves it."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rosa spat immediately on instinct. "That's ludicrous."

"Don't try my patience, Inquisitor," Leliana said, clearly irritated. "Tell me the truth."

Rosa stared at her, lips pinching together and her muscles taut, at the verge of trembling. _Please,_ she thought at Leliana. _Don't push this. You don't want to do this…_

"You wanted to know the truth about me," she said in a harsh voice barely above a whisper, desperate to turn Leliana's mind from this topic. "Who cares what Solas—"

"As the Inquisition's spymaster it is my job to know who our enemies are," Leliana said. "That is for outside threats…and those from within."

Rosa flushed cold. Her heart stuttered in her chest, stunned. "I am not your enemy," she said, frowning at the pain she heard in her voice.

"I'd like to agree," Leliana said, her words softer now. "But I don't know your motivations. I don't know who you are."

Squaring her shoulders and stiffening her spine, Rosa tilted her head slightly and leveled a hard glare at the spymaster. "I am Rosa, First of clan Lavellan. Born to clan Naseral of the Brecilian. I am the daughter of Keeper Halesta and older sister to Tal. I am Inquisitor, determined to stop Corypheus from destroying our world." Drawing in a tight, whistling breath, she added, _"That_ has not changed."

They stared at each other, tension so thick in the air it was hard to breathe.

And then pain stabbed at Rosa's left palm, cutting and sharp as a knife. She gritted her teeth and broke her stare with Leliana as the Anchor crackled and hissed, springing to life. The green glow flickered, lighting the war room's darker corners. Through the windowpanes behind Leliana the sky flashed green, too.

Rosa's skin prickled, both painful and pleasurable at once as the Veil twisted and writhed. She shuddered and clenched her left palm against the pain cutting her. "Corypheus is here." She looked at Leliana, waiting for her reaction.

The spymaster's dark eyes somehow grew even graver. She dipped her head. "Go," she said and her expression cracked, revealing concern. "Maker protect you."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Open the way," he said, his voice distant, but firm.

"I can't," Rosa cried. Tears burned in her eyes. Loyalty twisted in agony. "Please, Solas!" She clenched her left hand still in his grasp, protective and defensive all at once. This was the middle road. The way of compromise. If he would just wait…

"Open the way," he repeated, harder now. But his eyes were full of the same pain she felt cutting her to shreds.

"You can't force me to help you destroy this world and help you kill yourself," Rosa spat, shaking. She swallowed bile, blinking ferociously to see him through her tears.


	73. Doom Upon All the World Part 1: Corypheus Defeated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Corypheus arrives, hoping to quash the Inquisitor once and for all, Solas is lurking in the shadows, ready to spring his own trap. With Corypheus carrying the orb, and Rosa the Anchor, all the tools he needs are together in one place. 
> 
> The time has come for him to take them both back.

When the sky tore open for the second time, Tal was with Nola, Felanaste, and clan Manaria. Inside the Keeper's aravel, he didn't see the flash of green in the sky. Instead he felt his skin flush hot and prickle as the Veil warped and ripped apart. Felanaste sensed it too and began to whimper where Nola held him safely in her lap.

"Shhhh," she cooed at the baby. "Hush now, _da'len." _

Tal shuddered. "Something's happened," he said, staring across the aravel at his Keeper.

Nola glanced at him, still distracted with calming their son. "What is it?"

As the twisting sensation inside him grew, Tal scowled. He recognized the mixture of tumultuous butterflies and unease. It was his core reacting to the thinning Veil, the change in how much mana it could draw and keep at one time. It was like feeling a muscle tense.

"Shit," he cursed and pinned Nola with a firm look. "I think the Darkspawn Magister is here to fight us."

Nola paled. "Are you sure?"

Tal nodded and then gestured quickly at the aravel. "Have the clan pack up. You might need to run. Fast."

"Tal," Nola said, shaking her head as Felanaste began to cry in earnest. She cuddled him to comfort him even as she hurried to rise and join Tal as he moved to leave the aravel. "You must come with us!"

He was already at the entrance, knocking the steps down and hopping out of the wagon. "I have to find Rosa," he said over his shoulder. His breath deserted him as he saw the sky. A green tear cut through it, glittering with the nearness of the Fade peeking through it. _"Fenedhis,"_ he muttered.

It was really happening. For real.

Nola emerged from the aravel behind him and gasped. "Oh no."

Tal pivoted to tell her to gather the clan and prepare to run, but she reacted first with a somber nod. "I will keep the clan safe," she said. "But you must promise to return to us." her smile wavered, clearly afraid this would be the last time she saw him.

Tal cocked a smile he hoped was reassuring. "It takes more than something like this to kill me." He stepped in close and threw an arm over her shoulder, careful not to crush Felanaste. When he pulled away he darted in and kissed her. "Be careful, _vhenan."_

"And you," she returned.

Then Tal hurried away, past other members of clan Manaria who appeared stunned and shocked. He snatched up his staff from where he laid it beside one of the aravels and ran toward the upper courtyard. Inquisition scouts and soldiers scrambled by him, armor clanking and weapons drawn, fear washing their faces of color.

In the upper courtyard Tal saw Cassandra, Sera, and Iron Bull grouped together, staring at the green tear in the sky. Their expressions were grim but determined. A warning bell rang from somewhere in the keep and when Tal turned to look back into the lower courtyard, checking on his clan, he flinched with surprise as he found Cole standing close behind him.

"Fuck," he blurted, shaking with the lingering power of the shock. "Cole. You scared me."

"She's scared too," Cole said, whispering. "She doesn't want you to go."

"I know," Tal said, shoulders drooping. "But I have to help Rosa." He brightened than as a new idea leapt into his mind. "Can you help my clan? Can you go with them? Protect them?"

Cole hesitated a moment and then nodded. "Yes. I can show them to the mirror. I can take them to _Shala'un Anoren._"

Tal scowled. That wasn't what he meant, but it wasn't a bad idea. Honestly, it was better than Tal's thought of the clan simply fleeing into the white wilderness of the Frostbacks. At least through the eluvian they could very quickly return to the Free Marches. What he didn't know was what exactly Cole meant by Shala'un Anoren: _safe haven. _"Yeah, okay. But what safe haven did you mean?"

"Revasan," Cole said, his blue eyes sad. "They were safe there before."

"Uh-huh," Tal agreed, though he had no idea what the spirit meant. "And where is Revasan exactly?"

"Through the mirror."

"Got it. Good. But I've got a better place in mind. How about you take them through the eluvian and to somewhere in the Free Marches? They're familiar with that area and so am I." He flashed a quick smile, hoping Cole wouldn't mind his new idea.

Cole nodded. "Okay."

Tal clapped Cole on the shoulder. "Good. Great. Go with them. Keep them safe until I'm finished here."

"Yes," Cole agreed. Then his eyes glazed over, not seeing Tal anymore. "She's coming."

Before Tal could ask who he meant, Rosa's voice called from above him on the stairs leading up into the keep. Tal lifted his head, searching for his sister, and felt a chill as Cole vanished. A second later he looked back to the spirit, but of course he was gone. So he trotted toward the stairway and stopped at the edge, ahead of Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Sera.

Rosa moved a little jerkily and her skin appeared flushed, making Tal remember the way she looked while ill from the red lyrium. Worry churned in his gut but he swallowed it back. Loyalty had cured her, or at least stopped the infection. There was no need for his concern.

Behind her was Leliana, Cullen, Josephine, and Morrigan. The three advisors all appeared dirty and exhausted from recent travel. All of them had arrived back mere hours ago. Judging by the road grime and messy hair on all of them, Tal guessed their duties had taken precedence over a warm bath and fresh clothes. All of them were grim, but Leliana in particular seemed almost menacingly grave.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra greeted Rosa, jaw squared and shoulders tense. She was in her full armor, still dirty from travel. "I am ready to go with you. I want to be there when we end Corypheus, once and for all."

At the foot of the stairs, Rosa nodded toward the Seeker. "Your wish is my command," she said and then her violet eyes flicked to Tal. Pain wrenched her features. "Tal—I want you to leave with your clan." She then cleared her throat and added in elven, _"Through the eluvian."_

"What?" he blurted and immediately shook his head in vehement disagreement. "Absolutely not. Have you gone mad?"

"Maybe," Rosa said, curt and tight. She swallowed. _"I have walked the path of truth. I have told the humans who we truly are. I fear what may happen to you."_

"What?" Tal repeated, mouth ajar. He chewed stupidly on the air, too stunned by what she just revealed to know how to react. His gaze moved to her advisors again and he didn't miss the narrowing of eyes from Leliana. There was a flash of suspicion and something akin to hurt. _"Have you lost your mind?"_ he stammered, using elven.

"_Perhaps,"_ Rosa said and stepped up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. _"Please. Do not fight me. You have a family. A son. Whatever happens today…I want you far away from it."_

"No," Tal said, shrugging her hand off his shoulder. "Fuck that. I'm going with you."

Sera made an impatient noise. "Right, save it." She stabbed a finger toward the sky. "Cori-fen-nits is out there ripping shite apart."

"Sera's got a point," Iron Bull said, his voice deep and gruff. "Can we save the family drama for _after_ we save the world? Again?"

Rosa's jaw clenched as she looked at Tal, eyes narrowed. "They're right. I need you to go, Tal. Go and protect your family." She motioned toward Iron Bull, Cassandra, Sera, and the entire keep beyond. "I have more than enough people to protect me just now."

Tal's eyes stung. He struggled to control his breathing, but they were coming too fast. His face was hot. "Rosa," he said and, to his shame, his voice cracked. _"Asamalin,_ please!"

Rosa stepped closer to him, into his personal space and dropped her voice into a hard whisper, speaking in elven. _"Not this time, little brother. Go."_ She pulled him suddenly into am embrace. Tal, too stunned to resist, let it happen. He stared over her shoulder as she clung to him, blinking back tears. His eyes found Leliana, watching them with something caught between empathy and suspicion.

Then Rosa pushed him away. "Go," she said, her voice rough. Her eyes were wet. _"I will see you later,"_ she said, smiling humorlessly. _"I promise. In body or in the Void mirror."_

He swallowed, his throat threatening to close. The stubbornness in her stance and her expression told him arguing was pointless. And she was right. He _did_ have a family to protect. A son to raise.

"_Dareth'shiral, asamaliln,"_ he said and backed out of her path.

Rosa dipped her chin to him. "And to you, _da'isamalin."_ She straightened, stiff and ready for the fight to come. Glancing to the others in her inner circle, she said, "Let's go. The sooner we meet him the sooner we can stop him."

"Yes, Inquisitor," Cassandra agreed, solemn. She already held her shield but now she drew her sword with the sharp ring of metal. "Maker guide us. Today he will pay for what he's done." The bloodlust, the _need_ for vengeance shone in her eyes. This was personal for her, more so than it was for Rosa or anyone else here. Corypheus killed the Divine, and as far as Tal could tell, that was a terrible loss for the Seeker, one she would never forgive.

Behind Rosa and her inner circle, Leliana's lips pinched into a hard line. Rosa's words in elven replayed through Tal's mind. _I have told the humans of who we truly are. _It was a warning. She wanted him to flee with his clan as much to protect him from Corypheus as to avoid him running afoul of Leliana.

With his stomach sinking and dread weighing down his limbs, Tal spun on his heel and hurried down the stairs into the lower courtyard.

* * *

Under the eerie green light of the reopened breach, Solas watched from the edge of the shattered Temple of Sacred Ashes as a smattering of Inquisition soldiers and scouts tried to stall Corypheus. They were good men and women, determined and driven, but too slow and weak. The darkspawn Magister caught them, one by one, with his Blight-tainted magic.

Yet the soldiers bought precious time. Before the last of them had fallen, more scouts bolstered their numbers to sustain the distraction a little longer.

Solas kept watch, just far enough away to remain undetectable by Corypheus, but near enough that he might charge into battle should the Inquisition fail.

With the Veil twisted and so thin, cracked in this spot far too many times, Solas felt his mana core swelling and aching against its bindings—blood, bone, and flesh. It was close enough to lend him greater strength, but the Veil's influence remained strong enough to leave him strangled. The mana throttling was uneven now. One moment he felt as though he could will the orb back to him, straight out of Corypheus' hand, or Fade-leap for miles. Then, the next moment, he was weak so that a Fade-leap of just a hundred feet would be a dubious proposition that might leave him in burnout.

The effect was universal through all elves. When one of the new scouts, clearly a rogue based on her bow, suddenly shot an arrow that spontaneously erupted in fierce red fire, she seemed stunned. As did her comrades. But they had no time for such astonishment as Corypheus quickly lashed out, killing a soldier with a blast of red lyrium fire. Solas hoped the elven archer would survive this battle, for a rogue able to summon her hidden power so quickly and with control, despite its newness, was very valuable.

And so, as this group of scouts and soldiers began dying, Solas decided it was time to intervene. He Fade-leapt, streaking in a long stream of blue, through the blackened stones of the ruined temple, and popped out of the maneuver when he was beside the archer. She and another scout had hunkered low behind a large block of stone that had once been a magnificent column, but was now just a manmade boulder.

The archer, primed to fire, gasped and tried to spring away from him. The male scout with her, also a rogue but a human, flinched and slashed with a blade. Solas' cast a barrier over all three of them and easily evaded the man's swing.

"I am here to help you!" he shouted at them.

The two scouts blinked, stunned, but he saw understanding dawn on them as they registered the barriers now protecting them. Then the man yelped and sprinted away, reacting as Corypheus lobbed a Blight-tainted fireball at their hiding spot. Solas gripped the archer's arm as she tried to rise to flee, too.

"The barrier will withstand it!"

She stared at him, gawking. Then cringed and cried out as, sure enough, the Magister's fireball smashed into their boulder. Red light glowed sickeningly through the mortar of the bricks. Red droplets, liquefied red lyrium crystals, splashed over and sprinkled their blue barriers. The mixture of red and blue made each flicker starkly purple.

The barrier held easily.

The man who'd run did not fare as well. Corypheus had sent matching fireballs to both the right and left, anticipating that both scouts would flee. One fireball hit the male scout. Although his barrier held, he fell in a wild tumble over the dirt, gravel, and frost. As he tried to scramble back to his feet, he cried out. The hard fall had injured him.

"You're the Inquisitor's Fade-expert," the scout said, her lips forming a frown even as her eyes darted with concern over to her fallen comrade. "You betrayed us."

"And I have returned to save you," Solas shot back. There was no time for him to argue or explain himself to this scout. And, although the human meant nothing to him, Solas refreshed all of their barriers with a swift wave of his hand and then Fade-stepped over to the fallen man.

"Die, rattus," Corypheus shouted, hurling lightning at them now.

In the split second sbefore the attack could hit them, Solas had already grabbed up the man and initiated another powerful Fade-step, moving both himself and the scout out of danger, behind more fallen debris. Corypheus growled, angry that his prey evaded him—but then another rogue slashed at him from behind, distracting him.

Solas found the man's wound—a broken ankle—and quickly mended the bones. The man gawped at him, gnashing his teeth at the burn of the rough healing spell, which was designed for swiftness rather than comfort. "S…Solas?" he asked, actually recalling his savior's name. "Why?"

Solas couldn't help but smile dryly, but he didn't speak. _So that I may unmake your world. _He could see the confusion in this man's eyes, but also the gratitude. It sent shame cutting through him. _You would not be pleased to see me if you knew the truth. _Healing this man was not a kindness. It was just a strategic decision to ensure Corypheus' defeat without overly exerting himself.

The day had grown dark as the breach continued to expand. Gray and black clouds swirled about the green tear in the sky and lightning flickered. A crackle near Solas made him look quickly with alarm only to see a boulder slowly rising from the ground, as though sucked into the sky—though there was only a weak wind. His skin prickled with the caress from the nearness of the Fade.

"Tell me," Corypheus' voice called out then from somewhere beyond the jumbled stones and crumbled columns. "Where is your Maker now? Call him. Call down his wrath upon me."

Solas could hear the sizzling of the magic from the orb and feel it pressing on his awareness, calling to him.

"You cannot, for he does not exist," Corypheus said. "I am Corypheus. I shall deliver you from this lie in which you linger."

_Wrong,_ Solas thought, mildly annoyed. _That will be me._ The lie of the Maker was trivial compared to the lie of the Veil, of the sundered world. Solas had created that and only Solas could properly restore things to the way they were. The way they should have always been.

Rising from his crouch beside the human scout, Solas Fade-stepped back to the elven archer. She flinched at his sudden appearance, but quickly regained her composure. Before she could speak, Solas whispered, "Leave this place. There is nothing more you can do, _lethallan."_

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open.

"Bow before your new god and be spared," Corypheus said, his voice surprisingly softer now. He wanted supplication. The Inquisition soldiers and scouts were nothing to him but a minor hindrance. If he could have their adulation and support, however, they would be pawns. That was better than simply killing them.

"Never!" one of the men shouted.

"As you wish," Corypheus snarled.

Solas refreshed the elven archer's barrier just as a powerful mindblast, tainted as all of the darkpsawn magister's magic was with Blight, washed over the ruins like a wave. The sound of fighting resumed immediately.

The archer shook her head at him then, lips curled to show her teeth. "Fuck off," she growled and vaulted around their cover to reengage the enemy.

Solas huffed out a sigh. Well, he tried. The truth was he only had obligations to a handful of modern elves and this archer was not one of them. She had made her choice. Now all he could do was hope Rosa, Tal, and clan Manaria would not make a similar foolish choice.

And then, from beyond the shamble of stone ruins, out of sight of Solas, he heard the timbre of the fighting change. Corypheus said, "I knew you would come."

"Bite me," Rosa's achingly familiar voice answered in a snarl. "You ready to go back to Void, asshole? Let's end this!"

"Indeed," Corypheus said.

And then Solas' skin was awash, prickling painfully with Blight-strengthened magic and the pull of the breach high above on his spirit. His head swam, dizzy, as the earth cracked and tore, then rose impossibly into the sky.

Even through his disorientation, Solas snorted. What a waste of mana. It was showing off and would only weaken the magister, making him easier to defeat.

_Fool._

Solas' own final act would be subtle in comparison…right up until the last moment when it would be transformative, far from the comparative smoke and mirrors of the magister. But it would end the same—with death.

* * *

In the chaos of the fighting, Rosa forgot to watch for a sign of Solas. She knew, as she rushed down from Skyhold to reach the Valley of Sacred Ashes, that he must be there. He wouldn't leave this fight to chance. Yet as she faced off with Corypheus, fighting for her life, she quickly forgot to look for him.

She'd brought all of her companions as she could for this encounter. Cassandra and Iron Bull, as warriors, had stamina and passion enough that they hacked and slashed viciously at the Magister, despite still being dirty from the road. They'd only arrived back at Skyhold that morning, after all. Dorian and Varric were fresh, having traveled with her through the eluvian, rather than being left behind at the Arbor Wilds like everyone else. Vivienne was also fresh, having spent her time working on recovering "Blackwall" instead of going to the Arbor Wilds. Now the enchanter was determined to be part of the final battle, though Rosa tried to persuade her to remain at Skyhold, to protect the people there—just in case Corypheus sent darkspawn or demons or whatever forces he still controlled to attack the stronghold.

It was Sera, oddly, who proved unsteady. From the moment they entered the Valley, pushing their horses to dangerous, reckless speed as they raced downhill, the archer seemed to have lost her mind. She shouted and cursed at the breach, as if she could intimidate it into closing. She shook like an aspen leaf caught in the wind. She babbled about déjà vu, how she was _sure _she'd seen this before and they were all going to die.

When Rosa ordered her to go back to Skyhold, just before they reached the ruins to confront Corypheus, Sera bolstered her courage and refused. Yet her behavior didn't improve much. She segregated herself from the mages, her eyes wild and terrified. She clung close to Varric, but rarely let loose a shot, as if she'd forgotten how to fight.

And then, when Dorian, who'd positioned himself as the nearest mage to the rogues, cast barriers over the three of them, Sera spat and hissed like a cat…

…and the barrier winked out.

Rosa, hunkered down across the ruins that constituted their battlefield, caught the action as a brief glimpse between Corypheus' onslaughts of fire. She stared, stunned as she watched Varric and Sera quibbling, then heard Dorian say, "Did—did you just _dispel_—"

"Shut it, pissface!" Sera rejoined, clearly trembling. She edged further into the boulders, withdrawing even from Varric.

_What in the Void…?_

But she already knew what this was. Sera was at the verge of expressing magic.

It wasn't a surprise, really. Rosa's mana core was alive, pulsating inside her as it responded to the unevenness of the Veil here. Sera had always been strange for her claims that she just _magically_ knew how to use a bow. She was the best shot Rosa had ever seen. And then there was her strange déjà vu moments in normal circumstances. Something would trigger her and she would be freaked out, disturbed for sometimes hours at a time. Rosa had long suspected—and Solas had often tormented the archer suggesting it—that Sera was a latent mage. Being so close to the breach and the orb must unsettle her as she felt the magic inside her stirring.

But before Rosa could consider or react more to this, a screech from the sky made her look up. The two dragons were entwined, snarling and clawing at each other. The untainted beast, Morrigan transformed, tore a huge gouge out of the red lyrium dragon's wing. It squealed, flapping and sending black-red blood in a vile spray.

The Inquisition below yelped and scattered, trying to shield themselves from the beasts as they careened toward the ground. Corypheus darted away in a reddish streak—his Blighted version of a Fade-step, she guessed. At the last minute Morrigan peeled away from the Blighted dragon, trying to stall her fall.

It was too late.

They smashed into the ground with a clatter and crack of stone. The rock under Rosa's feet shook. Gray-white dust rose thick into the air, obscuring the beasts.

For a few moments the battlefield was quiet. The breech crackled far above, lightning flicking at the clouds swirling about it. The groan of the Fade, so very close now through the breach, grated on Rosa's ears. But there was no noise of Corypheus' Blighted magic and no roar of fleshy beat of the dragons' wings.

And then, as the dust began to settle, the red lyrium dragon stirred. Its long neck rose above the cloud of pulverized brick and dirt tossed up by their crash landing. There was no sign of Morrigan.

Rosa's stomach twisted and sank. While there was no love lost between her and the witch of the wilds, Rosa hoped she wasn't dead. They had to get someone over to find Morrigan. She twisted and shouted at the others, though she couldn't see anyone but Varric across the way and a little behind her. "Someone help Morrigan! Everyone else, with me! We have to kill this dragon!"

* * *

Solas was already there at the witch's side. The dust clung to his throat, making his eyes water and his breath wheeze, but he wouldn't be stopped. He laid a hand on Morrigan, funneling healing mana into her. The witch moaned and twitched, coughing. Bloody phlegm spilled out of her lips, but her eyes opened enough to take him in.

And instantly narrowed with hostility. "You," she croaked and coughed.

Solas altered the mana, shaping it into a short sleeping spell. Morrigan's eyes fluttered and she went limp. He scooped her up and quickly Fade-stepped away, just as he heard Corypheus' pet dragon shakily rising to its feet. It was greatly wounded and unable to fly now. He had no doubt Rosa and her companions would make short work of it.

But Morrigan was sure to be trampled by the beast unless he acted. He owed the witch nothing, but Mythal and Flemeth would be grateful. And it would be a shame to lose the wisdom of the Vir'Abelasan the witch carried inside her now.

* * *

It was Iron Bull who struck the final blow on the dragon. Roaring with triumph, Bull swung his great axe when a slash by Vivienne's spirit blade cut deep into the beast's forelimb. As it faltered, collapsing with a defiant hissing roar, Iron Bull's swing found the major artery in its neck. Black-red blood spurted in sickening waterfall. It hissed as it landed on the stone, reacting to the dust.

Iron Bull tried to evade the torrent, but the Blight-contaminated blood coated him anyway. It splashed into his face, rolled down his bare chest in a gory stream. He spat and cursed, trying in vain to flick it away.

Rosa started for him, fear making her throat tight. The red lyrium whispers were a distant whisper now in her mind, blocked by Loyalty, but if she sought them out they were still present. Had Iron Bull been infected?

Just as she reached him a crackling red energy appeared about the dead dragon's head. It shot past them and into the ruins away behind them. When they turned to look they saw Corypheus stand from the shadows and cover there, high above them. The red energy enveloped and sank into Corypheus.

_Coward,_ Rosa thought and bared her teeth. _He was hiding. _

The darkspawn magister lifted his arm and the orb rose, glittering sickly red. "Let it end here," he shouted. "Let the skies boil! Let the earth be rent asunder!"

"He never gets tired of hearing himself talk, does he?" Rosa grumbled as she tucked her stave away and searched around the open space until she saw a stairway, rising up and into the dark of the ruins.

"Nope," Iron Bull said and spat again. "Let's go shut him up." His blue eye, stark against the red gore on his face, showed no fear. Yet he must know the danger he was in if he'd gotten blood into his mouth, or in his eyes. It was a death sentence, unless Rosa drove it out.

She would have to worry about that later.

"Just what I was thinking," she said, grinning hard.

Cassandra and Vivienne were already bounding up the stairs. Rosa jogged after them, Iron Bull close behind. With a quick glance behind her she saw the rest of her companions following—with Sera last. They never did find Morrigan. Rosa could only hope the witch hadn't fallen off the raised rock of the ruins.

And there was still no sign of Solas. Yet she knew, in her blood, he was here. The trickster would not miss this. She must be ready for the moment he sprang.

After a long run up the stairway, they came to a fractured place in the ruins. They found Corypheus inside an open space, bordered by a half-crumbled wall of columns and more stairs. The darksdpawn magister had lifted the orb, funneling power into it. He was going to open the breach wider, to crack open the Veil wider still so he could enter the Black City. Through the breach Rosa could see the glimmer of the Black City itself, dangerously close. Corypheus seemed ready to use the orb to drag the Fade's most infamous feature out of the dreaming and into reality.

That was a _really_ bad idea.

She lobbed a Fade stone at him first, from still many meters away, right as Cassandra and Iron Bull charged. Dorian cast lightning and Vivienne rushed to the fore, her spirit blade glowing brilliantly gold. Varric and Sera appeared last, using the columns as cover. The dwarf fired Bianca continuously while Sera was much slower with her longbow. Sweat lined her brow and she seemed to have her teeth gritted unceasingly.

The attack disrupted the ritual Corypheus attempted. He faltered and then panicked. The orb above him wobbled, as though it too was afraid and now doubted its master.

"Not like this," he said and, for an instant, Rosa could almost pity him as he grabbed frantically for the orb. It still sizzled and shot off red lightning every which way, forcing the warriors and Vivienne back from the onslaught.

Rosa cast a powerful barrier over herself and forced her way onward as the others fell back. "He's mine," she called to them. Her left hand throbbed, pulsing like her mana core.

The darkspawn magister sent a red-tinged mindblast at her, but it broke easily over Rosa's barrier. She kept approaching. The Anchor sprang to life, crackling and glowing a deep, healthy green that matched the Fade. The pain was searing hot, reacting to the nearness of the orb.

…or perhaps it was Solas.

But she didn't see him.

"I have walked the halls of the Golden City," Corypheus said, pleading. "Crossed the ages. Dumat, ancient ones! I beseech you! If you."

The orb seemed to fight Corypheus. It tugged his clawed hands this way and that. Rosa felt the Anchor jerking the fine bones of her hand, corresponding to Corypheus' movements with the orb. She gritted her teeth against the pain and thrust out her hand.

_To me._

The orb's red glow was gold directly around it, flashing with green. It _heard. _

"If you exist—if you ever truly existed—aid me now!" Corypheus begged.

The orb had no care for him. With a sharp crackling whine it shot past him, smashing the darkspawn magister on the back of the head as it went. He grunted in pain, and stared, stunned.

The orb hit Rosa's hand and the swell of the power it carried made her head spin. Her heart fluttered, her blood sang, tormented and ecstatic all at once. The orb reached _inside_ her, connected with her like the Fade. It _tasted_ her. Its magic and the power of the Anchor tethered together like the roots of two neighboring trees. Like the red lyrium voices, the orb _recognized _her. It was made by Evanuris and designed to be used by them.

By one of them in particular. And although she shared no blood with Fen'Harel, it cleaved to her better than it ever had with the magister. Whether that was because of her Evanuris ancestry, or simply her race, or that she possessed the Anchor, or that she had loved Solas—perhaps it even sensed the lost child she'd carried—she would likely never know.

Just like the red lyrium had, the orb promised obedience. It promised to serve. But it was pure, unlike the tainted red lyrium. It had no ulterior motives. No dark intention. It was a mirror and could only reflect the will of its master.

It was entirely green now. Calm but alive, hissing and glittering and spinning slowly in her left palm. The pain in her hand was softer now, muted by the pleasure of power.

She knew she had only to will the breach to close and it would be done. The orb would obey. She would save Thedas from Corypheus.

And then she would have to choose: let Solas destroy the world she had just saved and in so doing die himself, or oppose him.

Loyalty burned inside her, anguished with the torment of choice. If she refused, pleaded with Solas to wait, perhaps sacrificed the orb but denied him the use of the Anchor, she _might_ convince him.

Or she might find herself dead at his hands. She might have to fight for her life. Either one of them, or both, could wind up dead in a matter of moments.

The decision still spun inside her, unmade, as she hefted the orb up to the sky and let it channel through her. _Close, _she commanded. _Seal. _

The orb sent out a massive beam of golden light. It shook the heavens, rippled the clouds. With a dull rumble, the breach began to narrow, closing.

The orb went silent, its power discharged for now. Rosa kept it in her left palm, balanced with the crackling green energy of the Anchor.

Corypheus fell to his knees before her, pathetic in defeat. Pitiable. He stared at her, slouched and ready for the end as rocks and rubble began to rain from the sky. Dimly, from the cover of the half-ruined columns, Rosa saw a few of her inner circle cringing, looking up aghast as the sky began falling.

The earth they stood upon shook, beginning to fall as well. Rosa's stomach clenched with dread even as she tried to steel herself, casting as powerful a barrier as she could to protect from falling debris. She needed to kill Corypheus.

And then, suddenly, from the dust stirred up by the first falling stones, came a blue streak. It passed through Corypheus' kneeling form, freezing him solid. Rosa gasped, taking a step back. Fire leapt instinctually to her free hand, while her left palm continued holding the orb, glowing green with the Anchor.

Solas appeared out of the wintery Fade-step. Then, unceremoniously, he turned and cast with one hand using a punching down motion. Corypheus' frozen form shattered as a powerful Veilstrike hit him with a burst of pale green magic. The blue-white frozen bits glittered as they spread out in a fine spray. Bits of it smacked against Rosa's shins.

For a brief instant there was only silence. Time had stopped. She stared at Solas and he gazed back at her. His expression was cold and grave, but his blue eyes were dark with grief. Then, slowly, he lifted his right hand in a gesture she recognized immediately.

_Give it to me. _

She felt like she was going to be sick. Her heart hammered like a fist on her ribs and then rose up into her throat. "Solas," she said, barely whispering. And then, as Loyalty churned and tore apart inside her, mirroring her heart, she said, _"Vhenan._ Please. Don't do this."

The cold in his features vanished, growing heavy with heartache.

And then the frozen moment fractured.

First another boulder smashed into the ground behind Rosa. Fragments struck her, making her cringe and shift to the left, angling away from the boulder impact site as well as Solas. Then, from the ruined columns, Dorian shouted. "Solas! _Vishante kaffas!_ What are _you_ doing here?"

"Get your asses out of there!" Varric yelled.

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra chimed in, too.

Rosa glanced only for a second away from Solas, distracted by the calls of her friends.

It only took a second.

Solas surged forward in a cold wind—another precise Fade-step. He popped out of it right in front of her and snatched her left hand at the wrist before she could recoil. The Anchor's crackling intensified and the orb wobbled, but then stabilized.

After an initial gasp of shock, Rosa steeled her spine. She lifted her eyes, locking them to his. _"Vhenan,"_ she said again, her voice rasping and breathy with despair and desperation. "Please!"

Her other hand was free. She could cast a mindblast and knock him away. She could scald him with fire. She could have fought. Instead she wrapped that hand around his back and pulled him closer.

His other hand was free, too. He could have fought her. Could have killed her instantly. She'd seen him turn an assassin to stone once. And burn the Knight-Commander of Hasmal into ash in a few seconds. Instead he hesitated, his lips and face so close to hers that she could feel his hot breath fanning over her cheeks. She could see the longing in his eyes, as well as the despair, shame, and regret.

He kissed her. Or maybe she kissed him. Rosa couldn't be sure. Her breath puffed too fast—not with the promise of passion, but of tragedy. Sobs wrenched out of her throat.

Their lips parted.

"In another world," he whispered, his eyes wet with tears, though he did not shed them. She started to shake her head, to protest, but then she felt his fingers shift on her wrist. The Anchor pulsed, the pain escalating for a moment and then vanishing.

"No," she cried, sobbing. "Please, Solas. Don't do this. Wait." Her other hand on his back clenched into a fist, trying to hold him to her as the orb, no longer supported by the Anchor, fell into her palm. It was cold like simple stone, but her skin prickled all the more where it touched. She could sense the power inside it stretching, reaching for its true master.

Another massive stone landed near them, shattering and sending up a cloud of dust and debris. The world spun around Rosa's head at the distraction, but she just managed to keep her eyes locked with Solas. She heard her barrier crackle, sensed it failing.

Solas used his free hand to cover them both with another barrier. And, dimly, she saw their friends, cowering as more rubble fell. Blue barriers glowed over all of them, too. Solas had not forgotten them even though he had eyes only for her.

Then he tipped her wrist, gentle but implacable. The orb rolled, almost of its own volition more than gravity's, and fell from her hand. Solas stepped back from her and snatched it out of the air with his free hand all in the same movement. His long, nimble fingers flexed, pressing tightly to the seemingly lifeless orb. It crackled, flaring green. The eerie light glowed between them.

"Open the way," he said, his voice distant, but firm.

"I won't," Rosa cried. Tears burned in her eyes. Loyalty twisted in agony. "Please, Solas!" She clenched her left hand still in his grasp, protective and defensive all at once. This was the middle road. The way of compromise. If he would just wait…

"Open the way," he repeated, harder now. But his eyes were full of the same pain she felt cutting her to shreds.

"You can't force me to help you destroy this world and help you kill yourself," Rosa spat, shaking. She swallowed bile, blinking ferociously to see him through her tears.

The set of Solas' features softened. She glimpsed more pain and something akin to shame—and tenderness. She felt it sharply, as undeniable as emotion carried through the dreaming. Maybe it was the orb, or the Anchor, or Loyalty that heightened her sensitivity to him, she didn't know. But for a brief moment she felt hope pierce her.

"Then I will not force you," he said and the anguish she saw bloom over him made her blood freeze with horror as new understanding dawned.

"No—"

It was too late. His left hand clenched harder on the orb and it crackled louder, shooting stinging bolts of lightning out to lick at her. Rosa cringed, crying in earnest now, straining against his hold, but the magic was like chains, keeping her tight to him.

A high-pitched whine grew as the magic in the orb swelled. The Anchor sprang to life though she hadn't willed it. It glistened and flickered, bolts of green lightning reaching out toward the orb—and then also down Rosa's wrist to where Solas' right hand still held her tightly.

She screamed with pain as the Anchor _crawled_ through her flesh. It passed out of her palm and into her wrist. Then, with a sharp jerk through her tendons and bones, it leapt out of her and into Solas' palm.

The pain was too much. Her vision went white and then black.

The last thing she heard, beyond the crackle of the Anchor and the whine of the orb, was Solas' whispered words, heavy with grief. "I'm sorry. You deserved better, _vhenan."_

* * *

As Rosa went limp in his arms, Solas felt the Anchor settle into his right hand. It burned hot, but he embraced the pain. It settled quickly, molding to him as it was designed to do.

The enormous block of ruins Corypheus had lifted into the sky finally settled back to earth. The ground rumbled and shook with the impact, but it was soft compared to the rubble raining down all around. Distantly, Solas heard Rosa's companions shouting with fear and shock.

He had only seconds now, before they would try to stop him. Despite the chaos of the battlefield crashing down around them, Solas had no doubt they'd realized what happened between their Inquisitor and himself was not pleasant. They would rush to defend her and stop him, even though they didn't understand what he was doing here or why.

He was glad Tal wasn't here. Tal might have been able to push forward and stop him. He would have known the stakes. Solas might have had to fight him. A small mercy.

Setting Rosa down softly on the stone, Solas stepped around her. After a few steps he heard the Inquisitor's inner circle rallying, recovering their wits. The first to act were Cassandra and the mages. His skin prickled as Vivienne tried to dispel his barrier. He shook it off without even glancing back and continued walking. Booted feet came racing up behind him and he heard the ringing of the Seeker's spell purge, but his barrier absorbed it with hardly a flicker.

"Solas," she shouted, her voice grating with rage. "Stop! Do not make us kill you!"

Dorian yelled next. "What have you done to her?"

He turned slightly to look back to where Cassandra stood a few meters away, sword and shield at the ready. Blood spattered her proud armor. Dirt and grit clung to her sweaty face. She bared her teeth like a snarling dog. "Drop the orb!"

"Take the others and leave, Seeker," he told her and barely recognized his voice around the grief thickening it. "Live well in the time remaining."

Incomprehension mixed with rage over her face and she hesitated. _You should have struck me through the heart, Seeker,_ he thought and couldn't help but smile wanly at her.

Then he extended his right hand, bearing the active Anchor, and clenched it. Jerking down, he opened a small rift in the air between himself and Cassandra. She gasped, stumbling backward and lifting her shield defensively; clearly afraid she would be sucked through.

That left Solas more than enough of an opening to step through the small tear in the Veil. Once on the other side he lifted his right hand and did the same swift motion, sealing it.

Now in the Fade, Solas stood motionless and breathed. He was hollow inside, full of loss and pain and the cold acceptance of his fate. Even the rush of his mana returning to him, expanding his core tenfold, did nothing save make him shudder reflexively. Rosa's tear-streaked face stared at him from his memory. Her voice pleaded with him, a knife between the ribs.

_Vhenan…_

There was hope of reconciliation. Or there was.

If only he had agreed to wait.

But he could not. Every delay risked him growing weak and selfish, while the grains of sand that represented his life fell away. Mortal. Weak. He could die when he caught another _shemlen_ disease. Or be trapped in a snare set by the Forbidden Ones. Or just fall prey to the ever-tempting idea of letting Rosa stop him. Or worse, die with him in a foolish attempt to save him.

This was about saving her _and_ the People. About redeeming himself.

And he had waited far too long already.

With a shuddering breath, Solas lifted his eyes and narrowed them as he stared into the green-orange haze of the sky. The Black City waited, high above.

Once, ages ago, Corypheus and his fellows had killed uncountable elves and used their blood to tear open the Veil. They walked through the Fade, guided by the whispers of the Forgotten Ones filtering through the bounds of their prison, and entered what had then been the Golden City. But the spirit guardians, long bound by the Evanuris to protect _Anor'Venuralas_, the false god's glittering stronghold, stirred as the Magisters passed. And when the Magisters could not speak the right passphrase, the spirits warned them away, promising to curse them if they did not obey.

Of course, they refused.

The curse they suffered was Blight, a trap leftover by the Evanuris. Both strains, in fact, to ensure the interlopers died—just in case one of Dirthamen's blood or one bearing his favor to control altered Blight rebelled and entered the city—regardless of who they were. But without the full will of either the Forgotten Ones or the Evanuris to command the Blight strains to consume the intruders, the Magisters did not die quickly. They pressed on, infected, and eventually, in blunder, passed through a one-way eluvian that deposited them into the Deep Roads.

Thus began the Blights upon Thedas.

And Solas, deep in uthenera at the time, took what little action he could. He destroyed the physical connection between the Golden City and the Fade to make it impossible for one to walk to it. Then he warded the Golden City to make it blacken, hoping to avoid tempting future foolish expeditions if it looked as dangerous as it truly was.

Now there was only one way to access it.

Somewhere in the deepest reaches of the Fade, an eluvian waited. Dark. Ominous. Only an Evanuris could open the way.

Open the way to the Black City.

He set off, deliberately taking his time and letting the Fade slowly shape itself according to his will, as though he was a talentless sleeper. The longer he took here in this journey, the more time Rosa, Tal, and others in the know would have to find refuge from the coming chaos. He let thoughts of them surviving, immortal and powerful in the new world he would shape, lighten his heart as he went.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

She swallowed, locking her knees. "Solas is a bigger danger than Corypheus."

Vivienne laughed. "Perhaps a greater threat to _fashion _and _hygiene,_ but I doubt the apostate is the danger you believe him to be. He was far from the Magister's equal. I hardly see how you would be so foolish as to—"

"My dear Lady Vivienne," Dorian interrupted in a sarcastically sweet voice. When she shot him an irritable look he smiled sweetly at her as he said, "Do us all a favor and shut up."

* * *

A/N: Shit's hit the fan!


	74. Doom Upon All the World part 2: A Deal with the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To save the world from Solas, and Solas from himself, Rosa cuts a deal with Flemythal. Trouble is, she doesn't know what the price is.

Rosa woke to the sound of raised voices, arguing.

"You lot are _nuts!"_ Sera shouted, sounding frenzied. "Fuck this place. Fuck the _mark._ Fuck the egg!"

"This is where he disappeared," Cassandra said in a growl. "Someone must remain here on watch."

"Not me," Sera spat. "Fuck that shite. This place is _evil_, yeah? No, no, no, no!"

"You wouldn't be alone," Vivienne said condescendingly. "Someone sensitive to the Veil and magic must remain here, in case that fool reappears here." She sniffed. "I volunteer. I am the one best suited to dispatch that creature."

"Fine," Sera spat. "You stay, crazy. Let Inky stay with you. I'm gone! Seen how this ends before, yeah. We all _die._ You hear, right? Seen it before when—"

"Hush your lunatic mouth," Dorian cut in, much closer than the other raised voices. Right beside her, in fact. "She's coming round."

A hot hand touched her cheek. It seemed to scald her skin. Rosa hissed through her teeth and rolled her face away from it. Above her, Dorian said, "Come on then, love. Wake up."

Her head swam with vertigo, but she forced her eyes open as she turned her face to the Tevinter. First, through blurry eyes, she saw Dorian smiling with concern down at her. Dirt and blood marred his clothes and face. His hair was a scraggly mess. Beyond him the sky was dark and cloudy. A strange band of light twinkled high above, under the clouds. The aurora? No, they were in the Frostbacks, not the Brecilian, the only place she had seen the aurora.

Her body felt heavy. Her eyes burned, dry. "Dorian…?"

"Yes," he said, nodding enthusiastically. "Are you all right, Inquisitor?"

She rolled her head away again and saw gray-black stone, covered in a fine layer of dust and debris. Boulders lay beyond that. And further away still she saw scattered, collapsed bricks. Ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

And then memory slammed into her as Loyalty surged to the fore of her mind, full of bitter anguish and loss. Betrayal. Hurt. Grief. _Pain._ She shook and then began to sob uncontrollably. Rolling away from Dorian, she curled into a ball and started to cover her face with her hands—only to realize anew that the Anchor was gone.

Her sobs intensified. Soon she could hardly breathe. Each quavering breath also sucked in dirt and dust, setting her coughing as much as sobbing. Yet, through her misery the others' voices still filtered in.

"She doesn't sound all right," Iron Bull muttered.

"We can all _see_ that," Dorian snapped. "You're not helping."

"We do not have time for this," Cassandra said with a huff. She sounded irritable, but there was fear underlying her voice.

"I'm sorry," Dorian said sarcastically. "I was not aware that hysteria like this was a particular _choice._ Did you truly think she would _choose_ this reaction?" He scoffed. "Pushing her is only going to make it worse."

"I'm with you there, Sparkler," Varric said, gruff. He gave a little cough, as though grit was caught in his throat. "But the Seeker's got a point, too. Even Buttercup does. We don't know a _damn_ thing about what just happened—but I'd bet every coin I own that _she_ does. We need Violet talking now."

"Maybe a spell?" Iron Bull suggested hopefully. "Something to calm her down a bit?"

"There are tonics," Vivienne suggested. "But most of them have the added side effect of sedation. We can hardly afford her sleeping just now."

"How bout I run back to Skyhold, yeah?" Sera said, her voice quaking. "Tree-face will know how to help her. Bet he knows what shite Egghead pulled outta his ass, too."

"A wonderful idea, my dear, as it solves both this problem and the annoyance of your presence here," Vivienne said with barely disguised disgust. "Maker knows, you were no help during the battle and I'm certain you need a change of undergarments."

"Fuck you," Sera snapped viciously. "I got a quiver full of arrows I can feed you."

"Enough," Cassandra cut in. "This is childish and a waste of time. Dorian, is there anything you can do?"

Slowly, through sheer force of will, Rosa tamped down the agony slicing her apart from within. Gradually her breathing slowed until it was only a few reflexive gasps and sobs that snuck in. Once her head settled and the world no longer spun as badly—about when Sera and Vivienne exchanged barbs—she realized Dorian's hand was on her shoulder. His skin was warm, even through her chainmail, but no magic flowed that she could detect. Still, she focused on it, grounding herself, and he seemed to know it.

He gave her a little squeeze. "No need. The old girl's coming round."

"That a girl, Violet," Varric said. "Tough as a high dragon."

Rosa sat up, grabbing Dorian's hand to steady her. Cassandra apparently took that as a sign she could speak and began a barrage of questions. "Inquisitor, what has Solas done? Where has he gone? Will he reappear here? What could he _possibly_ want in the Fade?"

She clung to Dorian's hand like a lifeline, afraid she would fall into the pit of grief inside her if she let go. Loyalty pushed for her to speak the truth. She didn't have the energy to fight the spirit's wishes.

"He's gone to tear down the Veil and kill the other Elvhen gods."

There was silence for a beat and then a chorus of reactions.

"What?" Iron Bull asked, sounding as if he was about to laugh, as though she'd told a good joke that he was only just starting to get.

"Fuck off! More demon shite?!" Sera raged.

"You cannot be serious, my dear," Vivienne said, disbelieving. "Did she hit her head, do you think?"

"Please tell me you're joking," Varric said, grunting a dry, nervous laugh.

From Dorian and Cassandra came only ominous silence. Then, after the others waited for Rosa to say more, the Seeker said, "I…I don't think we understand, Inquisitor. How could _Solas_…"

And then Dorian let go of her shoulder. His boots scraped on the stony ground as he got to his feet. "You should tell them what you told me, Rosa," he said, his voice grave.

"What did she tell you?" Cassandra pressed, urgency and fear lifting her voice a half-octave. "What do you know?"

Dorian let out a loud sigh and spoke to Rosa again. "Even if you don't tell us everything," he said, soft as halla fur. "At least tell us if we can _do_ something to stop him."

That terrible, black hole of grief gnawed on Rosa again. She cracked, just a little. Sobbing a few times again, she struggled to find her strength. Hauling herself upright, she pivoted to face her companions. Her limbs were weak. Her head was too light. Her heart wouldn't stop drumming in her ears. She couldn't _see_ them in front of her properly. Her eyes were blurry, her mind fuzzy.

"Without the Anchor," she rasped, lifting her left hand. "I can't go after him."

Silence. But only for a few moments. Then Vivienne said, "Surely you do not actually believe that ragged apostate can tear down the Veil. And this nonsense about heathen gods…"

"I'm leaving," Sera blurted. She was white as bleached Imperial cotton. "Seen this before, yeah? We all _die. _Get it? You were smart you'd run too." The archer turned and sprinted away before they could stop her.

"That little coward," Cassandra growled. "Iron Bull—would you…?"

"You got it, Cass." His lumbering form hurried away with surprising quickness. Rosa saw he was covered in half-dry gore from the red lyrium dragon. She needed to cure him if he was infected.

With those two gone now, Cassandra returned to doggedly trying to get Rosa to talk. "Explain to me, Inquisitor, how _Solas_ could tear down the Veil? And—what do you _mean_ elven gods? We have already run across Mythal. Are there _more_ like her? In the Fade?" Rosa didn't need to look at her to see the Seeker's frustrated shake of her head. "Why would _Solas,_ of all people, wish to kill them? Has he gone mad? Is he possessed?"

"Is he under some delusional belief, like our dear friend Corypheus, that killing these other beings will elevate him to godhood?" Vivienne asked, but her tone suggested that she thought entertaining this line of reasoning was a foolish waste of time.

"No," Rosa said quickly and let out a dry, croaking laugh that was almost more of a cry. "He doesn't need to kill them to do that. He's already been remembered as a god."

Vivienne snorted but had no clever comeback to this.

Cassandra, however, gawped. _"Solas?"_

Varric echoed her shock. _"Chuckles?"_

It was Dorian, of course, who followed her logic. "Which god?" he asked and then shook his head with a short twittering laugh. "No, wait—let me guess. The wolf one. The trickster. I wondered why he was so obsessed with wolves. Every fresco he painted was full of them."

Rosa nodded mutely. She wondered how she hadn't seen that, connected it. _You did not want to see how deeply he could betray you,_ she thought. Loyalty ached, raw with hurt. It didn't know how to process what had happened yet. Neither did she. The shock and grief was too near.

"This…" Cassandra stammered. "This is not making sense, Inquisitor. _How_ can _Solas_ be—"

"Because he lied to us," Rosa said, distant and cold. "And I let him." At the uncomprehending stare from Varric, Cassandra, and Vivienne, Rosa elucidated. "Solas is an ancient elf. He survived the fall of Arlathan."

"He's…_Chuckles_ is immortal?" Varric spluttered, flabbergasted. But he followed it with an anxious laugh. "You're shitting us. I know you are. Gotta be. I saw the way he was at Hasmal."

"We all saw when he was deathly ill last year," Vivienne reminded her. "Darling, in case you're unclear on the meaning of immortal, that would preclude clearly fallible men such as our dear Solas." She spoke slowly, as though to a dense child. She clearly thought Rosa was out of her mind.

But Cassandra had gone pale. Like Leliana had, she must have connected the way Solas was found and dragged to the Hasmal Circle to the truth. Dorian, too, was unsurprised. Rosa suspected he realized Solas was Elvhen in some way during their conversation earlier. It didn't take much more for him to accept the secret identity.

"He isn't immortal anymore," Rosa said to the enchanter, a clipped note of irritation in her voice. Her mind was starting to flow again as her emotions settled, falling to rest like the dust left over from the battle with Corypheus. "He slept. In uthenera." She let out a breath. "But it's not important. We have to find a way to stop him. What he's doing will…"

She swallowed, locking her knees. "Solas is a bigger danger than Corypheus."

Vivienne laughed. "Perhaps a greater threat to _fashion _and _hygiene,_ but I doubt the apostate is the danger you believe him to be. He was far from the Magister's equal. I hardly see how you would be so foolish as to—"

"My dear Lady Vivienne," Dorian interrupted in a sarcastically sweet voice. When she shot him an irritable look he smiled sweetly at her as he said, "Do us all a favor and shut up."

Vivienne glared at him but acquiesced.

"Go on," Dorian said to Rosa then.

She shook her head, stamping on Loyalty. The spirit wanted her to divulge everything. Now was not the time. But she _did_ need them to understand the direness of what was currently happening so that they brought everything to the table to help her, just as they had with Corypheus. And, more and more as she regained her self-composure, Rosa became aware of the deadly passage of time. How long would it take Solas to accomplish his goal? An hour? Two?

It couldn't be long. Her heart pounded harder, faster at the thought.

"The details don't matter," she said, frowning at how breathy her voice sounded, how dry and rasping. "But it's true. Solas is a bigger threat than Corypheus. The Magister was like a child blundering around with a torch, setting a fire that could burn a village." She swallowed the bulge of bile rising in her throat. "But Solas is like an arsonist with the power to burn the _world._"

"_Chuckles?"_ Varric asked again, still confounded. Vivienne, too, still appeared doubtful and unimpressed.

"He's weaker than he was," Rosa said. "But he _was_ mistaken for a god. Fen'Harel." Her eyes leapt between her companions, reading their varying reactions. "My people remember him as a monster. He locked the other Creators away. In the Golden City."

Now even Cassandra frowned and shook her head. "The Chant says the Maker—"

"I'm sorry," Rosa interrupted her, trying to keep her voice soft, but urgency made it sharper than she liked. "But the Chant is wrong. The Maker did not create the Golden City. My people did—specifically, our gods." She scowled and used the correct term. "The Evanuris, false gods. Magic was stronger back then, before the Veil."

"_Before the Veil?"_ Dorian asked, almost squawking with surprise.

She nodded. "The Veil isn't a natural part of the world. Solas made it."

"_Solas made the Veil?"_ Dorian asked, mouth hanging open now in disbelief. _"Vishante kaffas!"_

"_Solas?"_ Cassandra asked, shaking her head. Unable to comprehend this as even possible.

Varric was apparently in the same boat. Brows in his forehead, he smiled grimly as he repeated for the umpteenth time, _"Chuckles?"_ Then he laughed. "You're shitting us. _Please_ be shitting us, Violet."

"I wish I was," Rosa admitted, shoulders slumping. "But I'm completely serious. The orb was his." She lifted her left hand, now barren. Empty. Her eyes stung, though she marveled that she could miss the awful thing. "The Anchor was his. He was—_is_—an Evanuris. One of the strongest mages to ever live."

"Darling," Vivienne said, laughing out the words. "You're mistaken…"

Movement behind the group and beyond the half-crumbled columns drew Rosa's eye. She saw Iron Bull partly supporting a weak and dirty Morrigan. He must not have been able to recover Sera and stumbled upon her along the way. The sight of the witch jolted Rosa with memory.

Solas wasn't the only Evanuris walking modern Thedas.

Had Mythal known how this would play out?

"Do you want to argue with me or will you help me?" Rosa snapped at the enchanter. Then as she ordered her thoughts, she went on. "Because it's going to be _a lot_ less funny when the Veil is destroyed suddenly and the world is full of demons." She breathed harder, louder. "And that's all it will be, _if_ you're lucky. If you're not lucky, if Solas can't kill the other Evanuris, you'll get to watch as they enslave your whole world and grind the Chantry and the Circles into dust."

Vivienne stared at her, doubt now darkening her beautiful face.

Rosa transitioned her stare to Dorian. "They'll turn Tevinter to ash to punish you for what you did to my people, Dorian. And it will be _easy_. A thousand years of your culture, literature, traditions. Gone."

He squared his jaw, grim.

Now she looked last to Cassandra. "If your Maker exists, then you were right and He put me here, now, to stop this. Corypheus was just a tool for Solas. He knew the Conclave would happen. He planned it. He just didn't know Corypheus could regenerate with the help of his Blighted dragon."

She let out a breath, shaking. "And that's just a fraction of the power the whole pantheon of false gods possess. Solas was _weak_ when he woke up, and he's only gained power slowly. But when he tears down the Veil, magic will come back to the world. He and the other Evanuris will be at full strength. And the other Creators will _slaughter_ you and everything to do with the Andrastian faith. They won't suffer rivals, and unless you expect your Maker to walk down out of the heavens, or dig himself out of the Deep Roads to save us…"

She spread her arms. "I'm the only thing you've got—and we're running out of time."

"But…without the Anchor…" Cassandra said, eyes wide. "How can we do anything to stop what you say is coming?"

Now Rosa thrust her hand into a pouch at her waist. Her fingers closed over a conical shape, sharp along one edge and ridged. Pulling it out, she held it aloft. "There might be another way."

"A dragon tooth?" Varric asked.

"A token," Rosa muttered as she closed her hand around the tooth. "From my great-grandmother. Mythal."

"Mythal?" Vivienne parroted, arching a sculpted eyebrow in clear disbelief.

Iron Bull reached them about then, still helping support Morrigan. The witch gazed past her other companions, her eyes narrowed and her mouth open as she breathed. Based on the understanding in her gaze, Rosa guessed the Iron Bull had filled her in on what he could. Morrigan, with the voice of the well inside her head, and a lifetime of barely-glimpsed ancient knowledge from her very strange mother, understood the danger better than anyone else around her.

Breaking away from Iron Bull, she staggered toward Rosa. "Call Mother. Do it—_now,_ Inquisitor." She grasped her side, hunching over. "There is no time."

"What is this?" Cassandra asked, alarmed at Morrigan's interjection. "What are you doing with that tooth? How is _that_ supposed to help us stop Solas?"

But Dorian moved wordlessly to support Morrigan and looked quickly to Rosa. "Go on, love. We're with you, whether we understand what's happening or not."

"She must go alone," Morrigan said, grimacing in the way Rosa recognized meant she could hear the voices of the well speaking to her over reality. "Fen'Harel will be inside the Black City by the time she catches him."

"You cannot go alone," Cassandra protested. "It's suicide!"

"For all of us," Morrigan retorted shortly, glowering over her shoulder at the Seeker. "Yes, yes it would be. The Black City is rank with Blight." Facing forward again, she smiled wryly at Rosa. "But not for _Dirthamen'lines, _and not, I should think, when she carries the protection of a spirit."

Confused looks flew between Varric, Cassandra, and Vivienne, but Dorian understood at once. He pressed forward a bit and spoke in a hushed voice. "Go, love. Do what you must. I'll see to everyone here." His handsome brown eyes were too bright. "Maker be with you," he said, more earnest than she'd ever heard from anyone besides Cassandra.

Clutching the tooth tighter, Rosa nodded and spun away from the others. Cassandra called out to her, protesting, but she ignored her. She ran around the group and through the broken wall of arches and columns, into the dark stairwell. Somehow the architecture of this place remained intact, despite it falling from the sky and resettling on the earth once more.

Out in the open space where the ugly corpse of the red lyrium dragon lay, tainting the ground around it, Rosa skidded to a stop. Opening her palm, she stared at the tooth and _reached _for it. The magic fluttered and the tooth glowed golden. Invisible runes of summoning glittered over the pale enamel.

"Mythal," Rosa said. "Flemeth." Then shutting her eyes, she reached deeper, and spoke elven in a whisper. _"Great-grandmother."_

She thought of her mother. Mythal was the All-Mother. The first mother. For all of her manipulations, her involvement in Arlathan's cutthroat court and its many wars, that must remain a fundamental part of her. Then Rosa thought of her father, too. Flemeth said Mythal thought of him as a son, that she wanted to preserve Felassan's children.

_Please,_ she thought. _I need your help to save this world. _

She hoped Mythal wanted to save Thedas, too. For Morrigan. For Kieran. For Talassan and Felenaste. For Rosa herself. Maybe even for Solas, who she must have cared greatly for as well, once.

And then, just as she heard Cassandra and the others shouting for her as they rushed down the stairwell, a gust of chilly wind wafted against her. Rosa's eyes snapped open to see a cloud of swirling dust rising with the unnatural wind. Out of it walked Flemeth, a coy smile spread wide over her lips.

"Such a pleasure to see you again, Inquisitor." She let out an amused laugh; her voice dry like old leaves rustling in the wind. "How can I be of service?" The way her golden eyes sparkled, it was clear to Rosa that this strange old woman knew full-well how she could help.

"I need to get into the Fade," she said, still holding the dragon tooth clenched in her left fist. "Fen'Harel has to be stopped. _Please."_

Flemeth smirked and took a lazy step closer. "What makes you so sure that I don't want to see him succeed?" Rearing back, her horn-like hair gave her the appearance of a dragon. "Did you forget that Mythal suffered greatly at the hands of her fellows?" Her voice rose higher as she went on. "Did you forget that your grandfather—Mythal's own _son_—orchestrated her murder? Did you forget that those _fools_ June, Sylaise, and Ghilan'nain did _nothing_ to stop Dirthamen, Andruil, Elgar'nan, and Falon'Din from killing her?"

She circled round Rosa as she spoke. Turning to watch the old woman with a wary eye, Rosa tensed as she realized a strange barrier in gold had formed in a wide circle around them. The world outside it was frozen. Cassandra was just exiting the stairwell, caught in midstride. Iron Bull was just behind her, pulling out his axe. They were utterly motionless. They might as well have been a painting.

"Why should Mythal wish to save them?" Flemeth asked her in challenge, hands on her hips.

Panic fluttered in her skull. Had she miscalculated? But then she caught the slight uptick of the old woman's mouth and recalled how Flemeth delighted in taunting Morrigan, making her fear she'd come for Kieran when she hadn't. Flemeth and Mythal weren't telling her _no._ This was a test.

"I didn't ask you to help me save the other Evanuris," Rosa said. "I asked you to help me save Thedas."

"Didn't you just do that?" Flemeth asked with a laugh. "The magister is dead. I helped you save this world once already, though I have little care for it. Very generous of me, don't you think? How can you, in good conscience, ask an old, tired woman to do so much?"

Annoyance lashed Rosa. "Then help me save Morrigan. She's part of this world. You care about her."

Circling Rosa like a shark, Flemeth tossed her head back and laughed. When she finished she shot Rosa a coy look as she said, "My daughter will easily survive the chaos the Dread Wolf unleashes. I taught her how to be resourceful, and clever. She doesn't need my help—or yours! She would refuse it if we offered." She tsked her tongue. "So ungrateful, my daughter."

When Flemeth stopped again, directly in front of her, she smirked at Rosa and crossed her arms over her chest. "Try again, child." She edged closer and then said, _"Mor'eshalan."_

_Granddaughter. _

Rosa stared hard at the old woman and tried to calm her mind. What did Mythal—or Flemeth—want from her?

"Perhaps," Flemeth said, crooning as she drew out the single word, crisp and clear, "you should ask me to help _him._ Why fight him?" she asked, smiling cold. "What love do _you_ have for Thedas? For the Veil? For the Evanuris?" She spread her arms, taking in the open, desolate space of this sandy patch in the ruins. "What is the world now but a place where mages and Dreamers are tormented? Where Blight runs rampant every few ages and the People wear the yoke of slavery?"

Her hands fell to her sides, soundless. Her golden eyes drilled into Rosa, still full of challenge. Again, Rosa glimpsed a hint of the old woman's emotion. Excitement. Exhilaration. Amusement. Bitterness. They stood at the edge of a precipice. One pulled away, the other pulled toward the abyss. Neither quite knew which way the other would ultimately fall…

"You refused to help him destroy this world," Flemeth said. "So he took the choice from you." Stabbing a finger at Rosa, she indicated her barren left hand, bereft of the Anchor's light. "And in doing so, he gave you a long life—maybe immortality, should he succeed. Instead of looking to _stop_ him, perhaps you should ask me to take you to _join_ him." She smiled, sly. "We three can kill the others. Together."

Rosa shook her head. "Am I to let him hang the weight of destroying a _second_ world around his neck?" she spat, shaking with sudden emotion. Rage that Flemeth and Mythal would resist her…and fear that she had half a mind to agree with them.

"That is his burden to bear," Flemeth said, still smiling. "That was his choice."

"His choice is death!" Rosa shouted, hands clenching into fists. "His choice will kill the non-elves, will kill _him._" She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and gazed over her shoulder to the stairs. Her companions remained frozen. Time hadn't moved, but Rosa's heart lurched in her chest with urgency. Time couldn't have stopped in the Fade, too. Every second she wasn't _doing_ something was a lost chance.

"_Please,"_ she said, her eyes stinging. But they were dry. She had used up her tears.

Flemeth cocked her head, the smile fading slightly. Her golden eyes seemed to glow, intense. "Please…what, child?" She edged closer until Rosa had to stiffen to keep herself from taking a step back. The old woman laid her hands on Rosa's shoulders. "What do you _want_, Inquisitor?"

"I have to stop him," Rosa murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as rage and fear faded into pain and exhaustion. "Please."

Flemeth's golden eyes darkened into deep amber and she leaned closer still. She whispered, "What do you _want,_ Rosa?"

The use of her name made Rosa flinch. And, in a fast flash of insight, probably from Loyalty, she realized _that _was what the old crone wanted. So she let raw truth tumble out.

"I want him to live. I want them _all _to live. My brother. My family, his family…" A cry wrenched out of her throat and she dropped her gaze, her knees quaking. "I want my friends to live. I want my _people_ to live."

"Why?" Flemeth asked. "Shouldn't the world matter more, Inquisitor? This one, or Elvhenan? The wretched present, or the cruel past? You must choose."

_Why,_ the old woman had asked. Loyalty pressed on her ribs from within. She couldn't make sense of the demand for choice, couldn't commit to it without breaking fidelity with someone, and so she shied from it. Instead she focused on that simple _why_.

"Because I love them," she blurted. "Because I don't want to lose any of them."

"But they are at odds, are they not?" Flemeth pressed. "The humans will kill the elves. One day, the last of your people will be born and die—unless the Dread Wolf succeeds. Whatever you do, a _world_ ends. Do you understand, child?"

"_Telanadas,"_ Rosa whispered. Nothing was inevitable. "There might be a middle road." She had only to find it.

Flemeth made a humming noise in her throat, considering. Her hands squeezed on Rosa's shoulders. "You are as stubborn as Evunial." She let out a soft sigh that seemed genuinely sad as her hands fell away from Rosa's shoulders. "I do miss him—as I know you do as well."

Her smile was sad when Rosa dared glance up. "But, he chose his fate. Just as Fen'Harel has done." She reached out with one hand, gently taking Rosa's chin in her grasp and lifting it. They stared at each other a long moment.

"I see," she murmured and released Rosa's chin. "You have made your choice as well. And for a thing so foolish and blind as love. You would condemn your people, elves and mages alike, to death. You would see the wonders of the past buried. All to save the man you _still_ love, despite the fact he killed your father."

Rosa blinked, her cheeks burning with humiliation at the hard, cruel truth the old crone spilled out before her. Loyalty twisted, confused and torn. The grand idea of saving an entire people was foreign to it. How could one know a whole world? An entire race?

Rosa couldn't. Loyalty couldn't. There were only individuals. And there was always choice. There was always change. There was always _hope_ in that.

"If you won't help me," Rosa said, her voice croaking with emotion. "Then at least tell me how I can try to stop him without you." She felt her chin wrinkling. "Please, _mamala."_

Flemeth was silent a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiled. The sight left Rosa cold, certain she had endured the crone's test, but unsure if she had passed. Something felt…off. A trick. A trap, lying just out of sight.

"I never said I wouldn't aid you," Flemeth said, hands on her hips now. "I was a foolish girl once, flush with devotion to my lover." She chuckled bitterly. "I will help you save him and save this wretched world." Her golden eyes narrowed dangerously. "But there is a price."

Rosa's throat threatened to close. She swallowed the fear down. "You said there wouldn't be."

Flemeth chuckled. "Clever girl. Do you think to snare me in a trap?" She grinned. "I said there was no price to summoning me to save you. I said no such thing about saving the world, or stopping Fen'Harel."

Scowling, Rosa had to admit the old woman was right. "All right," she muttered. "What is the price?"

Flemeth's smile was hard. "That is for me to know and you to find out." Arching a brow, she asked, "Do you agree?"

Solemn, fighting her own trepidation as it wound tighter inside her, cold as the glacial river flowing around Skyhold, Rosa nodded. "I agree." What choice did she have at this point?

Flemeth laughed again, now clearly enjoying herself. "Very good, child." She raised her arms and tilted her head back. "Come with me."

The golden barrier over them popped, vanishing like a soap bubble. Sound rushed in. Wind wailing as it tore through the ruins, rustling as it stirred the weeds and the dirt underfoot. The clatter of footsteps from her friends. Their ragged breath as they called out to her.

She turned to shout to them, to say goodbye—but suddenly there was an enormous green and black dragon at her side. It grew out of Flemeth's spot, replacing the old woman. Spirit magic, raw force, tickled Rosa's skin and lifted her up as the dragon swelled in size. Rough scales brushed against Rosa's hands as she scrabbled into a spot hunkered low right where its long neck met with its shoulders.

Her companions skidded to a halt, eyes wide and mouths gaping as their heads tilted up and up. "Inquisitor!" Cassandra shouted, stunned but also clearly worried.

The dragon reared back on its haunches and the vast wings beat. The force of it knocked everyone who'd emerged from the stairwell flat on their rumps. With a roar that shook the ruins, sending loose stones and pulverized bricks tumbling, it took off.

As the world sank fast below, Rosa groaned and pressed her forehead to the beast's scales. _Please,_ she thought, wishing she had a god she believed in to pray to, _let this turn out okay. Don't let this be a mistake. _

* * *

Solas wasn't sure how long he had walked. He was not tired physically, but grief made him weary in every other way and that sullen slowness sank into his limbs. Yet, all too soon, the next bend in the Fade opened to reveal a dark, secluded corner that he recognized.

He stopped, concentrating, and sensed the glamor runes along the glistening, gray rocks of the walls along either side of his path. Walking softly over the damp sand underfoot, Solas went ton one wall and then the other. Waving a hand, he deactivated the runes with a surge of spirit energy. These runes were coded to him specifically, carefully crafted so that only his magic would expose and deactivate them.

They tinkled musically, showing up bright green against the gray stone. When both were off the darkness in the uplifted dead-end vanished to reveal an eluvian. The mirror was three times his height, gilded in gold. The glass was grimy, but Solas easily saw his reflection as he approached.

He looked every bit the world-weary, despairing man he felt like. His skin was pale. His head was shiny and bald, a far cry from the thick mane of brown-red hair he once sported before his long sleep. His face was long, his mouth set in a permanent frown. His eyes were small and sad.

With a little sigh, Solas laid a palm against the glass. The latent magic within it stood at attention as he extended his magical senses out to it. The magic caressed him, checking him. It found the power it sought as it touched his core.

He was an Evanuris. It knew his soul.

It would yield.

Solas let a smidgen of mana flow into the glass. At once the mirror rippled like water and flashed gold—not the usual blue. But what it revealed as the glass settled into a still pool was a shadowy, ugly hall. Darkness clung unnaturally to every stone. Arches that should have been fine and pleasing to the eye instead dripped as though they were melting. Red particles lay over the floor, glittering sinisterly.

Blight.

Reaching into the cloak he wore—a wolf pelt—he found his amulet. The wolf's lacquered jawbone. Gripping it in one hand, Solas shut his eyes and activated the ancient ward within it that would protect him from contracting natural Blight, the strain controlled by the Forgotten Ones.

It would not help him against Dirthamen's strain.

But he took small comfort in knowing that as long as he was careful he could avoid infection. Dirthamen's Blight was not nearly as airborne as the original strain, which was meant to spread between living beings as an actual disease as a means to cull the population of the immortal elves. Dirthamen tied it to red lyrium to further reduce its contagiousness. He wanted to clearly differentiate the two strains, weaponized from natural.

Putting on the pendant, Solas waited a moment to gather his nerve. Then he stepped through.

* * *

Flemeth brought Rosa to Skyhold. Shouts of alarm rang from the keep as the dragon descended. Rosa winced, unhappy at needlessly startling her people as the dragon landed and vanished.

Again the spirit wind carried Rosa safely, setting her gently on the ice field outside the keep. The river ice groaned and cracked as the dragon's weight landed and then disappeared immediately. Rosa was tense, squinting through the dark, worried the ice would crack and give way. Or some Inquisition scouts on patrol at the keep's base might shoot arrows at them, mistaking their arrival as an attack.

Flemeth showed no such fear. The old woman stood out stark in her black getup against the pale ice. She walked toward the bricked up Elvhen ruins without hesitation or concern. "Are you coming, child?" she asked Rosa as she passed by.

Huffing anxiously, Rosa drew on her mana to craft the invisibility spell. Then she trotted after the old witch.

Flemeth tore out the bricks blocking entry to the ruins with a casual wave of her hand. Green spirit magic shattered and scattered them. They hurried through and proceeded deeper. Flemeth didn't seem to need any guidance. She probably remembered this place from before the Fall, thanks to Mythal.

They reached the room with the eluvian—only to find it was already active. Rosa stared a moment, taken aback, before she remembered she'd ordered Tal and his clan through here. Glancing to the dust on the floor, she saw countless footprints, all overlapping. Dozens of people had passed through here.

_Good,_ she thought. _Tal is safe._

"Friends of yours?" Flemeth asked, sweeping a hand about to indicate the prints.

Rosa nodded and said nothing else.

Flemeth turned back to the mirror, laughing. Thrusting a hand up to the glass, she murmured under her breath. Rosa sensed the flow of mana, pouring out of the old woman and into the eluvian. The blue glass flickered and frothed, changing from blue to green.

The Fade was visible through the glass, like the bottom of a lake as viewed through clear, cool spring water.

"Come along, then." Flemeth stepped into the smooth surface, passing through it.

Rosa followed and shivered with pleasure as she stepped out into the raw Fade. It was damp. Sand gritted under her foot-wraps. Rosa stumbled as her mana core expanded, exploding inside her. Breaths coming fast, she laid a hand against a glistening gray rock to the right of the eluvian, regaining her balance.

Flemeth, gazing backward over her shoulder, chuckled. "Do you have the strength for this journey, Inquisitor?" she asked, taunting.

Bristling, Rosa pushed off the rock. The Fade spun for a second, swirling in a green-gray mess. She shook her head and trotted ahead. "How do we get to the Black City?"

"There is only one way," Flemeth said, matching her speed with surprising fluidity and grace. "Sealed long ago." Fierce, dark joy glowed in her eyes. Her smile was full of something disturbing as she stared ahead to where the sandy path rose, obscured by mist. "And only an Evanuris may open it."

Rosa's stomach clenched. "Can you still do that? You're human."

Flemeth's grim smile grew. "We will see, Inquisitor. If the mirror does not know me and Mythal's soul is not enough to sway it…" Her golden eyes swiveled to Rosa and narrowed with amusement. "Between the three of us, we will bend the magic to our will."

"I'm not an Evanuris," Rosa said, her voice strained and wary. She didn't like the way Flemeth looked at her. It should go without saying that Rosa would have no power over an eluvian that only opened to Evanuris.

"No," the old woman agreed, staring forward once more as they stepped into the thick, wet mist. "But you carry the blood of _four_ of us. With Mythal's soul and your blood, the eluvian will grant us passage."

"How much blood," Rosa asked, her wariness making her slow her pace, falling behind the old witch. What if this was a trap in the same vein as the one Imshael sprang on her and Tal in the Dales? Was Flemeth just here for her blood? Was that the price?

Flemeth laughed, catching her unease. "Nothing that you will miss, girl."

The old witch halted suddenly, her boots scuffing on hard stone. "Ah," she said, inhaling deeply. She raised both arms, arching her back, stretching in a posture similar to the dragon-woman statues littering the temple of Mythal. "We have found it."

Rosa saw only mist. She chewed her lip, resisting the anxious desire to start wringing her hands. Before she could question Flemeth, the old woman made a grand sweeping motion of her arms. The mists thinned and a mild breeze, damp and fetid, pushed it away to reveal a tall eluvian set into a dead-end half-circle of high gray stone. A musical tinkling made Rosa's ear twitch and her head turn to see Veilfire runes in pale emerald green glittering on the stone. The markings were foreign, unfamiliar magic long lost to modern Thedas.

"He's already gone through," Flemeth said, following her gaze.

Rosa swung her head back to look at the witch. "How can you be so sure?"

Flemeth's smile was humorless as she jerked her chin toward the runes. "A glamor." At Rosa's continued uncertainty, Flemeth added, "Did you think Mythal would not remember his script? She knew him much longer than _you._" Lifting her hands, gloved in shining, sharp finger-guards that resembled claws, Flemeth indicated the Veilfire rune. "This glamor is his work, as sure as the altered Blight was Dirthamen's. And, like the altered Blight, this glamor would only reveal itself to its maker." Her smile was grim. "Do you understand, child?"

Rosa frowned, her jaw clenching. "Yes." Solas had made this glamor and the ward would only display itself like this after it was defused. "Too bad he didn't leave the mirror active."

"This one does not remain active for more than a few moments at a time," Flemeth said. She strode forward, straight-backed and regal despite her age. "Let us see, Inquisitor, if we can bend the magic of false gods." Her smile again held the tinge of bitterness that left Rosa stiff with apprehension. But what could Rosa do except press onward? The alternative—flee and leave Solas to destroy Thedas, the Veil, and himself—was unthinkable.

The witch shut her eyes and once more Rosa sensed the pulse of powerful mana flowing as the other woman touched the glass. Purple magic glowed in her palm and out to the mirror. Rosa's skin prickled with gooseflesh, sensing some_thing_ massive and as old as the bones of the world stirring through the air around her, invisible but detected nonetheless. She wrapped her arms around herself for comfort and tried not to tap her foot or twitch with impatience.

Then Flemeth turned her head slightly and called to her. "Offer your blood, _mor'eshalan."_

Swallowing her unease, Rosa quickly pulled a small utility knife from a pouch at her belt and slit across her palm. Red blood welled up, rich and glimmering. Cupping her palm to keep it from rolling freely onto the gray stone below, Rosa strode up to the eluvian beside Flemeth. She stretched out her bleeding palm without hesitation, though inwardly she braced for what she expected would be a harsh invasion of this ancient magic, judging her.

The mirror was cold, bitingly so. Her blood smeared on the surface, then absorbed in as though it was hungry earth, drinking up rain. The slice on her palm burned. Rosa gritted her teeth against the pain and refused to flinch away. Then the magic reached up, crawling through her, flesh and soul alike. It was just as invasive as she'd feared, aggressive as it tore through her. The magic was both cold and burning at once, a paradox her body couldn't puzzle out except to endure as pain. And slowly, a familiar and terrible whispering rose up into her ears, carried through her flesh rather than through air.

"_We are here. We have waited. We have slept. We are sundered. We are crippled. We are polluted. We endure."_

Dizziness made Rosa's head swam as the voices rose louder and grew uglier, breathy with desperation. She tried to focus and block it out. _Allow me to pass. I belong. I am…_

She didn't know what she was. An amalgamation of Evanuris, through interbreeding and betrayal. The blood of no less than _four_ Evanuris ran in her veins, as Flemeth said. She had carried the Dread Wolf's Anchor for _years._ She prayed it would be enough with Flemeth and Mythal's aid to grant them admittance.

But then the glass rippled and a shock of stinging pain pushed Rosa's hand back. Yelping, she recoiled and stared down at her palm where blood still oozed. "No," she muttered. "No, this _must_ work!"

"We are close," Flemeth said, her voice strained. She still had a hand to the mirror and continued channeling power to it. "Your blood will be enough—but your youth betrays you. Do you think Fen'Harel approached this mirror with uncertainty? Or Dirthamen? Where is the bravado of your ancestors, _Dirthamen'lines_?"

Scowling, Rosa let out a frustrated huff. _Kinda hard to feel that way when all I can think about is what happens if I fail._ Loyalty spun with horror inside her. Rosa sat on the anxious spirit and flexed her hand, hard, to reopen the cut.

Screwing up her face, Rosa slapped her palm once more to the glass. The crimson fluid seeped into it, sending reddish ripples through the mirror, like blood magic or red lyrium. This time Rosa snarled at her reflection, seeing past the dirt and grit and blood from the battle with Corypheus to her clear cheeks, chin, and forehead. She was barefaced and in Elvhenan that meant she was free, highborn.

As she felt the magic reach out to her again, freezing and burning her palm, she stretched out her magical senses to match its aggression with her own. _I am Falon'Din,_ she thought, imagining the Void Mirror within the disturbing, rotting temple. _I am Mythal,_ she thought and remembered the well in the Arbor Wilds, the way the sentinels reacted when Tal opened the doors without going through the rituals because the magic _knew_ him. _I am Elgar'nan,_ she thought and envisioned the awful weapon, the ray of firelight the Orlesians accidentally activated in the Dales across the Enavuris river. _I am Dirthamen,_ she thought and felt her heart thumping inside her, echoing with the power of the red lyrium still within her, although dormant now, and the truth-speaking compulsion Solas had so despised.

The power in the mirror pulsed.

It _knew_ her.

The magic in the mirror yielded. It changed from a cold violation to a warm caress. Rosa's reflection in the glass disappeared as the surface transformed into a permeable membrane, glowing gold. Now she saw an ugly red-black hall, blurry through the glass.

Swallowing the surge of fear, Rosa pulled her hand back just as Flemeth made a humming noise in her throat. "How unfortunate," she said, her smile grim. Then she glanced at Rosa. "You cannot linger long. The spirit you carry will protect you from infection, but not indefinitely."

"It's both strains of Blight," Rosa murmured, understanding. "And I'm only able to control one." Worry cut through her as a new thought leapt to her mind. "Solas isn't immune to either strain…"

"He has protection from the Forgotten Ones' Blight," Flemeth said, her expression softening at the sight of Rosa's concern. "But not from Dirthamen's Blight." The old woman returned her attention to the mirror. "The same as I. Let us be quick about it then."

She stepped through, making the mirror ripple like water. Rosa drew in a steadying breath and then marched after her.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"You truly believe you will stop him with impassioned pleas?" Flemeth asked, her voice low and her golden eyes full of mockery. "Did you think pledges of loyalty and confessions of love would stop the Dread Wolf, girl?"

"I came here to save him," Rosa snarled, gripping the old woman's arm but not struggling now. Her heart ached, sinking as she realized Flemeth was right. She'd already pleaded with Solas. He hadn't listened. "How do _you_ think I can stop him?"

Flemeth's smile was wry. "We must trick the trickster." Her stance changed slightly, turning fully toward Rosa. "I apologize, Inquisitor. This will not be pleasant."

* * *

A/N Yes, yes...the end is near now!


	75. Doom Upon All the World Part 3: Love Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa attempts to trick the Trickster, forcing him to make a terrible choice: Destroy Thedas and kill Rosa with it, or turn away from the Din'An'Shiral and sacrifice the People.

Elven used

_Anor'Venuralas: _Place of the gods. The Elvhen name for the beautiful "Golden city" of the Evanuris.

_Fen'Harel ma halam _"Fen'Harel ends you."

* * *

Solas had forgotten how beautiful the untainted _Anor'Venuralas_ was. Once he left the lower levels, making his way by ancient memory, the Blight vanished and the warding to disguise the city ceased. Now white stone walls surrounded him, smooth as silk and with flecks of fine silver and gold. The floor glowed with each step he took. Golden spirits, little more than wisps, darted about—all that remained of dedicated servants bound to care for the Evanuris' palace.

Then he came to his final destination: the tactical room. It was broad and circular, as so much was in the architecture of the palace, with a single large archway to offer entrance. Golden doors, made entirely of magic, barred entrance. They glittered and sang, piercing to his ears.

Solas stepped closer, drawing up a smidgen of mana, and laid a hand on the doors. They flickered and then vanished, allowing him to see beyond. The circular space inside had seven spaces set in the walls. Seven thrones for seven false-gods.

There should have been eight, but Elgar'nan and Falon'Din and the others were swift to erase Mythal. As for Fen'Harel? The rebel god was invited in ages past, when he was a hero of the Evanuris civil war—but Solas declined. He had never taken his spot among the false gods, never sat in one of their pretentious thrones.

Those thrones were now their prison.

* * *

When she emerged out the other side of the Evanuris mirror, Rosa's first breath tasted of decay and blood. She grimaced, covering her mouth and nose with one hand. Her eyes stung, gritty.

Flemeth was ahead of her, walking with swift confidence that probably came from Mythal. Then again, there seemed to be nothing that could intimidate or instill fear in the old crone. The mirror had deposited them within a round room with a high domed ceiling. The walls were black and glistening with reddish slime. Orange lights wavered through window-like holes along the tall, arched walls. Yet these were no sconces or braziers.

Ghost lights. Eerier than Veilfire.

Rosa hurried after Flemeth, following as the witch led her down the stairs off the dais where several mirrors stood together, each facing outward. There were seven arches, each in varying states of…decay. Shapes like statuettes flanked each arch and adorned the highest point of each opening along the dome ceiling. When Rosa looked straight at them she saw traditional Dalish symbols for the Creators—a halla, an owl, a stag, a wolf. But when she spied them out of the corners of her eyes she saw leering, twisted faces. Fear demons wailing out of each shape, willing her to go mad.

She jogged faster, those haunting stares chasing her.

* * *

Although Solas had dispelled the doors on the tactical room, a green shimmer—like Aegis, one of the Anchor's powers—still covered the doorway. Despite standing several feet back from it, Solas still felt the power of this room. It was more mana, more magic, than his orb could ever store. The pressure of it on his mind, at the edges of his magical senses, made him shudder.

This was what had plunged him into uthenera for so long. This was why he woke weak as a kitten, in perpetual mana burnout. This was why, even here in the Fade, he was still a shadow of his former self.

It was the barrier for the Veil's mana draw. Seven Evanuris waited inside, tortured and trapped within it. Stepping into the field without proper precautions would ensure he became trapped, too—just another battery for the Veil.

But he had the orb and he had the Anchor. He could cut through this spell barrier with those tools, like a healer using precise cuts to excise sickness…or he could blunder and destroy the Veil, freeing the Evanuris before he had a chance to kill any of them. With just the orb he would have to drain its mana stores just to maintain a powerful barrier to protect himself from the Veil's draw. Even then, he couldn't stay more than a few moments at a time. It would be laborious. Killing one Evanuris and then retreating to recast and recharge the orb. And without the orb he'd be unable to capture the essence of each Evnauris as they died, a terrible waste. Plus, once the Veil failed, he'd have a greatly reduced chance of killing them all.

He'd not expected to have the Anchor in his possession along with the orb. This was the most ideal outcome.

And yet, it was also the most painful. The memory of Rosa's look of agony and betrayal tore at him again. He pushed it back and refocused on the task ahead.

Clenching his right hand, Solas activated the Anchor with a sharp crackle. With his other hand he lifted the orb and pushed mana into it to awaken it as well. Then he thrust out his hand to the barrier, letting the Anchor cut through it just as it would with the Veil.

The palace rumbled around him as the Veil shuddered, like a sleeping dragon stirring in the depths of the Deep Roads.

* * *

Flemeth walked through the arch directly opposite the eluvian they emerged from, into a dark hallway. Rosa stayed close to her, still shielding her nose and mouth from the stink. The hall made her feel short of breath, as though the walls were about to close on her.

"Such a shame," Flemeth said with a cluck of her tongue. "It used to be a beautiful place and now it's ruined."

Rosa couldn't find anything to say. She couldn't envision this place as anything but putrid and foreboding. She pressed on, trying to squash the constant press of dread and paranoia that made her eyes dart nervously along the walls. She was like a startled hare, ready to bolt at the first sign of the fox.

_This place is warded,_ she realized. It must be magic-induced to be so constant and so powerful. Was this how Solas and the others felt in the strange Solasan temple? That was warded, too, although she and Tal were immune.

Somehow she suspected that Flemeth and Solas did not feel the power of this ward. They actually belonged here while she did not.

And then, suddenly, a tremor knocked them both into the narrow walls. Rosa yelped, catching herself with both hands, only to rear back, revolted. A gory red-black paste covered her hands. She felt it warm against her skin, reacting to her.

_Blight._ But which type?

"He's begun," Flemeth said and now, for the first time, she did look shaken. "Keep up, girl," she said over her shoulder and streaked away in a long Fade-step.

Rosa swallowed the bile in her throat and drew on her mana to follow. _Please Solas,_ she thought. _Wait! Just a few more minutes!_

* * *

With the Anchor and the orb both crackling fiercely, green and gold, Solas advanced. The Anchor had sliced the green barrier, creating a sort of bubble of clear air. Solas edged carefully into it. The hair on his arms prickled and stood on end, as though he stood beside a sloppy student casting storm school. Or as if he was about to be struck by lightning in a thunderous downpour.

The nearness of the mana draw made his stomach loopy. His heart hammered in his ears and a headache started in his temples. One stray touch to the green glow all around his fragile bubble and he would be caught within his own Evanuris prison.

Despite the fear, he pressed forward. The tactical room was dark, unlit except for the harsh, eerie green from the device at the center of the space. It was one of hundreds Solas and his agents crafted and distributed throughout the world. All of them were connected, channeling the energy taken from the Evanuris and using it to create the magical barrier that repressed the Fade.

The Veil.

Solas had used this final device as a lure to the Evanuris, along with his promise that he had intel on the Forgotten Ones that he would share. But he would only do it here, in the _Anor'Venuralas,_ the height of the Evanuris' power. The only place where he would feel safe betraying the demons.

They fell for it, of course.

Now Solas summoned a bit of Veilfire to float beside him and willed it to brighten the room. The green-white light filled the dark corners, revealing the twisted, anguished faces of his fellow Evanuris, each arrayed in the circle of seven thrones around him.

Elgar'nan was to the right of the entryway, in the largest throne. It glittered orange and red despite the green light, crafted in such a way as to suggest fire. That was what Elgar'nan was known for, aside from his scalding temper. The man himself was broad as a _shemlen,_ with red-orange hair that darkened to black at the tips. He sat strained against his throne, agony twisting his features, frozen in place. The fire of burnout now would be the only thing he had felt for thousands of years.

To his right was Dirthamen, sitting in his throne of crystalline red. The fool had so embraced his altered Blight, carried in red lyrium, that he even used his throne's design to remind the others of it. His face mirrored Elgar'nan's, but his hair was a simple austere black, though it shone red in the brighter light.

Next in the line was Falon'Din. Pale where Dirthamen was bronzed, and with hair as white as alabaster, he did have the pallor of the grave. His throne was black obsidian, glittering in the green-white of Solas' Veilfire. Despite the wrenched, wrinkled misery in his frozen face, Solas saw the resemblance to Tal and couldn't help but frown.

Andruil and Ghilan'nain were next, both seated in white thrones. Sylaise and June were last, one in a green throne and the other in carefully crafted gold. Minus Andruil, Solas disdained these Evanuris least. He could almost pity June, who was always aloof but polite, obsessed with crafting to the detriment of all else, when he saw the other man had been frozen with his eyes open, unlike everyone else. He appeared innocent and stunned, but there was pain too in the pinched corners of his eyes and the way his hands gripped so hard on his throne.

With a grim exhale, Solas turned his back on June and walked slowly, carefully back to Elgar'nan. He stared at the other man, scowling, for a long minute. He'd had so long to plot out what he would do in this moment, which Evanuris he would kill first and how. He'd concocted ways of doing it with a simple knife, slitting their throats. Or using a focused mindblast to pop their brains the way Iron Bull might slam a hammer into a ripe melon. But with the orb he could collect their strength, perhaps even capture a piece of their souls and powers. Each death would make him more powerful, increasing the chance that he would survive.

Yet killing any creature that was unable to defend itself made his stomach go sour. Yet there were few beings he hated as deeply as he did the false-gods.

And so, holding the orb, still crackling in his left hand, Solas walked past Elgar'nan and Dirthamen. He stopped in front of Falon'Din. Of all the Evanuris, he hated Falon'Din most of all.

Old rage flushed him hot, sweaty. He felt his lips trembling and clenched his jaw. He wished, briefly, that he could speak with Falon'Din, let him know what was coming. But gloating over a coldblooded execution like this was not appropriate in Solas' mind. As much as he loathed this man, killing him must not be something he enjoyed _too_ much, lest he begin truly resembling the monster the Dalish remembered.

But as he funneled more magic into the orb and widened the bubble of the Veil's mana drain around him, preparing to strike, he did allow himself to snarl, "For the souls you enslaved and the death you have reaped—_Fen'Harel ma halam."_

Drawing back, Solas sent his will out with the power of the orb, striking the other Evanuris' twisted, prone body with an explosion of light and sound. The golden beam crackled like fire. The stink of charred flesh filled the room. Light surged from the explosion of magic, flashing along the thrones to either side and on the planes of the curved ceiling. The stone of Falon'Din's throne cracked and split.

* * *

Between one Fade-step and the next, Rosa found herself stumbling out onto pristine, white floors. She staggered, shocked. Gold flakes imbedded in the walls glittered in the light from rosy orbs hanging near the vaulted ceiling. Runes in green and gold moved through the floor, like muscle beneath smooth, pearly skin. The stench in the air was gone, as was any visible sign of the Blight putrefaction.

From down the wide, luxurious hall—grander than anything in Orlais—a sharp crack of stone resounded. Something crackled like fire, hissed like coals sizzling in a hearth. Fear washed away Rosa's brief awe at how lovely this place must have once been. Icy hands tried to close her throat and dread was like a druffalo sitting on her chest.

"Solas," Rosa said, under her breath at first. Then she started to rush ahead, but Flemeth's dark arm shot out, blocking her path.

"A moment," she said, giving Rosa a sidelong look.

"Why?" Rosa demanded and tried to knock the old woman's arm aside. "We don't have time to—"

"You truly believe you will stop him with impassioned pleas?" Flemeth asked, her voice low and her golden eyes full of mockery. "Did you think pledges of loyalty and confessions of love would stop the Dread Wolf, girl?"

"I came here to save him," Rosa snarled, gripping the old woman's arm but not struggling now. Her heart ached, sinking as she realized Flemeth was right. She'd already pleaded with Solas. He hadn't listened. "How do _you_ think I can stop him?"

Flemeth's smile was wry. "We must trick the trickster." Her stance changed slightly, turning fully toward Rosa. "I apologize, Inquisitor. This will not be pleasant."

With that, the old woman leaned close and whispered her plan, and her price. When Rosa frowned, shaking with horror, the witch said, "This is the only way, child. Do you agree?"

What choice did she have now that she was here? Flemeth was right. She had tried pleading with Solas and it fell on deaf ears. It might break her promise to her father, but it was the only way to save her non-elven friends, Thedas, and Solas all together. It might damn the future, but unless she did this, here and now, Thedas would not have a future at all. Nor Tal, his family, her family, and all of their non-elven friends. And neither would Solas.

She squeezed her eyes shut, sending tears she didn't know she shed, gliding down her cheeks. "I agree." Now she would see, in the worst possible way, what choice Solas would make.

She felt Flemeth shaping a spell and swallowed bile. Flemeth used winter school to fashion a wicked claw of ice from her other hand. Rosa caught the glitter of the ice in the light from the rosy orbs and had a second to gasp and cringe before it struck her. She heard the wet spatter of her blood on the floor, but oddly there was no pain—only bitter cold, deep inside and through her.

* * *

The false-god's body burned away into ash within seconds.

Green energy coiled about the remains, swirling them. A reddish light glowed, drawn out of the ashes and pulled up as though by a hot wind. It pulsated, fast at first and then slower. Solas extended the orb and the red light flowed, sinuous and smooth, into the stone foci. He shuddered, queasy as the weight of the energy sank into his grasp.

A soul.

And he could sense the heavy blackness inside it—corruption and evil. Falon'Din was a cruel monster even before ages of endless torture here in this prison. The torment could have done nothing but worsen his disposition. But, free now of physical suffering, Solas might still use his power to save the People and resurrect some semblance of Elvhenan.

The orb's magic, enveloping the soul, was both gold and red now. Solas willed it deeper, determined to ignore it for now. He had _six_ more of them to execute and collect.

With one of its seven sources of mana suddenly gone, the Veil flickered. But it stabilized, drawing all the harder from the six Evanuris that remained. The figures in their thrones moved slightly. Solas had no doubt their pain had increased. He may have imagined, but he thought he heard faint inhalations, quiet and strangled with agony.

Killing them was as much a mercy as it was protecting the world.

But how much longer would the Veil hold? How many more could he kill without it failing?

Focusing on the Anchor, Solas walked slowly back toward the entryway arch, to the first throne. Elgar'nan waited there, motionless and frozen in the grips of torment. After Falon'Din, Elgar'nan was next on his list. Then Dirthamen. Then Andruil. If the Veil did not falter before then.

Drawing back again, Solas unleashed the full power of the orb, combined with the scalding will of his hate for the other Evanuris. The golden fire crackled and hissed, lightning licking the clear air of the bubble Solas had created about himself with the Anchor. Light swelled in the room, flashing as it waxed and waned. The stench of burnt flesh filled Solas' nostrils once more, but he ignored it.

With another resounding crack of stone, Elgar'nan's throne broke and his body burnt into a tumble of ashes. Another red light rose from the remains, brighter than Falon'Din's, more orange where the other's was crimson like blood. Solas extended the orb, willing the power of his foci to draw in the second soul.

He grimaced as he felt the weight of Elgar'nan join Falon'Din. Now the magic swirling about his orb was more orange than gold. Solas focused on settling it, burying the power for use later.

The Veil mana draw around him flickered more heavily now. The Anchor surged in time with the dimming, strengthening where the Veil threatened to fail. Solas waited a moment, scarcely daring to breathe. Finally the mana drain settled, stable.

It might withstand one more loss, but Solas was certain that would be it. Seven had become five.

Dirthamen was next.

Solas stepped slowly to the side, moving to stand before Dirthamen's throne—but he halted just shy of it when he thought he heard a sound. He strained his ears, his stomach twisting anxiously. It sounded like a cry. Were the Evanuris waking up somehow, despite the mana draw?

But Dirthamen remained utterly motionless on his throne, caught in agony like all the others, every moment of it deserved. If it wasn't one of the Evanuris…

Spinning on his heel, Solas stared out through the arched doorway. The Veil's mana drain made the air green and foggy outside of the bubble the Anchor maintained for him. Yet the hall was bright while the tactical room was dark, so he could clearly see a stooped figure lurching toward the dark throne room.

Horror made him inhale sharply as he recognized Rosa. She held her side, hunched over and as pale as the alabaster stone of the fine walls. Dark red blood coated her right side, running in a black streak down her Keeper armor. Her bare feet left blood smears and prints behind her, strikingly stark against the white stone floor.

His stomach lurched. He stepped forward, both the orb and the Anchor still active. "Rosa!"

Then he saw the black form behind her and stopped just short of leaving the tactical room. Just inside the green barrier of the Veil's mana draw, Solas glowered with bafflement and fury as he recognized the figure behind Rosa. _"Asha'bellanar,"_ he snarled. _Mythal's vessel. _

Flemeth smiled at him, moving to stand just behind Rosa, keeping her within easy reach. "Hello," she said, her voice gravelly with amusement. "My old friend. What an interesting turn of events, don't you think?"

"What have you done?" Solas growled, his voice dangerously low. Panic fluttered in his chest as he saw how weak Rosa appeared, trembling and with her head drooping and shoulders slumped. "Heal her, at once!"

Flemeth laughed. "Why should I, Fen'Harel?" she asked in a singsong voice. "This death will be gentler on her. This is a mercy."

"Why have you done this?" Solas asked, his voice still in a deep growl. "We share the same goals. You wish to see the People restored and magic returned to the world. Why would you harm her? Why would you betray me?"

Flemeth chuckled again, as though he was nothing but a silly boy, questioning his mother. The thought enflamed Solas' rage. Both the Anchor and the orb hissed and crackled louder, the magic swelling dangerously high.

"She came to me," Flemeth said. "She would do anything to save you from yourself, and save the world from you." The old woman spread her hands. "I told her this was the only way."

Solas flinched when Rosa dropped to her hands and knees. Blood spattered, dripping fast from the wound in her side. She made a whimper and coughed, ejecting bloody spittle.

Gritting his teeth, Solas shouted, "Heal her!"

"You inflicted far worse wounds than I ever could," Flemeth taunted in a mellow voice. "You expect her to live on in sorrowful gratitude to you? What is immortality to her but the curse of eternity to remember her losses? Her _failures?_" The old woman scoffed. "That she was fool enough to love the Dread Wolf when she should have killed him. Her choices placed you here, now, where you will kill the world she fought to save as Inquisitor."

"She is blameless," Solas snapped. Then, swallowing the growing ache in his throat that was both rage and grief, he said, "Please. She must live."

"That is your choice to make, old friend," Flemeth said, smiling sadly. "Not mine." She lifted one finger, clawed as it was in her black gloves. "Make no mistake—_this_ is the physical manifestation of your choice. You kill her when you destroy her world."

Rosa collapsed onto her uninjured side then, limp. Solas cursed viciously, spitting in frustration and grief. His instincts warned him that leaving the Veil draw would be a deadly mistake. Flemeth and Mythal were an unexpected hindrance. He couldn't predict her true motives or how she and Rosa managed to come here…

But he _couldn't_ stand here and watch Rosa die.

Before he was even aware of making the decision, Solas was outside of the tactical room, well beyond the barrier of the Veil's mana drain. He tossed barriers over himself and Rosa, then knelt at her side as he shut down the Anchor. His hand fell on the cold, sticky wetness of her blood and he felt an answering pain inside himself with empathy. Flemeth stepped away two paces, just far enough that he had more space and control over the scene...as if she wanted him to heal Rosa and prove she wasn't a threat after all. He didn't believe that for an instant, but he couldn't let that keep him from saving Rosa.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was to be safe, tucked away with Tal in one of his safe havens. He couldn't let her die here.

Reaching inside for mana, Solas formed a potent healing spell and channeled it quickly into her. Rosa twitched beneath him as the gold-white glow flooded her, sealing the wound and restoring her vitality. She gasped and began shivering, blinking and frowning with confusion.

"Solas?" she croaked.

Shooting Flemeth a glare of rage, Solas didn't answer. The old woman stood a few meters away, one brow arched and wearing an amused smile. Solas considered petrifying her, but he was sure she'd just deflect it—and despite the fury and pain of her betrayal, he couldn't erase the literal ages of friendship that stayed his hand. Flemeth was as much Mythal as she was a human witch.

If she'd thought she could stop him like this, she was wrong. He had only to activate the Anchor again and return to the confines of the Veil mana drain. Neither Rosa nor Flemeth had means to follow him without the Anchor.

"This was a foolish diversion," he growled at the old woman. Then, looking to Rosa, he had to fight the stabbing pain in his chest to meet her eye. To tell her that she could not stop him. That she must leave him to his fate, to walk the path of death.

But then, in a brief snatch of insight, he saw Rosa's violet eyes shift to his left hand.

To the orb.

He didn't have a chance to react before she slapped it out of his grasp.

The stone foci clattered as it rolled, still wreathed in gold and green magic. Solas twisted to grab it up again—but Flemeth was there first. Rosa's swing had been deliberate and aimed. She'd sent the orb directly to the old witch.

In a sickening recreation of the moment the Divine forced the orb from Corypheus' hands in the seconds before the Conclave explosion, Flemeth now grabbed the foci from the floor. She used a focused mindblast to knock Solas back as he rushed to stop her. He winced at the force of it, blinking grit from his eyes, gnashing his teeth as he barely managed not to fall over. _"Fenedhis!"_

Flemeth streaked away in a Fade-leap down the hall.

Solas was about to go after her, but Rosa popped out of her own Fade-step directly in front of him. "No! Solas, stop!"

He glared at her, heart pounding now with a new, fresh betrayal. Rosa had worked with the crone. She wasn't tricked into being Flemeth's pawn. She served freely, despite being stabbed, apparently.

"Get out of my way," he yelled, hands bunching up into fists.

Rosa did the exact opposite, placing herself even closer. She pressed against his chest, hands on his shoulders, holding him. "Stop! What you're doing is wrong!"

"Do you realize what you've done?" Solas snapped. "You have handed her a terrible weapon. She cannot be trusted!"

"You gave a fucking Darkspawn Magister your orb!" Rosa spat, reminding him.

He felt his cheeks flush with heat but refused to acknowledge her point. "You betrayed me."

"You abandoned me," Rosa shouted back. "Twice!" Then she laughed, hard. "No, wait, _three times!_ I'd say taking the Anchor and leaving me in the ruins of the temple of Sacred Ashes counts as abandonment number three."

"I did not abandon you," Solas snarled, unable to keep the defensive words spilling from his mouth. "I took the Anchor so it would not _kill you._" He stabbed a finger at the tactical room, where the Veil mana drain still glimmered green. "I wanted you to live, immortal. I wanted to return magic to the world and _save the People."_ He let out a shaking, angry breath. "You have undone _everything!_"

"And you killed my father," Rosa shot back, also red-faced. Then, nostrils flaring and eyes wet, she spoke in a softer voice. "But that doesn't mean I want you to die. And I don't want to watch you destroy this world." Her hands, on his shoulders, squeezed. "Give this up. Come back with me. There's got to be another way."

Through their mutual anger, he saw her anguish. It tore at him, like an arrow through the ribs. He turned away from her, ripping out of her hold. The demarcation where the Veil's mana drain glimmered green, simultaneously inviting and menacing.

The Anchor crackled as he started it. "There is no other way," he said, his voice a strained growl. "But without the orb I have no chance of surviving to reshape the world. The Evanuris will kill me when the Veil is gone." He glowered at her over one shoulder, letting the red rage boil up inside him again. "You have done _nothing_ but ensure I have no hope of survival."

"Then _don't do it,"_ Rosa shouted and then let out a choked sob. "Please…"

The sound of her pain only stabbed more at him. Solas frowned, fighting the stinging in his eyes and the burning lump in his throat. The weaker half of himself that wanted to give in yearned to turn from the path of death. But the cold determination and guilt of Fen'Harel refused. Both paths lead to his death. But if he killed the Evanuris and took down the Veil, his death would be _meaningful._ He would set right his sins and restore the People.

"You do not know what you ask," he choked out.

"I'm asking you to _live!"_ Rosa cried. "I'm asking you to _spare my world!_ Spare _our friends!"_ Her voice was shrill, almost hysterical. He felt her hot hand land on his shoulder, despite the thick metal of his armor. She pulled on him, trying to turn him away from the tactical room, the Evanuris trapped on their thrones.

"Please!" she cried again, tugging harder.

"I cannot," he said, head bowed. "This is how it must be, _vhenan. _There is only death on my journey." The Anchor crackled louder. He tried to harden his heart, to ignore the sound of her pleading cries and desperation. How brave and bold she was to fight him. He never deserved such devotion from this wonderful, spirited woman. He should kill her for partially foiling his plans, but he couldn't bring himself to even consider it.

"No," she said, her voice thick with tears. "No, I _refuse_ to accept that!"

"Leave," Solas said, voice grating. He swallowed, fighting his own tears. "My last wish is that you live on, immortal and restored to the Fade. Lead the People."

He tore his arm from her grasp and stepped into the green demarcation. The Anchor formed a protective bubble around him, crackling and sending off bursts of lightning outward in every direction. The magic sizzled, powerful and eager.

"No," Rosa shouted after him. "I won't let you do this!" Her footsteps pattered on the white stone, still wet from her blood, coming up behind him.

Alarm flashed like magefire through Solas, snapping every muscle tense. He spun around, horror making him stammer. "Rosa—stop! You cannot enter—"

She stopped just a hair's breadth from the green glow of the demarcation. Her skin was ashen with the pallor of recent near-death. Sweat and grime showed on her face and armor. Yet her eyes were fiery with defiance as she stared at him. "I'm not leaving," she yelled. "Not without you."

"You cannot enter," Solas said. "The mana draw here is too powerful. It may kill you." His spell was calibrated to trap Evanuris. Anyone with lesser mana reserves would likely perish.

Her eyes flicked from him to the green glow in front of her. Something darkened in her eyes and she squared her jaw. "I'd rather be dead than live forever knowing I failed."

"No!" Solas shouted, outstretching his right hand, the Anchor still crackling. "Rosa—"

She raised her hand, hovering over the demarcation in the air. The Anchor's light illuminated tears on her cheeks. "Flemeth was right," she said, choking out the words. _"This_ is your choice, _Fen'Harel._ Destroy my world _and kill me._ Or put this aside and _join me."_

Solas felt as though there was a demon inside him, shredding his heart with its terrible claws. He stood in place, frozen. His gaze locked with Rosa, his will wavering.

"Please," he begged and grimaced as he heard the grief cracking his voice and felt cold tears graze his cheeks. "Do not needlessly sacrifice yourself. Not for me. I do not deserve it." Frantic for something to turn her away, Solas shouted, "I am the great adversary of your people. I am the trickster who destroyed the People. It is _my_ fault we are slaves. It is _my fault_ the People are dying." He gritted his teeth, rage growing for himself rather than Rosa or the situation. "I am the _monster_ who killed your father, who abandoned you _repeatedly_."

"Yes," Rosa growled. "You are all those things. All those things and more." She shook her head, hand still hovering over the green glow of the demarcation line. "But you're also the man who helped me survive Hasmal Circle. Who saved Tal on the road and delivered him to clan Manaria. You saved my life after the Conclave, and when Corypheus attacked Haven. And countless other times."

"Everything I have ever done has been in service to myself," Solas argued. "I do not deserve your—"

"I am the one who decides that," she said, cutting him off. "And you're lying. You locked the Evanuris away for vengeance. Not so much for yourself, but for Mythal. You wanted to save the People. That wasn't for you. What you're doing now isn't for you. It's for the People."

"It is redemption," Solas said, barely above a whisper. "That is why I cannot turn this task aside. Only I can walk this path and restore the People and the Fade as one. If I do not, I will die unfulfilled. The People will follow in time until there are none left. The _shemlen _will consume us."

He closed his eyes, shaking with emotion despite his efforts to stamp on it. "Please. I cannot bear to see you die. Leave this place. Forget me, _vhenan."_

For a moment Rosa hesitated. She stared at him through the green haze of the mana draw. Her violet eyes were dark as inkwells and twin streams of tears glimmered as the Anchor's light colored her face. Her chin wrinkled and he almost breathed with relief, certain she would make the right decision and drop her hand away.

But then she drew in a deep breath and shouted, "Last chance, Dread Wolf! Spare my world and me, or kill us both." Her fingers splayed, terrifyingly close to the mana drain.

"Rosa," he croaked and extended his right hand bearing the Anchor again. "Please—"

Her jaw squared. "Wrong answer!" Her shoulders hunched as despair twisted her face. "I'm sorry."

Her hand touched the barrier and there was a green-white flash. Solas' skin prickled as he felt the surge of Rosa's mana sucked into the drain, fueling the Veil. It flashed brighter, jubilant at this new power source.

"NO!"

He shot out of the tactical room in a precise Fade-step, solidifying as he hit her, pushing her backward and catching her in his arms. The mana draw behind him crackled as it released her. Rosa had touched it less than a second, but that was all the time his powerful spell needed to drain her of everything.

She was limp in his arms, gray and lifeless.

His right palm, with the Anchor still active, moved over her nose and mouth, searching for breath. His heart drummed, beating so hard and so fast it was nothing but a continuous whoosh in his ears. "You _fool,_" he snarled at her, crying. "Why would you do this?"

There was no breath of air on his palm.

"No! No, no, no!" He cradled her head with one hand and shook her. "Rosa!" He reached out with his magical senses as he touched his forehead to hers. His breath came in wet, broken sobs. _"Please,"_ he begged, slipping into elven. _"Breathe."_ He _pushed_ his own mana at her, willing his own life force to replenish her.

_Draw from me,_ he pleaded. And then, though he had no gods or creators he believed in, he prayed. _Take me instead. Let my life pay for hers. She was supposed to _live!

What was the point of remaking the world if she could not live in it? What was the point of dying to save the People if she was not among them? His heart throbbed, sharp and excruciating, as though Rosa had tried to cut it out of him with a shard of glass. He would have let her, if only it would save her.

Sobs wrenched out of his throat as the mana he pushed at her went nowhere, filtering into the air of the hall in a useless gold-white glow. Her body would not take mana. It was the soul that used it. Without that she was inanimate, inorganic. He might as well have been funneling mana into the stone of the floor.

But then he felt a warm touch to his pate. Startled, he lifted his head and saw a shape wearing Rosa's form. White-gold, the spirit smiled tenderly at him.

_Loyalty. _

"You wish her to live?" it asked him, softly.

"Yes," he rasped. His hands on Rosa tightened. The spirit could save her.

"She wished the same for you," Loyalty said. "Will you live? Will you turn away from the _din'anshiral?_"

Solas' heart twisted anew and he let out another strangled sob. "Yes." He shut his eyes, failure crushing his chest. Rosa's last wish was that he spare Thedas, their friends. And in so doing, save himself. As much as it pained him with deep despair, he couldn't continue. Not unless she agreed. Not unless she would live on in the new world he created.

And yet, despite the bitterness of failure, the relief and love that swelled inside him was a thousand fold stronger.

The spirit smiled at him, though sadness still lingered in the Fade. It reached out and touched his cheek. "Then I ask only one thing in return," it said. He stared at it, waiting with tears still in his eyes.

"Love each other," it whispered. "In the new world to come."

Solas frowned, confused, but before he could speak Loyalty's light grew until it was blinding. Hissing between his teeth, Solas shut his eyes and turned his head. He buried his face in the crook of Rosa's neck and shoulder, holding her close as Loyalty's light became heat. A ringing noise sliced through the air, a sound beautiful and cutting all at once.

The heat washed over him like a wave. Solas pushed with his mana again, clutching Rosa closer, hoping to restore her. _Please…_

If Rosa's soul wasn't willing, she would not return—no matter what Loyalty did.

_Whatever comes, I will be with you. _

If she was truly dead he would face the remaining Evanuris and gladly die at their hands. The Veil would fail and he would never live long enough to reshape the world, but with her dead it no longer mattered. Death would be a relief.

The heat faded, sinking into the lifeless body in his arms. And, for a beat that felt like eternity, she remained lifeless.

Then, suddenly, she gasped in a hungry breath. Her chest rose sharply, pressing against his arms. One gasped inhalation became two, three.

And Solas broke again, rocking back and forth as he sobbed.

For all he'd lost, and all he'd gained.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"It isn't time yet for us to meet again," he told her. Slowly, his hands left her shoulders. He took a step back. "You cannot stay here."

The green flash came again, reflected in the mirror. Rosa cringed at the sight of it. "I…I don't know where else to go."

"You've lost the path," Felassan said, his smile achingly sad. "Do you want to find it again?"

The green flash stung her eyes. It was coming faster and faster now. Her father's shape in front of her dimmed. "I…I don't know what's at the end of the path."

* * *

And that is the conclusion of the climax! The next two chapters are resolution. I still have some surprises up my proverbial sleeves even there!


	76. The Lost Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas discovers his actions in the Black City have unforeseen and dramatic effects on Thedas. Meanwhile, Rosa must find her way on the ever-changing paths of the great beyond.

Carrying Rosa's unconscious body in his arms, Solas used the Anchor to cut through the Veil. Through the shining, ragged tear in the Veil, Solas saw lush grass surrounded by short, flowering trees. He stepped through the rift, heedless of where he would emerge physically in Thedas.

It was nighttime, dark except for the silvery glow of the moon. Soft, wet grass caressed his feet as he walked a few meters from the rift. The strangling grip of the Veil hit him as it always did, making him grimace as his mana core shrank—but it was a gentler draw than usual. It was as though the Veil was incredibly weak here. His core was still a healthy size, many times more than it was before he'd entered the area beneath the breach to watch the battle with Corypheus.

Solas shifted Rosa in his arms and managed to extend the Anchor toward the rift. He willed it shut with a subtle motion. The Veil whined and warped, struggling to close.

It was _very_ weak here.

Once the rift had sealed, Solas took a moment to search over his surroundings. The flowering trees and lush grasses were unlike anything he'd seen in Southern Thedas. It was more reminiscent of Northern Thedas. Some of these shrubs had grown in Arlathan.

And, as he turned to further look around, he spotted black stones that he recognized as being of Tevinter design. Of course. The _Anor'Venuralas_ was magically warded to appear everywhere within the Fade, but it _did_ have a physical location.

The countryside surrounding the forest of Arlathan. He was somewhere between Antiva and Tevinter—a very dangerous place for elves.

He sighed. Another reminder of his failure.

But the gentle puff of Rosa's breath on his neck offered comfort. He'd made his choice, selfish as it was.

Satisfied he was alone with no sign of dangerous animals or marauding people of any race, Solas settled Rosa in the grass. He plotted out a large circle, laying wards, and found a well-trod game trail, just far enough away that he was confident animals and people wouldn't immediately see or sense his camp. He found a few edible mushrooms and other plants while he worked and returned to Rosa with a handful of them after satisfying a little of his own roiling hunger.

He stopped short, tensing, when he saw a shape standing over Rosa's prone body. His heart leapt into his throat with fear and he crouched, ready to drop the foraged food and cast barriers over himself and Rosa. But then, suddenly, recognition stayed his hand.

This was not a person. It was a spirit.

A faint, soft glow emanated from the vaguely humanoid form. Its features were indistinct, but it had the frame of a warrior in full armor. It stared down at Rosa, silent and watchful.

Slowly, Solas approached it. He struggled to force a smile to his lips. "Greetings."

The spirit lifted its head, unsurprised by his presence. "Fen'Harel," it said, its voice deep and gruff. "Well met."

Solas dipped his chin to it in acknowledgement. "Indeed. What is your name?" It was strange to encounter a well-formed, independent spirit like this outside of the Fade, whole and unharmed by the shock of slipping through the Veil. But the Veil was very thin here. The spirit may have only had to wish and it could bleed through the Veil enough to manifest here in the physical plane.

"Bravery," the spirit responded with a nod of respect to him. Then it looked again to Rosa. "I saw the mark you bear first, but then I felt her." It spread its hands, indicating where Rosa lay below in the grass. "I wanted to see her."

It had sensed his confusion and explained itself, but needlessly. Solas strode closer, kneeling beside Rosa. "It was very brave of you to seek her out," he said, purposefully stoking the spirit by its motivational emotion. "But you should return to the Fade, Bravery. This world outside the Fade is dangerous. You risk losing yourself." His voice grew softer and heavier as his own lingering grief dragged down his shoulders. "I do not wish to see you die or be twisted by this world."

"Leave?" the spirit asked and harrumphed. "I will not flee out of fear for myself!"

Solas lifted tired eyes to the spirit and smiled wearily. "It is not cowardice to do something for another. Would you perhaps consider my request? It would allay some of _my_ fear, _falon."_

The spirit seemed to huff, grumbling, but it had to concede his point. "Very well. But I will keep watching."

The spirit of bravery flickered in green then and _blinked. _It vanished between one eye blink and the next.

The Veil was _very_ thin here, indeed. Solas had assumed he would have to send Bravery back. Instead the spirit could simply will itself through the flimsy barrier.

Shuffling closer to Rosa, Solas laid his left hand over her face, fingers splayed. He shaped a spirit school spell of rejuvenation, hoping to waken her. The mana sank into her, making his fingers and then her skin glow. The light faded as the spell finished. Rosa's body took it in easily, but long seconds passed without any sign it had worked.

Frowning, Solas withdrew his hand from her. He stared at her a time, unseeing, as his mind spun. Then, drawing in a short breath, he began checking over her—heartbeat, breath, and reflexes. Her heartbeat was slow and even, as was her breath. Her skin was cool. All the sweat on her seemed old, dried. Her reflexes were present, but reduced.

He pushed her eyelid back and saw her violet eyes responded to light from the moon, yet she did not react. Her body was sound, but where was her consciousness? Perplexed, Solas let her lids shut once more and sat back. He waited, watching her eyelids in silence for a long moment. Then, finally, he saw her eyeballs moving beneath the lids. It was slight, a feathery weak movement.

This…it _looked_ like…

He shook his head. "No…" _It cannot be. _

_Uthenera. _

He scrubbed at his face and let out a breath through his fingers. How could she enter uthenera? It was impossible. Perhaps it was a coma? But Loyalty's power had brought her back, restored her physically in both body and mind. She _should_ have woken.

Experimenting, Solas laid a hand over her face once again and summoned a more powerful healing spell. If there was some critical part of her mind, her brain, that Loyalty hadn't possessed the strength to bring back, he might be able to restore it now. But the spell drained away from her, unneeded.

She was whole. Unwounded.

Withdrawing his hand again, Solas let out a shuddering breath. What was happening? What was he missing?

With nothing else left to him to try, Solas stretched out beside her and shut his eyes. He slipped effortlessly into sleep and his mind passed into the Fade.

A soft feminine voice hummed through the dark.

Tal's voice called, _"Asamalin?"_

Sight returned to Solas. He found himself staring at wooden slats, curved as they bent into the shape of an aravel. Orange firelight flickered, lighting the aravel. Turning, Solas saw the hearth outside it. There were two figures. One he recognized at once as Tal. The other was a woman—Rosa? But the voice wasn't right and her features were just slightly wrong. She was older than Rosa, too.

Halesta. Rosa's mother.

And then Solas saw Halesta held a small child in her lap. She stroked the girl's wild hair, cradling her close as she rocked in tune to the lullaby she hummed. Tal crouched beside them, confusion and fear etched into his face and lit harshly by the firelight. He twisted round, noticing Solas, and snarled. _"You!"_

This was a dream, but none of the people here were demons or spirits masquerading. Solas could sense their presences ahead of him. Three Dreamers, two weak and one strong enough that he tensed despite himself.

_Wait._

_Three?_

"Tal?" he asked, his voice scratchy and thin with shock.

"Son of a bitch," Tal snarled and rose to his feet. His hands curled into fists at his side. "What the _fuck_ did you do?"

Solas stared at him, uncomprehending. How to explain? He swallowed and felt his eyes sting, but no words came.

The child in Halesta's lap moved, lifting her head. "Who is he?" she asked in a high, piping voice.

He swallowed again, feeling nauseous. Confusion. Regression of self. Rosa was lost in the dreaming, just as she would be if she'd entered uthenera after severe trauma. It could take hours, days, or weeks for the victim to recover memories and identity. Solas himself had spent decades roving the Fade, reliving his own dark memories. Those closest to him had surely tried to break him out of it, just as Halesta and Tal no doubt were right now, but to no avail. It was up to the Dreamer to find his or her way out of the regression. Those who did not or could not would ultimately leave their physical bodies behind and die in their sleep.

Halesta made a noise of strangled grief. "No one, darling."

"What the _fuck_ did you do to her?" Tal shouted again, stepping closer. His rage flowed around him like a black cloak. The sensation of _Dreamer_ still clung to him like cologne in Solas' extra senses.

But Tal wasn't a Dreamer. He was a powerful mage, certainly. If he _was_ a latent Dreamer it could only possibly manifest when the Veil no longer hindered him, physically. Yet the Veil wasn't gone. Five Evanuris yet remained, fueling it with their mana.

"Who is he?" the child Rosa repeated, pointing now at Tal from her mother's lap. The sound of his sister's voice drew Tal's gaze away from Solas, but only for a moment.

When he looked back at Solas, tears stood out clearly in his eyes. _"Tell me,"_ he growled, using elven. _"What did you do to her, _harellan!"

Grief crashed into Solas, making him sag. He didn't have the energy to tell Tal everything, but he knew he must. Head drooping, Solas stared at Rosa and Halesta across the firelight and slowly began to tell them. There was a small, unlikely chance that hearing what had happened to her would rouse Rosa from the regression.

He had to try. He owed her that at least.

By the time he finished, Tal had collapsed into the dirt beside the fire. He held his face in his hands. His shoulders shook every so often as he restrained sobs. Halesta, who had not known Solas' true identity before now, stared at him with disbelief at first and then mounting terror. Yet, by the time he finished, she was also crying and reached out to touch Tal's shoulder. Though Solas knew Halesta felt some kind of resentment toward Tal because he was Felassan's child with another woman, she had clearly put it aside. She was a mother now for both Rosa and Tal, though her comfort did nothing to soothe either of them.

The child version of Rosa had started crying partway through his story. She clung to her mother, her face buried in her tunic. Solas felt the cold presence of fear and despair demons lurking in the darkness beyond the firelight. They stayed out of sight, watching like an audience viewing a tragic play. He thought about pushing them away, but they were harmless at present and he didn't have the energy through his own grief.

"She's in uthenera?" Halesta asked eventually, sniffing as she tried to stay composed. "But that's impossible." She stroked the little girl in her lap, brushing her brown hair behind her ear. "I walked into her dream. She called me here. I found her like this, crying…" She shook her head. "How can you tell me she's sleeping like one of the ancients?"

"Didn't you hear him?" Tal asked her, angry and shaking as his hands fell away from his tear-streaked face. He glared at Halesta, as if this was her fault. "This bastard killed Falon'Din and Elgar'nan." He switched his glare to Solas, pinning him venomously. "That's fucked up the Veil. It's _his_ fault."

"The Veil has been weakened," Solas said, too weary to frown at Tal's rage. "But it remains. My actions cannot have made uthenera possible for Rosa."

"Are you blind?" Tal snapped, baring his teeth. "Or just stupid?"

A tiny spurt of irritation lanced through Solas, but snuffed out just as quickly. He sighed. "An argument may be made for my being both blind and stupid, _lethallin._ But-"

Tal scoffed. "Don't call me _lethallin," _he snarled.

"Nevertheless," Solas murmured. "My actions cannot have—"

"But they _have,"_ Tal cut him off, slashing a hand dismissively. "You think you know everything about the Veil, but you've never seen it come down. You've never killed Elgar'nan and Falon'Din before. You don't know _shit_ about what happens now. To Thedas. To the Fade. To the Veil." Tal stabbed a finger at Rosa in Halesta's lap. "To _my sister." _

Solas was silent. The truth of Tal's words slowly sank into him, like mana from a healing spell. It shouldn't have been possible, but…what other explanation was there? If killing two of the Evanuris had destabilized and changed the nature of the Veil, that could explain Rosa's ability to enter uthenera.

And, more than that, it explained the change in Tal's Fade manifestation.

And the ease with which Bravery jumped into the physical world, only to leap back into the Fade so effortlessly.

_Love each other,_ Loyalty whispered in his memory. _In the new world to come. _

Shock left him standing mute.

"How do we bring her out of it?" Halesta asked, her voice hard. She wouldn't accept defeat. Her arms around the child in her lap tightened protectively.

"I…do not know," Solas admitted.

"Where are you?" Tal demanded, shooting to his feet to stare Solas down, as if he would punch him in the face. "Where is _she?"_

Solas swallowed. "I am not entirely certain. Near the Arlathan forest."

"In fucking Tevinter," Tal blustered, rolling his eyes. "The single _worst_ place you could take her!" He spat off into the dark and made a pushing gesture at the demons lurking just outside of view. "Get the fuck away, you nosey bastards!"

The Fade rippled and twisted, struggling to follow his will. The command was clumsy, unfocused, and unintentional. The dream warped, the darkness seeming to drip the same way the ugly halls of _Anor'Venuralas_ had. Rosa cried out with terror, clinging to her mother with even more fervor.

"Shit," Tal cursed and stared at his own hands, stunned. "What…"

"You are a Dreamer," Solas told him, blank and cold. The shock of his own realization had yet to release its hold on him.

Tal's head jerked toward him, eyes wide and round, mirroring the shape of his mouth. "What? How…?"

"The same way that Rosa is able to enter uthenera," Solas murmured. "You were correct. My actions have somehow changed everything." He clenched his jaw and tried to summon up some measure of control over his astonishment. What did this mean? Had he sent Thedas into a slow, inevitable slide to disaster?

"_Fenedhis,"_ Tal whispered, anger washing away with disbelief. He kept staring at his hands, uncomprehending.

"I will bring her to you," Solas said, his voice still distant and tinny in his own ears. "There is an eluvian near you…?" he asked Tal.

"Yes," Tal said, voice hollow. But his eyes narrowed and a little of his previous rage reappeared as he went on. "Cole led me and my clan to some kind of sanctuary." He glared. "A place _Fen'Harel_ prepared."

Halesta grimaced and averted her gaze, focusing on the little girl in her lap. The child made no response at all. She sat in her mother's lap, face pressed to her chest and arms clutching around the older woman's middle. Other than the occasional snuffling cry, she made no noise at all.

Solas nodded solemnly. "Revasan." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I will come to you." Glancing toward Halesta, he said, "Watch over her, please."

Halesta didn't look up at him, but she nodded. Her hands never stopped stroking Rosa. "Tal," she said after a moment. "Would you tell me how to find this place? This…_Revasan._" She frowned, nose wrinkling, but then she pinched her lips together and her chin wrinkled. "I'd like to be with my daughter in the waking world."

"I'll do better than tell you," Tal said, his voice catching, rough with emotion. "I'll show you the way myself."

With a final look at Tal, who returned his stare with simmering rage—but with pain beneath it—Solas willed himself awake. As he opened his eyes in the clearing beside Rosa, he shuddered and covered his face with his hands. After a long time listening to the singing night insects, he rose and gathered Rosa into his arms.

He might still have to walk the _din'anshiral_ after all, regardless of Rosa's sacrifice, or his promise to Loyalty.

But not tonight.

He set off into the night to find the nearest eluvian.

* * *

Everything was cold. Soundless.

Green flashed, then billowed to a blinding light.

She turned away, shrinking from it. Trembling, she faced darkness.

Except the black slowly lifted just ahead of her. An oval shape appeared. The center glimmered, reflective as water. _Glass._

She moved nearer, intrigued.

Pinpricks of light appeared. Sparkling. Colors came next, translucent and breathtakingly beautiful, like the aurora in the Brecilian Forest.

She stepped closer still, only to freeze when she saw her reflection. She was a child, small and lithe. Wild, uncombed hair stood out in a fuzzy halo around her head. Light from behind her obscured her face in shadow, but caught her ear tips. They stuck out, stark and pointed, defiant and fairly shouting her elven heritage.

Invisible hands tugged on her, gentle but firm. They urged her closer. She could almost hear voiceless words, telling her to step through.

But in the mirror she saw the glimmer of green again. She heard a voice shout: _"NO!"_

She dug her heels into the ground.

And realized it was hard stone. Slimy. It offered no purchase. She flinched, fighting to keep her feet. And she thought, almost casually, _no._

The stone became wet sand. Gritty. Her heels dug in. The current pulling her toward the mirror vanished.

But then, in the glass, she saw a shape loom. Her mouth fell open as she saw how tall it was. She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. She should be afraid. A tall, dark stranger waited just on the other side of the glass. And yet, she felt the cold receding around her. She knew, impossibly, that this figure was friendly.

It lifted both arms to its head and the shape of a hood fell back. Now, light from the stars behind this person highlighted its hair and ears. It had pointed ears, just like her. Its hair was shaggy, too.

"Hello," a voice said, sharp as lightning in her ears as it shattered the soundlessness of this place. It was a man's voice, tender and gentle.

Comforting. And agonizing.

Something inside her ached with fierce, stabbing pain. She didn't know why, but she knew hearing him speak was what triggered it. She wanted to answer, but no sound came. _Hello, _she thought.

"Do you know me?" he asked, the voice growing sad. It made the pain inside her worsen.

_I…I don't know you…but I should. _

His shape shifted in the mirror and then—

He stepped through it.

Now she saw a man in a long cape and travel worn clothes. His face was lit from the green glow behind her, allowing her to see violet eyes the color of the sunset right before darkness takes over. Lines and whorls covered his face, moving as he smiled at her and knelt to be on her level.

He placed his hands on her shoulder. His hands were cool. His fingers were impossibly soft, as though he was made of water and would scatter if she swept a hand through him. "Do you know yourself?" he asked her, still smiling.

There was sorrow in his eyes. Seeing it made her throat feel tight. She fought, harder now, to find her voice. Finally, it came. "No."

"I know you," he said and brushed her cheek lovingly. _"Ma ashalan."_

It took her a long time to understand the words. _My daughter. _

And then she knew. She heard his laughter. She saw him casting magic. She felt his hands showing her how to hold a stave. She remembered tracing the whorls on his face in wonder. She remembered spiting him, crying when he didn't come to help her.

And she remembered mourning. She remembered that he was gone where she could never hope to follow.

Yet, somehow, he was here.

She threw her arms around him, sobs erupting from her throat. "I know you! I _know you!" _He was cold where he touched her. _Dead._ She pushed back from him, crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

He touched her cheek again, his smile brighter now as he shook his head. "Don't be sorry, Rosa."

She stared at him, her grief washed away for a moment as she registered the name he spoke. And she knew it was hers. _She_ was Rosa.

Suddenly, she realized he was no longer kneeling. She was almost as tall as he was. She was not a child, but a woman.

"How are you here?" she asked, barely whispering the question.

His smile faltered slightly. His hand on her cheek grew colder until, involuntarily, she recoiled. Her father let his hand fall away to her shoulder instead. "This is only a dream, Rosa."

She breathed faster, her mind thick with emotion and jumbled memories. "It…this doesn't feel like a dream."

"I don't think it's time yet for us to meet again," he told her. Slowly, his hands left her shoulders. He took a step back. "You cannot stay here."

The green flash came again, reflected in the mirror. Rosa cringed at the sight of it. "I…I don't know where else to go."

"You've lost the path," Felassan said, his smile achingly sad. "Do you want to find it again?"

The green flash stung her eyes. It was coming faster and faster now. Her father's shape in front of her dimmed. "I…I don't know what's at the end of the path."

He cocked his head marginally. "That wasn't an answer, _da'len."_

_Do you want to find the path again?_

_Do you want to go back?_

"Please," her father said, his voice raspy now, cracking. "You can't linger here. Turn back."

"But…" She choked, shaking. "I miss you." There was only one thing she knew with certainty about the path he asked her to find—Felassan was not there. He was here. With her.

"And I miss you," he said. "But there are many others who will miss you if you stay." He drew in a wavering breath. "I will be here when you walk this path again, some day many years from now."

She couldn't remember anyone else. The green flash made her eyes water as its reflection flared in the starry mirror behind Felassan. It was only her and her father. She stared at him, struggling to understand.

As if he could read her thoughts, Felassan said, "You know their names, you've just forgotten. Would you like me to tell you?"

"Yes," she whispered the single word and shut her eyes, hoping to _see_ who he spoke of in her mind.

"Halesta," her father said. "Talassan." He paused a moment and then said, "Solas."

And, as if Felassan had shot an arrow through her heart, Rosa cried out and clutched at her chest. She knew them. She remembered her mother's voice, her touch. Tal's playful smile, shaggy black curls, and his voice calling for her. _Asamalin!_

And…and _Solas…_

The green flashed again and this time Rosa looked up. Though her eyes stung, she saw through the green and made out a face wrenched with horror and grief. It was the last thing she saw before...

_I died. _

"You are not dead," Felassan told her, tenderly. "This is a dream. But you have a choice to make, _ma ashalan._"

It was hard to breathe through the pain in her chest, but she knew what she had to do. Tears burned in her eyes. "I have to wake up."

Her father nodded, solemn. "Or the dream will be permanent and you can follow me through the mirror."

"The Void mirror," she said, understanding at last.

He nodded again and arched a bow, smiling slightly. "Which will it be?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'll see you again someday?"

His smile broadened but his eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Someday." He reached out and took her hands in his. It was like having her hands encased in ice, yet somehow she withstood it. "Which will it be?" he asked again.

"I have to go back," she said, choking out the words. "You were right." She shuddered. "But…I don't know how. I've lost the path."

Suddenly Felassan's hands on hers were agonizingly cold. She gasped and recoiled, taking several steps back involuntarily. When she looked to Felassan, he was still smiling. She realized, dimly, that the chill of this place was deadly. She'd lingered too long, drawn too close. And now that she had realized the truth of it, death was ready to spit her back out.

"You will find it again," Felassan said, raising his voice. "Give my love to them all, _ma ashalan. _Farewell."

Before she could say anything more, the surging heat from the green flash enveloped her. She was in warm water then, fighting and kicking. The flash came again, but this time the green light cut through water. She saw the ripple of the surface.

She swam hard for it.

* * *

Tal grabbed a pinch of herbs from the pouch at the corner of the work table and sprinkled it into the sticky mixture of honey and water. He began mixing them together with a whisk of his wooden spoon. The clay bowl was painted in a sloppy, child's hand with a motif of ravens and wolves, black and red-brown on creamy white.

Once the herbs were evenly mixed, Tal scraped the sides of the bowl to push the thick slurry into a glass phial. When that was complete he set aside both bowl and spoon. Taking the phial, Tal turned and walked across the dim room. He swirled the contents with a practiced motion of his wrist for good measure. He stopped near one of the Veilfire wall sconces, turning the phial this way and that as he checked over it again to ensure the mixture was sticky enough.

When he started walking again his eyes drifted up to the white sheets covering the dais. The straw stuffing of the cot was going sour and soft again. They'd need to change it soon—or Tal would have to give in and allow Abelas to cast the preservation spell on the bedding. But allowing that was like giving up to Tal, admitting defeat.

So he pushed that idea away and stepped up the short stair to the dais where Rosa lay, unmoving as always…

Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

Tal started, gasping and halting in place. His heart thundered in his ears, surging with hope. He smashed it with a growl of irritation at himself. Rosa opened her eyes periodically. It always startled him, got his hopes up, but it was never real. Just another small tic of her body in uthenera. Tal would slide her eyelids shut as he always did and try not to let hopelessness drag him to drinking.

But then, reacting to his gasp, Rosa _blinked. _She turned her head. She blinked again and her eyes moved, focusing.

The phial slipped from Tal's fingers and shattered on the floor at his feet.

"Rosa!" He rushed forward, heedless as he crunched glass beneath his feet. He didn't feel the pain, only the rush of relief and love. He touched her face, blubbering and sobbing with astonishment. Her violet eyes followed him. Her brow even furrowed with something like confusion.

"You're awake! You're _finally_ awake!" He pulled her into his arms as he sobbed. It was dreamlike, unbelievable, as she moved in his arms. _"Asamalin!_ I _knew_ you would wake up!"

Her body jerked beneath his hold and he heard her hiccup. Pulling back, he saw her face wrenched with grief. She opened her mouth, but no voice emerged, only a dry croak. Her fear and confusion tore at him, but Tal was too busy crying and hugging her to talk. Words would come later. For now he only wanted to revel in the fact that she had woken.

When she croaked and rasped again, her mouth and throat too dry to speak, Tal reluctantly forced himself to separate from her. He kept one hand out, as though he could keep her awake as long as he maintained eye contact. "Stay right there," he said in a rush. "Don't move. Don't go back to sleep! I just have to get…"

He grabbed the water and honey from the table and hurriedly poured some of both into the mixing bowl. He used his finger to stir and then darted back to Rosa. "Here," he said, helping support her as he pulled her into a sitting position. "Drink this. It'll help."

Rosa drank as he pressed the rim of the bowl to her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut and Tal quickly pulled it back. "Stay awake!" he shouted, frantic. "Please! Stay awake!"

She shot him an irritated look. Her lips were sticky with the honey water. She swallowed and tried to speak. This time her voice emerged, sweet as rain to Tal's ears. "What…happened?"

She was awake. Truly awake. This was not a tic of her body or a trick of his mind. Tal's hands shook on the bowl. He hurriedly set it down rather than risk breaking it. "You…" He let out a sob but managed to regain control. "You were in uthenera."

Alarm flashed over her features. "Uthenera?" She shook her head. "How…?"

"The Veil," Tal said, his voice gruff and hampered by emotion. "It's so weak that…" He shrugged, losing the words. "Uthenera."

She stared at him, clearly uncomprehending.

Unable to help himself, Tal pulled her into another crushing embrace. He shuddered, nuzzling into the crook of her shoulder. She smelled of the herbs they washed her with, faintly sweet and tangy. He let the salt of his tears join it. After a few moments he felt her arms wrap around him, weak but _real._

At last, the listless nightmare of his hopeless watch over her bedside was at an end.

* * *

Rosa sat on the steep bank of a cerulean lake, wrapped in a bear fur blanket. She stared at the water and tried to find a similar stillness and calm inside herself. It remained elusive. All she could feel was...empty. Shocked.

She'd come here, wandering out of the Chantry-like sanctuary behind her, when Tal, Nola, and Halesta told her what happened to Thedas while she lay in slumber.

In _uthenera._

Not that she recalled it. They told her she dreamed. They told her they visited her, but that she didn't know them or herself. She was just a child, clinging to her mother in most of them. And then she had vanished. They all feared she had left her body for good, to wander the ever-changing paths of the great Beyond.

To die.

And then, suddenly when no one expected she would recover, she woke.

The air wasn't cold, but Rosa's body was wizened and weak, making the blanket necessary. She had been close to death according to her family, yet her senses were more alive than ever before. She smelled the sweetness of the lake, of pollen from flowers on the steep embankment. She heard the twittering song of birds and the musical tinkling of wisps darting through the enormous narrow columns of the sanctuary. High above in the sky, Rosa saw the occasional flash of color—soft pink, cheery yellow, or cool blue. It was so faint she could almost believe she imagined it, but her inner senses knew the truth.

If she concentrated she could feel the Fade. She could grip it. She could _almost_ alter this place as though it was nothing but a dream.

"The Veil is too weak to hold the Fade back entirely," Halesta had explained to her, more coherent than Tal or Nola. "It's permeable now. Demons and spirits can pass through at will in many places."

"That's why you were able to enter uthenera," Nola put in. She laid a hand on Tal's shoulder, possessive and affectionate and proud. "It's why _ma vhenan_ is now a Fade-walker, like you."

She couldn't quite fathom it. Any of it. But the revelations kept coming.

"The Quickening has reversed," Halesta had told her. "Some of the survivors here were old or sick. The old became stronger. The sick recovered. It was as though they were wilting plants in a field, in desperate need of water but never knowing it."

"And then the rains came," Nola said, wonder in her voice.

Tal's expression was darker, knowing. "The _Fade_ came."

The high-pitched voice of a child reached her ears, drawing her out of the reverie. She twisted round and saw a child of about two years scampering along the embankment. He had bronzed skin and a tangle of curly black-brown hair. She recognized the bowl clutched in his hand as the same one Tal had used to give her honey water when she first woke.

Somewhere behind the toddler came Nola's voice, shouting. "Felan! Felan! Come back here right now!"

The toddler giggled with all the same mischievous playfulness Rosa had come to expect from Tal. But, unlike her nimble brother, this toddler did not yet have an adult's balance and better judgment. He slipped, dropping the bowl, and gave a little shriek.

Rosa shot to her feet, dropping the blanket, and Fade-stepped to catch him. His surprise vanished almost at once as he realized she'd saved him. He grinned, showing a mouth full of tiny white teeth. _"Ma'isamalin!"_

"_How long have I been asleep?"_ Rosa heard her own voice echoing through her memory as she stared at the toddler.

"_Two years,"_ Tal had replied, barely restrained anguish in those words.

_Two years. _

This toddler was her nephew. The last time she had seen him, before the battle with Corypheus, he was a baby confined to his mother's sling. Now he was on the verge of becoming a boy. Her eyes stung as she saw his violet eyes, the same shade as hers and Felassan's. She tried to blink it away, to keep him from sensing her grief.

Felanaste squirmed, trying to point at the ground. "Bowl," he said. "I paint-ed it. For you, _ma'isamalin."_

Rosa twisted to look around the bulk of the toddler in her arms and spotted the bowl nearby, bottom side up. Crudely painted ravens and wolves circled the lip. "You painted that for me?" she asked, managing to smile around her lingering shock at this strange world she'd woken into.

Felanaste nodded enthusiastically. "Baba say we give giffs when…" He screwed up his face, as though struggling to remember or find the right words. "When…you sad. So no sad anymore." He spread his arms and clapped sloppily. "No sad anymore!" He flung his little body forward, hugging her around the neck. "You wake! You wake!"

"Felanaste," Nola said then, breathing heavily as she finally reached them. She shot Rosa a sheepish, apologetic expression. "I'm so sorry, he's such a troublemaker!"

She reached for the toddler but Felanaste let go of Rosa with one hand to slap at his mother. "No! No, I stay with _ma'isamalin._"

Nola huffed, frustrated. "_Ma'ismalin_ isn't feeling well right now, _da'len._ She needs—"

"I'm all right," Rosa interrupted her…but her arms were shaking with weakness. She shifted Felanaste and then lowered him to the ground. She kept hold of his hand as she picked up the bowl. "Come on, _da'len,"_ she said, smiling down at him. "Let's go back inside with your _mamae."_

Felanaste blew a raspberry in protest but let Nola take his other hand. Together they walked up the embankment to the sanctuary. Tal waited just outside one of the arches, with Halesta just inside. Both her mother and her brother watched her with varying degrees of concern and something akin to awe. They all clearly couldn't believe their eyes that she was awake.

After _two _years.

They entered the sanctuary. Veilfire orbs lit the inside, green-white. Elves, both Dalish and barefaced, sat together in small groups, reading or working. Some of them crafted earthenware vessels, like the one Felanaste had apparently painted for her. Others worked halla wool into thread. At the far end of the sanctuary was an armory where the constant _clank_ of a hammer on metal rang. Still more elves worked with scrolls, painstakingly writing elven script in ink.

Nola scooped up Felanaste, tickling him. The toddler squealed. "Time for painting, _da'len,"_ she said as she broke off from their group to join the pottery workers.

The first time Rosa walked through this place was in a daze. Now she wondered what in the great Beyond they were doing. Halesta caught her questioning look and smiled. "We are relearning what was lost."

Rosa shook her head, still confused. "But…why?"

"So we can survive," Halesta murmured, somber. "If the Veil suddenly fails completely."

Tal was there then, scowling at her mother. "It's not going to _suddenly _fail. Don't scare her."

Halesta returned his scowl with one of her own. "You are always the first to point out that _he_ doesn't know that with complete certainty. Yet _I_ am not allowed to share that with my daughter?"

"She just woke up," Tal snapped. "We shouldn't overwhelm her."

As they argued, Rosa gazed down at her left hand as memory stirred, slow and cold with horror. Solas had taken the Anchor from her. The handful of memories she had from after defeating Corypheus were hazy and tinged with pain and desperation. She lifted her gaze, suddenly feeling queasy as she searched for some sign of Solas and found nothing.

Fast on the heels of those thoughts about Solas, she also remembered her Inquisition friends. The last time she had seen them was as Flemeth transformed into a dragon and carried her away. What had happened to them? Were they safe? What had the reduced Veil done to humans, dwarves, and Qunari?

"Where's Solas?" she asked, her voice strangled as she cut into her mother and brother's argument.

Both elves sobered at the question. Halesta stared at the ground and said nothing. It was Tal who had the gumption to answer.

"He comes and goes," he said with a dismissive shrug. His eyes misted and he sniffed, quashing the emotional reaction brewing just beneath the surface. "He doesn't stay. He checks on you and leaves. It's better for everyone that way. The Dalish here aren't comfortable with him and you know how he doesn't like them, either."

That answered her question without actually allaying the press of her anxiety. In fact, it only built it higher. "What has he been doing? What's happened to the world outside this place? The Inquisition…?"

Halesta crossed her arms over her chest and stayed silent. Tal once more was the one who answered her. His face fell. "Leliana runs the Inquisition now. Cassandra is the new Divine. Dorian went back to Tevinter. Cole is kicking around here, somewhere. Varric went back to Kirkwall. Iron Bull returned to the Qun."

Rosa breathed out with relief at hearing the news about Iron Bull. Her last memory of him was of his blood-spattered face. He was coated from head to toe in contaminated blood. She'd been certain he would be infected with red lyrium—but then again, she'd heard rumor that Qunari were resistant to Blight as a whole. Something about the supposed dragon blood in their distant heritage.

"The rest…" Tal went on with a shrug. "They went their separate ways." He gave her a sad look. "They think you're dead. Solas, too."

Rosa grimaced, pained at that realization. Her friends…they thought she had gone after Solas that night and died. Did they know she had stopped him or did they believe she'd failed based on the weakening of the Veil?

"_He_ likes it that way," Halesta muttered, bitter. "The whole of Thedas thinking him dead."

This time, when Tal glared at Halesta, Rosa joined him. "Knock it off,_"_ Tal chided. "She's been awake like ten minutes. Can we just _pretend_ you don't hate his guts for a few minutes?"

Halesta frowned but seemed suitably chastened for a moment before her shoulders sank. "I'm sorry," she said, appearing miserable. "It's just…now that you're awake…_he_ will come drag you away. I'll…I might lose you. Again."

Was Halesta just being an overly worried, protective mother? Or was there something dangerous happening in Thedas? Rosa's heart lurched inside her chest. She turned to Tal now, certain he would provide a straight answer. "What's happening outside this place, _da'isamalin?_" she asked. "What is Solas doing? If the others think he's dead…"

Tal drew in a long breath and let it out sullenly. "He spends most of his time trying to understand what will happen in the future, and when." He dropped his eyes to the floor. "The Veil _is_ failing. But it always was, he says. It's just doing it faster now."

That's why we are preparing," Halesta put in. "Day and night."

"Solas thinks it will be gentle this time when it goes," Tal went on, softer now. Rosa stared at him, shocked. "Not like it was when you went to the dark future in Redcliffe."

"But he doesn't _really_ know," Halesta grumbled. "It will still be a mess. Demons running amok. _Shemlen_ panicking."

"But no Corypheus to fuck up the world," Tal said. "Thanks to you."

There wasn't much comfort in that. She locked her knees, trying to steady herself. "And the…Evanuris? The ones still alive in the Black City?"

"Trapped even more than before," Tal said as Halesta again looked away, clearly uncomfortable at the topic. "They aren't budging until the Veil fails." He shrugged. "It could be another year or another age. He doesn't know and neither do we."

"Where is he now?" Rosa asked. Her mouth felt dry from ongoing shock. She shivered and wished she hadn't shed the bear fur on the lake shore. "I want to see him."

Tal and Halesta exchanged a swift glance, silently communicating. Tal nodded and faced Rosa once more, reaching out to grip her shoulder. "I will send for him. Stay with Halesta and get some food." He cracked a dry smile. "I would tell you to sleep but…maybe don't do that."

She managed a smile and took his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. "I'll stay awake," she promised.

And then he was gone.

Standing opposite Halesta, Rosa sighed. "You…you know who Solas really is?"

Her mother scoffed derisively. "Fen'Harel? Yes. I've known since the night he got you killed." Her eyes narrowed with pain and loss. "And I know he killed Ivun and broke your heart, multiple times." She motioned dismissively at the sanctuary. "He's worked hard to protect and care for this place and the people in it," she admitted. "But I wish you had the good sense to love a nice Dalish First, or even one of the sentinel elves who served Mythal before they came here."

Rosa's tension broke as she read this as the truth from her mother, pure and simple. She let out a short laugh and smiled as Halesta frowned at her with disapproval. Halesta hadn't approved of Solas when she first met him at the Arlathvhen either. "What's so funny, _da'len?"_ she asked irritably.

Rosa closed the distance between them and hugged the older woman to her. She nuzzled into her shoulder and let out a shuddering sigh. "Thank you," she whispered.

Halesta's arms wrapped about her, squeezing tight. She didn't need an explanation of what Rosa thanked her for. "Always, darling." Familiar hands stroked Rosa's back and smoothed her hair.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

_He watched me die,_ she realized. _He's carried that guilt for two years, never knowing if I would waken. If I could forgive him for it. For everything. _

"It is better for the People that I lived," Solas finished. "You were right."

They stared at each other, hands still clasped. Whether it was the nearness of the Fade through the diminished Veil, or just Loyalty's latent talents, Rosa sensed his mounting emotion. That same excitement lay within her, billowing up and out, fluttering in her chest. Somehow that terrible night in the Black City had worked to give them both what they wanted.

And right now, that was only each other.


	77. The New World to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and Solas lay plans for the future. 
> 
> This is NSFW!
> 
> Sorry for the long delay on this! I had a major distraction come up when I was first diagnosed with gestational diabetes, which took a ton of managing thru diet, and then baby was born 10 days before her due date!

It was an hour after sunset when Tal returned at last. Rosa was eating with her mother, a meal of blueberries, spindleweed, and melon with poached fish. Halesta had done little but feed and walk with her in the hours since Tal left. Other elves in the sanctuary went silent or bowed when they recognized her, although Mythal's sentinels were unmoved.

According to Halesta, they all knew she was the one who had stayed the Dread Wolf's hand, stopping him short of unleashing terrible chaos. They didn't seem to consider Solas' contribution—killing two Evanuris—in as positive a light. Whether that was due to lingering religious beliefs or because Solas himself didn't want to spread the knowledge of _how_ the Veil weakened, Rosa didn't know.

They were in the tall tower across the lake, overlooking the sanctuary and the grassy hills all around, when Tal found them. He landed in a heap at Rosa's side, pulling her close in a sideways hug. Rosa couldn't help but recoil. He smelled heavily of wine.

"I still _can't_ believe it," he blubbered, crying. "You're _really_ awake!"

"Are you drunk again?" Halesta barked. "This is a happy time, not a miserable one."

"I'm only tipsy," Tal protested, glowering at her. "And this is _happy_ drinking."

"You were supposed to be getting Solas," Rosa muttered, though she couldn't help smirking. His joy was contagious.

Now Tal pulled away from her, scooting sideways over the stone of the walkway beside her until he was situated more diagonally from her. "I did," he said, harrumphing. Then he made a shooing motioned at Halesta. "Get. _He_ will be here any second."

Halesta wrinkled her nose. "And why would _you_ stay with her?"

"I won't stay, really. But I am totally willing to be the insufferable third wheel if she prefers," Tal said, chuckling. He popped a handful of blueberries into his mouth. "Plus, I actually like the bastard. That makes me a tolerable third wheel for Solas, too."

Rosa tried to settle the flutter in her stomach. After two years...how would Solas react? How would _she _react? She didn't even know. Tal said Solas checked on her often, but never lingered. What did he do outside this place? Did he harbor some terrible black rage that she had stopped him? Would he resent her?

She remembered a flash of green, a shout of terror. _NO!_

Halesta huffed and cast Rosa a last, complex look. Then she rose to her feet and walked away, heading for the eluvian on the other side of the walkway that would return her to the lake sanctuary.

Tal eyed her as he bit into a crunchy section of spindleweed. After swallowing he asked, "So, do you remember it?"

"Remember what?" she asked, her stomach clenching with anticipatory anxiety.

Tal's brown eyes locked with hers, solemn. "Dying."

She bit her lip, considering. Slowly, she shook her head. "Not…really." But then she stared fixedly at the fish bones on her plate as memories did stir, like shadows cast on a wall. "I…recall the Void Mirror. And…_babae."_

Tal coughed, choking on his latest handful of berries. "What?"

The chill of that place still lingered in her bones. Rosa quickly reached for her wine. She downed the rest of it and then held the cup, realizing it was more earthenware. It was probably crafted here. The paint on this one was of pinks and blues—a sunset or sunrise. She decided not to say more.

After the silence lengthened, Tal reached over and laid a hand on her wrist. "Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to send you back to a dark place."

"I…" She grimaced. "I don't remember it well." Relaxing, she smiled at him. "I'm just glad I found my way back—even if I did lose two years."

Tal released her wrist and patted her knee in a gesture that surprised her with its fatherliness. "I just…wanted to be sure you remembered how you wound up in uthenera." He gazed at her sidelong, waiting for a sign she understood his meaning. "Solas is going to bring it up, I'm sure."

She clenched her jaw and nodded gravely. "I made him choose. And when he wouldn't…" Her hands opened and closed in her lap, reflexively. "I…called his bluff."

"You died," Tal told her, his voice cracking. "You died and Loyalty brought you back."

Sorrow cut at Rosa as she remembered the spirit that had saved her from red lyrium Blight. She turned her senses inward, searching for it. When she probed, deep inside herself, she thought she felt it—but Loyalty was now as much a part of herself as Mythal and Flemeth were interconnected. It was indistinguishable from herself.

Seeing her distress, Tal said, "Loyalty sustains you now. Or, that's what Solas told us. That's how it brought you back."

Absently, Rosa nodded. That rang with truth, deep and gloomy. Yet, up until now, she'd thought her nearness to death was only in uthenera. But the truth was that she had no memory of going over the precipice the first time.

"So," Tal said, letting the word drag out, slurred slightly by his inebriation. "Guess I should get to talking about _him_." He cleared his throat and shifted in place, but did not rise. Rosa watched him, waiting, but Tal seemed reluctant. Finally her brother grunted and blurted, "Are you…uh, what—or _how_ do you feel…"

Rosa cocked one brow, amused at Tal's blundering. "I feel fine. A little tired and weak, but fine otherwise."

"That's great," Tal said, but he grimaced. "Except, what I _actually_ wanted to ask was about Solas. How you feel about _him._ You asked to see him, but…was it to slice him open from chin to navel, or…?_"_

Rosa blinked, taken aback. She snorted after thinking on the question a moment. "I'm…not sure." Her last memories of him were all tainted with pain. His grip on her left wrist as he took the Anchor from her. His stubborn refusal to set aside the path of destruction. Her desperation to reach him, at any cost.

She'd succeeded. Solas was alive. Thedas was still whole, as was the Veil—albeit altered and tenuous. She should be ecstatic. Yet after the long sleep…she just felt hollow. As if this was all still a dream.

It didn't help that it _did_ feel disturbingly close to the Fade.

Tal nodded at her and grabbed one of the fine fish bones from her plate. Using it to pick at his teeth, he didn't say anything for a time. Then, once he finished, he met her eye with surprising somberness, despite his lack of sobriety. "Reason I ask is…well, I don't know for sure, but I think you broke Solas that night in the Black City two years ago."

Rosa frowned. "I broke him? If you mean I forced him not to destroy Thedas, then yeah…"

Tal shook his head. "Not quite that. You died, remember? Loyalty brought you back, but your mind was still gone. For two years. So…" Tal shrugged in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't think Solas has recovered from that. I think he thinks you'll hate him. And, honestly, you probably should considering everything, but—"

"You don't hate him," Rosa said, reading that truth plainly in the way Tal spoke of the Dread Wolf so candidly. There was little or no trace now of the anger and rage she recalled in her brother before.

"I did at first." Tal heaved a long sigh. "But it's hard to hate him now because of all he does for us." He swept a hand, indicating the food. "He took charge of all the disparate groups here, organized hunters and gatherers so we could start becoming self-sustaining. We forage for food both around here and through the eluvians. He brought the sentinels from Mythal's temple here to start teaching everyone magic and how to read and write elven. We have a lot more mages than before. And he's teaching everyone how to interact safely with spirits and demons so we don't fall to possession." His lips pinched tightly together. "The _shemlen_ haven't fared as well because they don't have teachers—_leaders—_like him."

This was the first indication Rosa had heard that the world outside was suffering from the changes in the Veil. Her shoulders fell and she stared forlornly at the little pile of blueberries. She shouldn't care about the humans_, wouldn't_ have cared about them just a few years ago, before she became Inquisitor. But now her thoughts went to Cassandra, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Varric, and all the others who'd face more danger from the weakened Veil without any of the benefits the People enjoyed.

"You're worried for the _shemlen,"_ Tal said, reading her easily. "For the Inquisition." He took a short breath. "Don't be. There's _tons_ of humans. They're adaptable. They have mages, too. They'll survive." He leaned a little closer, smiling. "But I think they'd do better if the Herald of Andraste miraculously returned from the dead."

She scowled. Although being Inquisitor still felt like who she was, she knew it would be jarring to her friends and the Inquisition as a whole to suddenly return after two years presumed dead. If they had realized the effect the weakened Veil had on elves it might even prove disastrous for Rosa to reappear and try to take up her mantel as Inquisitor again. Leliana knew about her heritage and would have learned of Solas' true identity too by now. She doubted the spymaster believed Solas was truly dead, though she might think Rosa was. She would see betrayal and manipulation if Rosa resurfaced, not a helping hand.

"I can't go back," she muttered. "Leliana and the others would see me as a traitor." She shot her brother a miserable look. "Do you really think they'd believe me that I stopped Solas from destroying the world? They'll think I helped him. They'll think I weakened the Veil to help the People."

Tal nodded, shoulders slouching. "Yeah. I didn't think about that." He fidgeted and then plucked a few more blueberries from the pile. "So you'll want to retire?"

"I don't know what I want anymore," Rosa said and winced as she heard her voice catch. "I should be overjoyed. I achieved everything I meant to. Corypheus is dead. Solas is alive. The Veil is still sort of intact. Thedas survived and all my friends and family are alive…" She didn't speak the last sad truth—all of her family but her father, of course. The thought only left her gloomier with remembered grief.

"Yeah," Tal agreed with a grunt. "He thought you might wake up adrift like that. I guess it's common post-uthenera. Especially when someone entered it involuntarily."

"It's just…" Something massive and painful swelled inside her, full of hurt. Tears pricked her eyes, but she fought them down by blinking savagely. "I've missed so much. I've lost so much time. Felanaste was a baby when I last saw him. Now he can walk and talk and paint bowls for me!" She covered her face with her hands and tried to keep her breathing even.

Tal laid a hand on her shoulder. "It's only two years, _asamalin._ If Solas is right, we'll live for _hundreds_ now because the Veil has weakened. The older elves have all seemed to age in reverse over the last two years. You'll have—"

Footsteps clapped on the stone, drawing closer. Tal fell silent and then rose fast to his feet, swaying. He caught himself with one hand on the tower wall. Then he puffed out his chest and strode past Rosa as a familiar figure approached around the curve of the tower.

It was Solas, dressed simply in a tan tunic and breeches that might be his same humble green that he wore when he pretended to be just an apostate. The air seemed thicker, harder to breathe for Rosa at the sight of him, green under the Veilfire orbs hovering over their little dinner site. Her magical senses picked out his power as a weight in her periphery, like the orb. Normally she only felt that in the Fade. Now it was here, in reality.

Rosa hunkered lower; pulling up the fox fur blanket her mother had left her with earlier. They were sitting on a bear fur, their meals spread out in clay bowls overtop of it. Her stomach flip-flopped, though she wasn't certain whether it was eagerness or dread. Uthenera had left her scrambled. Or perhaps it was the memory of trauma.

Or dying, though she didn't remember it.

"She's still a little out of sorts," Tal was saying, his voice soft. Gentle, but not deferential. It was as if he was warning a friend of potential danger. "Go easy on her."

Solas said nothing, though Rosa guessed he nodded. She didn't turn to look and instead sent one arm snaking out of the fur to pick a single blueberry from the plate in front of her. She popped it with her tongue against her teeth and let the tangy taste calm her nerves.

Tal's footsteps retreated and a soft tread drew nearer. His shadow passed over the Veilfire sconce. She didn't lift her head but instead took another berry.

He sat on the far end of the bear fur, cross-legged, and rested his hands in his lap. The wind whistled past them over the walkway, cool from the valley and rich with the scent of greenery. Rosa turned her head to stare out at the dark and noticed dozens of orange and green lights. Campfires and Veilfires. Little hearths spread out over this place. There were far more elves here than she'd thought.

"How many of the People are here?" she asked.

Solas' breath was so soft she barely heard him above the wind. "Nearly fifty-thousand."

She shivered. That was larger than many cities. Her heart flushed, warm at the thought of so many living here, far from humans, slavery, Circles, and alienages. And from what she witnessed earlier in the day, many of them weren't soldiers. There were tons of youngsters like Felanaste here, as well as elders. Solas did not ostensibly seem to be raising an army. It was a community. A society. Not a militia. 

At least, not from her limited insight on the sanctuary.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She snorted. "That seems to be the only thing anyone ever asks me since I woke."

"Apologies," Solas said quickly. "I do not mean to offend. I am…somewhat of an expert in uthenera. I merely wished to ascertain—"

She turned her head, finally looking at him. "Are you afraid I'm going to slip back into it?"

Solas' face looked tired and worn, though also brighter somehow—rejuvenated. Yet the concern and tenderness she saw in his gaze eased the knot of tension inside her belly. Her strange, mixed emotions and hollowness had begun to wear thin as this reality continued playing out with no sign of ending. Any fear she had of fury from the Dread Wolf evaporated.

"It is possible," he hedged. "Though unlikely."

"Well," she said, finding herself smiling slightly. "That's a spot of good news."

"Yes," he agreed, stilted now. It was an odd reaction to her first smile. He averted his gaze, staring out into the night as the wind rose again, buffeting them and the tower. The Veilfire flickered, more green than white for the duration.

Rosa cleared her throat and reached again for another berry. Before popping it into her mouth, she said, "Tal told me everyone thinks I'm dead. And they think _you're_ dead."

He nodded, still staring out into the dark. "That is the belief among most. However, I doubt Leliana and many in your inner circle are convinced of it." The corner of his lips twitched up once, twice. "And there are the frequent sightings of the Dread Wolf among elves, of course."

This was more the Solas she would have expected. Although his comment sent a lance of apprehension through her as she wondered what exactly he was up to, it also helped loosen that knot inside her again. She stared at him across the mostly eaten meal, admiring his strong cheekbones and lips. A smidgen of her old desire, the spark between them, unfurled. The cold of uthenera, of his last betrayal when he took the Anchor, still dampened her heart, but those things were distant after the long sleep.

In some ways…this felt like another life. Another world. A dream. A rebirth. And she could feel a little of her brash nature stirring. The same reckless pleasure seeker who pursued and seduced Solas in the Hasmal Circle, even suspecting he was Elvhen and would hurt her, just as her father did with her mother.

And he had, but he came back. He hadn't forgotten her, just believed their love was impossible because of who he was and who she was. It was the same every time he abandoned her.

She cleared her throat. "Tal told me the humans aren't doing as well as us with the weakened Veil."

He frowned but finally turned to meet her eye, solemn. "No. The humans experience none of the benefits we do from the weakened Veil. They fear spirits and demons and magic."

He dipped his chin to her, as if hurrying to acknowledge her next thought. "I expected you would wish to aid them should you waken. I will not stop you should you decide to leave Revasan." A muscle in his temple flared, revealing his discomfort at this idea. "But my hope is that you will work as I do—within the dreaming, unseen—to accomplish your goals."

Rosa said nothing, just watching him, trying to gauge whether she thought he was trying to manipulate, mislead, or otherwise omit something vital. He seemed so genuine and she hadn't sensed any untruths.

After the silence dragged out long enough to become uncomfortable, Solas added, "The People need you."

"From what Tal told me, they seem to need you, too."

Solas looked away now, mouth quirking down in a micro-frown. "There are many here who will never trust me." He let out a sad sigh. "And with good reason. I destroyed Elvhenan when I erected the Veil. They do not know the truth of their so-called Creators, though Tal and Mythal's sentinels have endeavored to educate them. They still cling to the Evanuris' lies."

"That will change," Rosa murmured. "With time."

"It is time we may not have," Solas muttered under his breath.

The knot in Rosa's stomach tightened threefold. "The Veil is crumbling?" She dropped her volume, afraid of this line of conversation, but knowing they must have it. "What do you know? Tell me the truth."

Swiveling his head, Solas regarded her with an inscrutable expression. "It will fail in time, yes."

"How long?" she pressed, leaning closer over the remains of the meal separating them.

Solas' eyes narrowed marginally. The muscle in his temple flickered again, catching the green Veilfire light. "Of that, I cannot be certain. I have entered the Black City a dozen times as you slept to observe the device that entraps the Evanuris and uses their mana to power the Veil. Each visit has shown me it is stable, but degrading—as it always has. The Veil has naturally weakened over the ages since I first created it. One day, many years from now I suspect, it will fail entirely."

His eyes crinkled with sorrow. "I have hastened that inevitable failure by eliminating Elgar'nan and Falon'Din. Yet, the Veil may endure longer than we live, despite our extended lifespans. But I remain the only one capable of facing the remaining Evanuris. I will have more time than I did previously, but…" Eyes dropping to the food separating them, Solas hung his head. "I fear your efforts, Rosa, have only delayed what must be. I am sorry."

Though Rosa's heart sank at this news, she steeled her spine and drew in a deep breath, focusing on the positive. "But…we have time to prepare now. We can make sure both our people and the rest of Thedas are ready." She brightened as the idea seized her, sparking again something other than the haze of numbness and shock that had enveloped her since waking. "And with the Veil weakened, we live longer. Better. We can be ready as we never could before."

She reached across the bear pelt, grasping Solas' hand. It was warm, but damp with anxious sweat. She remembered for an instant an echo of memory from the deep sleep—her father's cold touch, chilly as the grave. Solas was _real._ Solid.

This might feel dreamlike, but it was _real._

His eyes focused on her in a way they hadn't quite before now. She realized that he, like her, wasn't in his right mind. Although he'd been awake over the last two years, he wasn't _present_. He was waiting, frozen. Going through the motions. That was what Tal had meant when he said she broke Solas that night in the Black City.

Solas' hand turned over in her loose hold until they were palm to palm. His fingers curled around her hand, meeting hers just as his eyes now locked with hers. He was _present_ now, too. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, but Rosa's heart had begun hammering inside her—not with dread, but excitement.

"We cannot afford to wait until I am an old man," he cautioned her. "If the Veil persists longer than the extended natural span of our lives…" His expression was wary, watching her.

"I know," Rosa said, pinching her lips together. "But we can prepare everyone and pick the time." She edged closer and grabbed his other hand, squeezing. "You won't have to fight them alone. You can bring me, Tal, the sentinels, Flemeth…"

He made a face as though he'd tasted something bitter at that name, but he said nothing. Apparently whatever black rage he harbored about being thwarted had landed squarely on the old crone's shoulders. The expression cleared quickly, smoothing as he refocused on her.

"The work you suggest will take many years," Solas murmured, but she could see him turning the ideas and possibilities over in his head. "But…it is not impossible."

"We can save the people _and_ Thedas," she said, wonder making her voice breathy. Laughter bubbled out of her then and Solas frowned, confused.

"What is it?"

"I was thinking of Flemeth," she said and couldn't help but smirk at his bitter lip curl again. It was fun to rile him as always. "That night, when she agreed to help me follow you into the Black City, she told me there'd be a price. Not my life, but something unpleasant." She snorted. "She was right." She smiled. "I thought she just meant that she would take the orb. Now I see it was more. But losing two years was worth it. I found the middle road I needed."

Something hopeful and tender glimmered in Solas' eyes. "I was not glad of that night," he admitted, softly. "But as I learned the Veil had weakened after my actions, that I would have needlessly died there had you not…" He cut himself off, blinking rapidly as he struggled to contain emotion.

_He watched me die,_ she realized. _He's carried that guilt for two years, never knowing if I would waken. If I could forgive him for it. For everything. _

"It is better for the People that I lived," Solas finished. "You were right."

They stared at each other, hands still clasped. Whether it was the nearness of the Fade through the diminished Veil, or just Loyalty's latent talents, Rosa sensed his mounting emotion. That same excitement lay within her, billowing up and out, fluttering in her chest. Somehow that terrible night in the Black City had worked to give them both what they wanted.

And right now, that was only each other.

"How should we begin?" Solas asked, his smile sharp and alight with anticipation.

She knew exactly how she wanted to answer that question.

Rosa shrugged out of the fur and rose to her knees, leaning over the plates between them as she tugged his hands to her. Solas answered in kind, pulling her closer as his hands leapt to her waist. Their lips crashed together, starved for each other and ravenous at the reconnection.

Plates clinked and clattered as he swept them aside. Rosa shuffled the remaining distance on her knees, all the while with her lips and hands still on him. She was in his lap in moments, breath rushing and hands sliding over his chest and behind his shoulders.

* * *

A few meters away, around the wall and out of sight in the shadow of the tower, Tal smirked. He'd walked away at first, to give the couple the illusion of privacy, but then he cast invisibility over himself and tiptoed back.

Now, lingering in the shadows to listen in on the reunion on the off chance either of them needed rescue from the other, he covered his mouth with one hand to stifle giggles. Halesta wouldn't be happy, but phooey on her.

This was going much better than he expected, based on how removed Rosa had seemed when he spoke to her throughout the day. He'd been trying to get a read on her heart the whole day, determined to delay the meeting if it seemed she was unready, for everyone's benefit. After all, Solas had waited two years, what were a few days or weeks comparatively, if Rosa needed it?

But the clatter of plates and then the rough breathing told him all he needed to know.

Void take him, but what a _wonderful_ day!

As quietly as he could, Tal turned and tiptoed away for real this time. He'd find his mother first and give her the good news. And then Nola. And then Halesta. And Lyris. And anyone who'd listen to the good news.

* * *

The fever of desire, of reconnection and _awakening_, made her greedy, needy. Her hands dug into his collar to find warm skin. His scent rose to meet her, woody and male with a hint of pine. It was unchanged from her memories, deeply ingrained despite the long sleep, and only helped enflame her now.

He seemed to have a similar reaction, breaking their sloppy kiss, breathing fast but deep as he nuzzled her neck and ear. His hot breath on her skin made Rosa shudder and her heart pound. The headiness of this place, with the Veil so weak that she could almost _feel_ the Fade, made it all the more dreamlike as he pulled back to look over her. His hands cupped her jaw on either side, his thumbs resting on her chin, just beneath her lips.

Tears gleamed in his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks as she watched. Solas leaned his forehead to hers, his breath ragged with emotion as much as desire. Rosa felt her own eyes stinging and shut them, trying to contain her tears.

"_I had lost hope that you would ever waken,"_ he admitted, slipping into elven as he often did when under emotional duress. He made a tight noise in his throat, a sort of choking sound. _"I'm so sorry…you are a magnificent soul and deserve far better than me."_

Rosa swallowed the hitch in her throat and squeezed tightly where her hands rested on his shoulders. "We've been over this," she reminded him softly, smiling as she nuzzled his chin. "I decide what I deserve and who I want." She trailed her lips gently along his jaw, making her way to his ear. "And it's always been you."

"_Vhenan,"_ he said, his voice still gruff with emotion. It seemed part entreaty and part protest, as if he couldn't believe this was happening. Maybe it felt like a dream to him as much as it still did to her.

Rosa could feel the moisture from his tears, transferred from his cheeks to hers. She blinked, shedding a few of her own, and whispered again into his ear. "I forgive you."

He let out a shuddering breath, full of longing and relief. His arms tightened around her and he held her motionless for a time. Rosa tucked her face into the crook of his shoulder and neck, trying to commit everything about this moment to memory so she could cling to it if it turned out to be a dream after all. They clung to each other, listening to one another's breathing and heartbeats.

The chilly night wind stirred again, whistling as it rushed over the tower stones and through the railing. When Rosa shivered, Solas hummed and finally withdrew from her slightly. He touched her chin with warm fingers, lifting it and smiling at her. "Perhaps we can continue this somewhere warmer?"

Rosa chuckled and pressed close, kissing him rather than answering verbally. Solas responded eagerly, lips moving against hers until his tongue forded into her mouth brazenly. She sighed against his mouth, fencing his tongue with her own. Her hands dropped low from his shoulders and neck toward the hem of his humble tunic. She swept her hands up beneath the fabric, feeling the stark heat of his bare skin and the ripple of supple muscles. Now, with her heart rushing in her ears and her body flushed with fiery desire this felt more and more like reality.

Solas broke the kiss, gasping at her touch. He pulled away, his gaze tender with love but simultaneously hungry and raw with want. He gripped her hands and started to get to his feet. Rosa rose as well, letting him lead her around the walkway encircling the tower to a green-gold mural. Solas lifted his right hand to it and his palm sparked green with a crackle like storm school magic. The mural became translucent, allowing them passage.

"Does it hurt you like it did me?" Rosa asked him as they walked inside the tower, out of the wind.

His expression in the dim light was an unclear mixture of shame and sadness. "No," he admitted, though it sounded reluctant. "The Anchor was meant for my use. I still cannot comprehend how you carried it as long as you did. And used it with far greater skill than I would have ever imagined."

"My heritage probably helped," Rosa murmured.

Stopping, Solas turned toward her and brought her hand to his lips. "Never attribute your successes to others," he told her softly. "Claim them as your own, with pride."

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, but couldn't find any words for a response. Her ancestry had always been both curse and blessing—and always a secret to be guarded. But to Solas she realized she wasn't a granddaughter of other Evanuris, or the child of his long time friend. She was just herself and he was right. Her accomplishments were her own, no one else's.

Solas extended the same right hand toward a sconce on the wall and veilfire roared, casting the space around them in green light. Rosa saw a small living space with an old hearth set into the wall, a large porcelain tub opposite, and a pleasant bed that could easily fit two people—complete with a blue bedspread that looked shiny, like silk. It looked suspiciously close to something from the Winter Palace.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Solas chuckled. "Orlesian nobles enjoyed collecting eluvians as decorative artifacts some years ago." He smile grew smug. "And I, in turn, enjoyed collecting some of their furniture, seeing as they were kind enough to leave the doorway open for me, as it were."

Rosa laughed, stepping closer to him and soaking up the heat of his arms as he wound them around her. She brushed her lips over his throat as he chuckling quieted. "I think my people are going to have to make a new legend for Fen'Harel to capture that image of the Dread Wolf stealing Orlesian furniture."

Now Solas laughed, apparently enjoying the idea as well. Rosa hooked a few fingers into his tunic at the collar and tugged him down to kiss her. Solas obliged, still breathing quick from the laughter.

As the kiss deepened his hands slid over her, dipping into the curve of her waist and then the rise of her breasts. Rosa did the same, slipping her hands under his tunic to again feel his bare skin. She felt gooseflesh rise wherever she teased and heard his breathing hitch slightly.

Solas' deft fingers began opening her buttons one at a time until his hands also slid in to meet her bare flesh. She sighed against his mouth as he traced one hand up her stomach and delicately around her breast. With the other he went lower, trailing magic in his wake that soon had her burning with increasing need.

When he broke the kiss, nipping along her jaw to her neck and ear, Rosa moaned and started fumbling with the lacings on his breeches. But impatience made her give up after a moment when she felt his arousal twitch. She gripped his length through the fabric, squeezing. When he gasped against her skin, hands and mouth both stilling at her touch, Rosa grinned.

Solas cupped her face in his hands, breathing fast and rough, and let out a husky laugh. "I'm afraid if you continue like that…" He shook his head and, even in the dim greenish light from the veilfire, Rosa could see he was blushing. "It's been a long time…"

"Then let's fix that," she teased and pressed closer to get her hips flush with his.

Solas' breath was hot on her skin as he chuckled. "Indeed."

They made their way to the bed, shedding clothes as they went, and collapsed together onto it, arms and legs akimbo. Solas perched over her, kissing her on the mouth fiercely first before breaking away and moving down her body. Rosa's breath rushed in and out and her heart drummed in her ears as he traced one nipple with his tongue. His hands caressed down to her hipbones and navel, always leaving the tingling heat of his magic in their wake.

Rosa arched her back, impatient and needy, rising against his mouth on her breast and then his hands as they slipped slowly, teasingly, between her thighs. Solas made a deep noise, a masculine purr, as he playfully flicked her nipple with his tongue andat the same moment stroked a finger into her folds, deliberately teasing her. Rosa would have laughed, but she didn't have the breath. And when she managed to lock eyes with him through the haze of anticipation and sexual tension, the love and desire she saw burning in his gaze left her even more breathless.

He flashed her a carnal grin and then moved low until she felt his hot breath on her sex. Her muscles quivered, taut with expectation. She had just enough wherewithal to think that if this was a dream it was the best one she'd ever had.

And then his mouth was on her, the heat of it unbelievable. She gasped, desperately trying to resist the need to grind against something as his tongue flicked over her clit. Slow and deliberate strokes, building in tempo.

She moaned, grinding her teeth and curling her toes as the knot of pleasure inside her spiraled higher and higher. When he slipped a finger inside her and moved it in time to match his tongue, rubbing, Rosa felt as though she would explode. She cried out as the climax washed over her, crashing against her in waves of pleasure. Solas kept his tongue working over her and his finger stroking rhythmically as she rode out the throes of bliss.

When it subsided, leaving Rosa panting, legs shaking, and bathed in sweat, she felt a strange mixture of emotions bubbling up inside. Tears stung her eyes, but laughter built in her chest. She remembered again her father's cold touch when she was still in uthenera, standing before the Void Mirror. She was so grateful that whatever, or whoever, she'd seen—whether it truly was Felassan or just a spirit wearing his form—had intervened and convinced her to find her way back to wakefulness.

As Solas moved to lay beside her on the bed, a smug and triumphant look on his face, Rosa rolled onto her side and hooked her leg over his hips. She put her weight onto him and Solas rolled onto his back, letting her perch on top. His arousal was beneath her, thick and hot, but she didn't react to it just yet.

"I saw…" She broke off, clearing her voice when she heard how coarse it sounded, and tried again. "While I was asleep. Just before I woke up, I think, I saw my father." Solas' brow furrowed at her words. His eyes still held a smoldering look. It seemed to be difficult for him to think right now. She couldn't blame him. She had terrible timing—but before she forgot, she wanted to run it by him.

"It could have just been a spirit wearing his form," she admitted, dropping her head low to nuzzle his jaw. "But…it reminded me who I was and it pleaded with me to turn back. To find the path that would let me wake up." Her voice caught and she sucked in a short little breath.

Solas wound his arms around her, stroking her back with one hand and her hair with the other. "I'm afraid," he said, and then also had to clear his throat to rid it of the huskiness. "I cannot tell you if what you saw was a spirit or…"

He didn't know what she'd seen, and she'd expected as much. She could sense his sadness creeping in—old grief for Felassan's death. Although Solas was the one to kill him, Rosa knew he mourned Felassan just as she and Tal had. And, over time, he'd come to regret his choice. Of all the things Solas had hid…this was the worst. The most personal and painful. Rosa had been angry with him over that more than anything else and had let that stubborn resentment rule her.

But no more.

"Whatever it was," she said, nuzzling his ear. "I'm so glad it convinced me to come back." She pulled away enough to stare down at him, caressing his cheek. "He asked that I give everyone my love. I'm sure he meant you, too." He gazed at her, his eyes too bright with moisture, though his pupils were dilated still with passion.

Rosa pressed close, stopping just short of her lips meeting his. "I love you. I never stopped. And…" She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a tear bittersweet tear fall. "I forgive you. For Felassan. I'll always wish you hadn't done it, but…I can accept it and I know why you did it."

"If I could change it…" Solas whispered, and she could hear the grief now thickening his voice. He stroked her hair, brushing the tip of her ear. "If I could bring my old friend back…" He broke off, the old loss lingering between them, still painful. She could hear it thickening his words, weighing them down.

"I know," she said, smiling as she caught his hand in hers, twining their fingers together. "But that's the past. Let's focus on the future." She drew in a deep breath, tracing his jawline to his ear and nibbling it playfully. "And on the here and now."

She moved her hips over his length and felt him twitch in response. Solas hummed appreciatively in the back of his throat. Rosa captured his lips for a long, deep kiss. Slow and leisurely at first, but then with increasing hunger as she kept teasing his cock with her entrance and then sliding away again.

When he arched his hips, eager to be inside her, Rosa altered her angle and gave him his wish. Solas gasped as he slid inside her to the hilt. She grinned down at him, running her fingers down the length of his chest. The first little thrust made Solas grit his teeth, breathing fast. The second and third had him fisting the covers and then cursing colorfully in elven.

Rosa ground against him, speeding up as she felt her own pleasure growing in that familiar, delicious coil of tension in her belly. She slowed down to tease him when he was right at the edge of losing control. He lay gasping beneath her, hips straining, desperate for more friction. Rosa delayed, kissing him as she made slow circles with her hips, rocking against him. Even these small motions made him moan, writhing beneath her. His hands on her hips were sweaty, his grip tight as he tried to guide her.

When she broke the kiss he gasped, cursing. _"Fenedhis."_ His blue eyes looked black, lidded as he stared at her, thrusting with her. _"Vhenan,"_ he said and she had no doubt it was begging even before he added, _"Please." _

The sound of his pleading pushed her over the edge and she cried out, dizzy with pleasure. She pumped hard fast over his length, riding out the sensation. And that sent Solas climaxing as well. Whether it was the sound of her orgasm or the faster pace of her hips, she didn't know and didn't care. She just tried to memorize the sound of his melodic voice moaning and grunting as he spent himself inside her, twitching.

Rosa laid out over his chest, still panting, and listened to Solas catch his breath. His right hand brushed lovingly up her side from her hip, rising to comb through her hair. He wound his other arm around her waist, holding her to him. Rosa snuggled into him, wrapping her arm around his waist as well. The swell of his chest rising and falling under her made her feel heavy with lassitude, but she fought off the lure of post-sex sedation.

Solas made a small noise in his throat, soft but deep so that it reverberated through his chest and into her ears. "It's highly unlikely you will return to uthenera," he told her, fingers still stroking through her hair, "should you fall asleep here."

Judging by the sleepy sound to his voice, Rosa couldn't help but chuckle that he was probably more fatigued than she was. She splayed her hand over his chest, gently running over one of his nipples. "I was a little afraid of that, yeah." She hummed, propping her head up with one arm t look at him, smirking. "But mostly I'm afraid I'll realize this was all a nice dream. I haven't gotten used to how thin the Veil is now."

Solas smiled at her, and indeed, he appeared very sleepy although also bright, content and satisfied. "I have feared much the same," he purred. "But I am confident we are both awake. And I am most glad of it."

He cupped her cheek, caressing his thumb over it. Rosa caught his hand, smiling tenderly at him. "Me too." She leaned forward to kiss him, slow and sensual.

As she cuddled close to him again, resting her head on his shoulder, she felt ready to let sleep take her. The Fade already beckoned, ready to receive her. She let out a small sigh and asked, "You'll be here when I wake?"

"_Bellanaris,"_ Solas murmured and gave her a little squeeze. _Bellanaris ma'vhenan."_

Rosa closed her eyes and drifted off.


	78. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana receives two unexpected visitors bearing equally unexpected news.

"Sister Leliana?" came Scout Harding's familiar voice from behind her. It carried a distinct note of urgency and concern.

Leliana looked up from her worktable. Scrolls and books lay scattered about—missives and letters from across Thedas. The rookery was alive with croaking and cawing from her anxious ravens. They knew it was morning, their usual time for feeding. It was also when Leliana and her team sent out correspondence of all kinds.

But this morning she was running late. Far too many messages had come in overnight and all needed her review. And afterward many needed Cullen or Josie's attention. Only then could they draft replies.

And most of these scrolls were _not_ business as usual.

She swallowed a sigh, irritated at the interruption, but she didn't show it as she rose from her chair and turned round to see her most reliable, trusted scout. She readied a small smile, but surprise froze her in place as she spotted two familiar faces standing behind Harding. The first was a man, Dalish judging by his facial tattoos. The second was a woman…and for the briefest instant Leliana was _sure_ it was Rosa.

Involuntarily, she held her breath as her mind spun seeing the ghost woman in front of her—but then she registered differences. This woman was older and still bore her facial tattoos, for one thing. But there were other details that were off, too. Her eyes were blue, her hair streaked with gray. It wasn't Rosa after all…but how could she so strongly resemble her? It must be a close relative.

A glance to the elven man settled her nerves and she was able to smile as though she wasn't surprised by their appearance at all. She recognized the Dalish man and, distantly, her sharp mind plucked his name from the depths of her memory: Mahanon, Rosa's once-betrothed, long ago.

"Sister Leliana," Harding said again, showing a touch of awkwardness that revealed these visitors rattled her, too. "This is—"

"Mahanon," Leliana said and nodded in acknowledgment. The Dalish man returned the gesture, his jaw squaring and his eyes hard with tension. He was nervous and uncomfortable and doing a poor job of hiding it. He'd never been especially friendly that Leliana recalled, so that would make sense under normal circumstances. But, somehow, she suspected this was _not _normal circumstances.

Leliana switched her gaze to the more enigmatic of these two visitors. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met."

The Dalish woman was silent a beat, eyeing Leliana in return. She seemed tense as well, but better at hiding it with the poise of a long time leader. "I am Halesta, Keeper of clan Naseral." She hesitated another beat, but Leliana had already connected the dots based on this woman's titles. "Your Inquisitor, Rosa, is my daughter."

"I suspected as much," Leliana said conversationally, making an effort to appear open and friendly even as her mind spun again for the second time in this short exchange. "You resemble her a great deal." Why would two different Dalish clans send envoys like this? And both closely connected to Rosa.

Harding hid her shock less expertly. Both brows shot up into her forehead. Leliana knew exactly what triggered that reaction—_Rosa _is_ my daughter._ They'd all long believed Rosa dead, though they could not confirm it without a body or a witness. They had neither. Tal's clan, Manaria, had vanished during the final fight with Corypheus and had not been seen since. Tal disappeared with them, the first of the Inquisitor's inner circle to effectively leave the Inquisition.

Well, other than Solas, but he left much earlier, of course. They knew with some certainty that Solas—or Fen'Harel as he was also known, apparently—was not dead. Yet there was a chance that the elves who reported sightings of him were wrong, tricked by another who took up the mantle.

"What brings you to Skyhold?" Leliana asked, tucking her hands behind her back in a loose fist.

As Mahanon shifted in his stance, Harding stepped back to clear a path toward Leliana. The Dalish man, wearing simple traveler's clothes and not the typical armor of his people, reached into his cloak and pulled out a sealed scroll. He lifted it, displaying it for her before moving forward and extending his hand to pass it to her.

Leliana accepted it gingerly, unable to settle the slight tremor of apprehension. The parchment was plain and ordinary, but the string binding it was made of halla fur. Leliana had handled plenty of such messages meant for Rosa over the years they fought Corypheus. They originated from the Dalish. This was typical of them.

But what wasn't typical was the green wax seal. Instead of a symbol pressed into the wax there was a glinting bit of Fade stone, the kind Rosa used to fling as part of her rift magic. Leliana had only ever seen two mages use that magic—Rosa and Solas.

"Rosa sent us," Halesta said, "as messengers."

Leliana fixed a polite smile on her face to hide the dark, troubling thoughts brewing underneath. "You'll forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical," she said lightheartedly to avoid insulting them. "Inquisitor Lavellan has not been seen in two years, not since the defeat of Corypheus and the weakening of the Veil."

If Rosa _was_ alive…

Something bitter and ugly churned in Leliana. She stamped it down. Best to maintain an open mind.

"She survived," Mahanon said, short and gruff. "Barely."

"Why hasn't she come back then?" Harding asked, still doubtful.

"Because her place is with the People," Mahanon said sharply.

Halesta was more helpful. "She fell into the deep sleep of uthenera and only woke a short time ago. You are familiar with uthenera?"

_Uthenera?_

Scout Harding tossed Leliana a confused frown, but the spymaster just kept smiling. She knew of uthenera. It seemed an unlikely explanation as elves had stopped the practice around the time Arlathan fell to Tevinter. They no longer seemed physically capable of it.

And yet…_many_ strange things had happened since the Veil weakened. Other than a surge of demons and spirits to trouble Thedas' populace, the primary consequence was regarding elves. Leliana had seen her own elven recruits, all rogues or warriors to round out her scouts, suddenly manifest magic. She had seen old elves seem to age in reverse, regaining health and vigor.

It led to distrust in the ranks as anti-elf sentiment grew, but the Inquisition still had enough mages that it could handle the sudden influx of elves displaying magic. And many of the soldiers and scouts still remembered Inquisitor Lavellan. That she was an elf blunted the rise of racism, somewhat. When it wasn't enough Leliana was fast to punish any dissent that stemmed from racism.

Since taking power, Divine Victoria had also attempted to improve the lives of elves throughout Thedas, anticipating a rise in racism due to the strange benefits the elves received from a weakened Veil. She had reminded the Chantry that the Chant proclaimed _all_ men and women were children of the Maker. She reminded everyone that Inquisitor Lavellan was Dalish and interpreted that as a sign from the Maker of that they were _equal_ to their human counterparts. Leliana knew from private discussion with Cassandra that she did these things in honor and remembrance of Rosa's self-sacrifice and bravery.

Leliana's own feelings about it were complex. She, of course, knew more about Rosa than her compatriots. She'd told Cassandra of what she knew, from Rosa's own confession, but the former Seeker refused to see Rosa as anything but divinely chosen by the Maker—regardless of her origins and ancestral connections.

But Leliana couldn't shake her own quiet misgivings..._especially _because, more often than not, their elven recruits went missing. They didn't seem to be dead as there wasn't any sign of violence. They just…vanished. Usually packing a few valuables before they disappeared, too. Another sign they went willingly and weren't victims of an attack. And many of them had seemed perfectly happy to be with the Inquisition right up until their sudden disappearance.

That was the biggest reason Leliana was certain Solas was still alive. It had to be either him or Briala at work behind the scenes with her recruits. Yet Briala seemed as mystified by the effects of the weakened Veil as anyone else, which made Leliana suspect Solas more than the Marquise. And it made her certain Rosa was dead and had failed that dreadful night of Corypheus' defeat.

Although, interestingly, the dark predictions Rosa had given her inner circle that night—of Solas tearing down the Veil and unleashing unthinkably powerful ancient beings who would destroy Thedas—had not come to pass. The weakening of the Veil was comparatively a tame consequence, as if somehow Rosa _had_ succeeded. Yet, because Rosa had vanished, seemingly dead, and Solas had not, Leliana had to conclude their former Inquisitor had failed.

Until now.

"I am familiar with the concept of uthenera, yes," she said. Deciding to play along, Leliana asked, "And what does Lavellan want? Why did she send you?"

"The Veil is still weakening," Halesta said. "It's slow, but one day it will fail. When it does, Rosa wants to ensure you _shemlen_ are ready."

"This is an offer of alliance," Mahanon added, gesturing at the scroll he'd passed to her. "She wanted you to know she's still on your side."

"That both the People and the _shemlen_ are on the _same side,"_ Halesta casually corrected.

Leliana narrowed her eyes slightly. That was…pleasant news. She didn't' believe it, of course.

"Why didn't she come here herself?" Harding asked, perplexed.

"She will," Halesta said, smirking. "In the dreaming, first, if you and the Divine are amenable."

"But you shems have lied before," Mahanon muttered, scowling. "We knew better than to send her straightaway."

"And the message?" Leliana asked, lifting the still sealed scroll. She ignored Mahanon's less than veiled hostility.

"Information," Mahanon said, jaw squaring again. "The truth about the Black City and the Veil."

"Proof of her good intentions," Halesta added. "Will you agree to meet? We will tell her your reply."

Leliana considered a moment and then nodded. "I will agree to meet on behalf of the Inquisition."

The two Dalish nodded back at her. Mahanon turned to go but Halesta hesitated a moment, smiling. "Good, she'll be happy to hear that," she said and then spun on her heel. Harding hurried to escort them out, shooting Leliana a harried, anxious look over her shoulders.

Leliana gazed down at the scroll in her hand for a long time. The ravens cawed impatiently, but she didn't hear them. Slowly, she broke the seal and rolled it off the parchment. She knew Rosa's hand better than anyone, having read the other woman's script everyday for years. She held her breath, certain she would see a forgery…instead she saw very familiar handwriting.

She was dizzy with revelations, doubt, and horror by the time she finished. The information corroborated _and explained _the scattered, confusing reports she had from the inner circle who were present that night to hear Rosa's desperate testimony before she vanished, supposedly to stop Solas.

She sat heavily at her worktable and frantically began scratching out a missive for Divine Victoria. A memory played through her head, from two years ago, when Cassandra reported her version of events that night.

"_The Inquisitor told me, '_If your Maker exists, then you were right and He put me here, now, to stop this.'"

And through her shock and horror at what she'd read about the true nature of the Black City, the Veil, Solas, and what would eventually come to pass as the status quo failed, Leliana clung to that idea. The Maker did not sit in a throne deep within the Fade. He was a living, breathing power that shaped their world by placing people where and when they were needed to make a difference. She'd long believed, as had Cassandra, Cullen, and Josie, that although unorthodox and outright _blasphemous_ to the Chantry…Rosa was exactly who they needed, when they needed her.

Now, she had to believe that these two Dalish messengers weren't lying. She had to trust that Rosa would prove to be just who they needed again.

* * *

And they lived happily ever after! LOL

There is, of course, lots more room for additions. Like how all this evolves over time and how the human societies and religions react. And I deliberately left Dirthamen alive because for these characters he's the most interesting Evanuris. But for now, I think this is a good spot to leave off. I'm always open to other's ideas for the future tho. Drop me a line! I live for comments! Happy Fourth to everyone in the states. Hope everyone is healthy and happy!


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